#the harlot denies

[harlotmaria]

𓏵 ⠀⠀⠀﹒ ⠀⠀esmeralda⠀⠀⠀╱⠀⠀⠀mari⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓂂

𓎢𓎡　　　shx　　╱　　hwer　　ᛝ

︶︶˖ + did system ৲ maria alter. >ᴗ<

reqs : 2/5

𓎟𓎟 　┄　byi: 　we　collectively　have　bpd npd　etc　please　do　not　rush　requests. or　we　might　not　do　your　req.　it　makes us　heavily　uncomfy　and　we　really　hate　it .

𓎟𓎟 　┄　dni: 　we 　don’t 　necessarily　 have 　a 　dni 　but 　we 　don’t like　 when 　just 　straight 　up 　“ugh 　u 　are 　ur 　source” 　ppl 　interact. 　just 　because 　my source 　is 　hamilton 　does 　not 　mean 　i physically 　am 　her. i 　am 　semi-source 　rel and 　i’m 　a 　host.

𓎟𓎟 　┄　req info: 　we 　take　most　requests　as　long　as　it　isn’t　a　terrible　source ,　if　it’s　for　an　alter　we　may post　it　but it　isn’t　likely　at　all　if　we’re　honest.　we　have　no　specific　blacklist.　we　do　rentry graphics,　layouts 　etc. we　only　do　reqs　if　motivated.

𓎟𓎟 　┄　blacklist: i personally 　have 　no　 certain 　blacklist　 but please 　do 　not 　be 　anything 　similar 　to 　hazbin 　hotel 　etc. 　i 　am willing 　to 　send 　you 　a 　dm 　of 　what 　you 　requested 　but 　i 　am not 　comfy 　posting 　it 　unless 　others 　ask 　for 　it. 　thank 　you.

my rentry is a wip rn

dm / send ask for removal .

tags : @llocket @phaea @lavendergalactic @selysie @infectedrpd @playmalcolm

@miaupii @frilliette @toyym @batexe

[fideidefenswhore]

Another strong-voiced subject, Margery Cowpland of Henley on Thames, reportedly called King Henry 'an extortioner and knave' and Queen Anne 'a strong harlot'. When a local official, Richard Heath, warned her that he was the king's servant, she responded, 'the king's servant, the devil's turd!' Margery was in deep trouble, and her case went all the way up to the Privy Council. But it came out that her principal accuser, John Wynbok, was in dispute with her about other matters involving a covenant, a lease, and a mill, raising the possibility that this was a malicious prosecution. Margery, for her part, denied the words, but Sir William Stonor, who reported the matter to Cromwell, believed she had said them.

Cressy, David. 2010. Dangerous Talk : Scandalous, Seditious, and Treasonable Speech in Pre-Modern England. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

[puppy-the-mask]

Today I’ve been imagining The Roommates going to a fancy party. Edge is invited every year and is always stuck talking with the people so he never gets good gossip anymore, so! Cas enters seperately, so she doesn’t get roped in with ‘oh who’s your date?’ Questions and just vibes by the punch bowl snacking away and not drawing attention, she spends the night paying him visits/dragging him away from chatty people who are wearing on his nerves while also finding discreet ways to evesdrop.

But then an anti-harem mini confrontation happens between the protag and antag in the corner and this one she HAS to record- Cas is sure she heard her boys name in all that. Then Antag trips protag as they’re leaving and of course Cas’ gotta day something, she’s all for minding her business but that bitch said some things and went out of her way to do that. Social Anxiety- Forgotten

Which leads to more juicy juicy info, and threats! And guess who’s phone is still on and recording every word~

So she ‘back down’ and leaves the situation- immediately sends Edge the video with an ‘I think this’ll be enough gossip for the rest of the night’ and decides to go get some boba or something. All the party has is champagne and water so she needs some non-alcoholic flavor in her life. Her and Edge work out what she’ll get him while she’s gone, he hands over the keys, and tells her that they’ll be going to an after party the main house holds for their family and friends to cap off the night.

While she was gone they left early so he sent her the adress, and she finally shows up- to the shock and slight panic of Antag (who is trying to either catch or get Edge back)

They have a nice little thing where he asks what flavor she got, which was a new one. She offered him to try and he just, handed her his and kept drinking.

“What No! This ones you’re favorite give mine back!” this point they were sitting down but even still he can hold it far out of her reach. She threatens to do something that will embarrass both of them infront of his family and he relents and switches drinks.

“SHAMELESS HARLOT”

“Saucy Wench”

[alastors-wife]

Why do so many "doms" just do shit like choke or degrade you without bothering to give any warning or ask first

[n3ptoonz]

BEGGING you to make more sub mk men content 😭 they're always dom in all the other hc's and it's refreshing to see something that's my cup of tea lol

oh? like this? throws this post behind me like a bouquet toss earthrealm guys here

mk1 hcs: how the outworld guys react to you riding them

y'all sure do love headcanons LMFAOO

i always try my best for most of the outworld cast cause i'm truly an earthrealm girly, but i got yall. yall really challenge me 😵‍💫

Shang Tsung

This sly mf. He thought when you suggested riding, he'd be the one watching you writhe, but it's quite the opposite. Little did you know it was all an act. A fib; fairytale. He wants power, of course, but in the bedroom it's entirely different

Nothing will get him to submit fast than treating him like a common harlot. He's in desperate need of hair pulling, degradation, maybe even act like you're trying to kill him. He's into that shit! He's an aggressive man, so he should be treated as such

I'm talking fully dog this man out while you ride him. It'll drive him mad and make him crave it. Hell, slap him around and call him names and his gasps, groans, and deep whimpers will clear the air in no time! If you add small weapons to the mix or like a role play thing it's ON

He's literally the meme "don't bully me i'll cum" so do with that what you will!

Rain

Rain sexy ass...OOF. That smug "i am a demigod" attitude is punted out the window when you ride him. One single stroke of his hair and a caress of the jaw and just like that he's a slut!

Give him praises. He wouldn't handle degradation too well. On the outside he appears to have his shit together and doesn't have a care in the world about anybody else but his studies (and you), but he likes to be taken care of

If you want to be rougher or if he asks you to, really just pull his hair/give him love bites. idk it might just be me but i just wanna bite him sooo we're gonna say he likes bites! He's also super handsy but mostly when he's close

He's not very vocal but when he is i can see him as the kinda man that like...purrs, if that makes sense? If it don't i say he's a grunter and from groan city: population him

Reiko

Reiko has a hard time being submissive, but you just make it a little easier for him. You kinda have to coax him into it before every time you get intimate because he's made it clear he can do both and wants to try submitting more to the person he loves

It was your suggestion after a long time away for a mission. Poor dude was stressed da hell out! He's like Rain, a sucker for praise. Now that i'm really picturing it he'd prob be down to smother his face into your chest cause like, that's hot to him

When he's feeling particularly spicy definitely tie him down so he can't pull free no matter how much brute strength he uses. Hold his face and never break eye contact, he's all yours! If you call him any name that has the word "strong" in it he's like puddy in your hands

Prime grunt man here. He ain't whimpering unless you deny him of something, even then it goes from a coarse tone to soft

General Shao

Siiggghhhh 🙄 Shao likes the riding position the most. That's all thanks for coming to my Ted talk

LOL JUST KIDDING😹 He would appear like he's incapable of submission but like, this is YOU we're talking about. And he'd do anything for you. Literally.

A little birdy told me he loves when you grab his horns. Grab his horns. Grab them and make him look at you. This unbreakable wall of man yearns to be conquered by someone like you. Someone who dared to challenge him and never back down? By the Gods he has a breeding knk whether you can have kids or not. oh yeah, he'd beg. plead. he's gasping for air like pls just don't stop riding him LMAO he needs his mind off taking the throne for a few hours

whimpering little bitch which eventually turn into growls and grunts. takes a bow

Reptile

Syzoth is so subby I literally cannot picture him dominating a soul. Ashrah got that man on hold fr but anyway this about you

Typa dude to tear up when you ride him. You just look so damn good, and you make him feel so damn good. Dizzy eyes that he can barely keep open; I feel like he'd go brain numb from how fast he feels pleasure

I'm talking like because he's not originally human he's more sensitive. Now hear me out guys...two dicks....AHEM. DONT SHOOT THE MESSENGER!! Both his dicks are very sensitive OHHHHHHHHH Reduce him to a sobbing, stuttering, gasping, mess. He needs it, wants it, loves it. It's up to you if you'd ride him in his og form ya nasty. He'd also have a tendency to leave bite marks on you like your chest, neck, and shoulders

Mister whimper over here there's nothing else he does but whimper and cry jesus almighty somebody give this man a HUG (hug him while you fuck him dumb/busts)

Havik

Banging my head against the wall rn lemme tap in...ok we here let's go.

Another kombatant who peruses power, but also very much attracted to it. He definitely likes to be dominated. He'd be into some real kinky shit too i know it. Literally all the above he don't wanna think about SHIT

He would thoroughly enjoy being completely helpless at your disposal as you ride him. He likes degradation more than praises but if you do give him the kind of praise that inflates his already massive ego. shoot down his arrogance while also maintaining it he fucking lives for it. he likes being choked or slapped too keep that in mind

This bitch growls and that's it. bro ain't got the lips to really make different sounds LMAO?? get yo fuckin dog bitch!!!

Baraka

You might be insane but we love that haha...! Monster fucker certificate checked at the door i understand i do

Absolutely no degradation here DO NOT!! Mf might start crying or give a monologue either way, steer clear. Be nice to him!!

He likes to be held, and he likes holding his partner. If this was confident Baraka from the previous timeline I'd say he likes fast and crazy over slow and romantic but that's not the case. Be immersed and in the moment with him, he clings onto the human interactions he got stripped from him 😞

Growls but that's mostly bc he deadass don't have lips either LMFAO😭

a/n: tearing my skin off rn I DID IT GUYS I DID IT TELL ME IM GREAT😎author likes praise too.

[sukunas-wife]

the Dadkuna series is great!!! Sukuna isn’t my main character that I like in jjk but this series has me SAT and WAITING for the next upload! I’ve always wondered though what momkuna and dadkuna’s relationship dynamic is. We get that sort of in how they met but what about when their relationship is established? I get the sense that obviously dadkuna would quite literally do anything for her but what exactly goes through his mind when he thinks about her?

Oh? Guess whose back 😎🤧

Me- I’m sickly too 🤭 but! The blog is picking up 🥺 and I’ve been working on this for a good time so here you go 🤍🤍🤍

(Indentions are thoughts, things he didn’t actively say out loud 🥺🤍)

Lord Ryomen Sukuna, though emotionally stunted and constipated, loves his wife. Would level cities and kill men easily if she didn’t have such a strong hold in him.

But he’s a misogynist at heart to an extent. He wants you at home with his kids being his cute little wife that he knows he can always come home to. It was your overwhelming passion for helping women who couldn’t bear children that convinced him he could let you live your life, as long as he knew he had people there to look over you when he couldn’t.

He appreciates the fact that when he’s tired, covered in blood that’s not his own, and carrying the exhaustion of his war ridden day, there you are rushing to him when he enters his temple. Disregarding your fine silk robes and the blood partly way on his body. The way you cling to him, always so happy and relieved to see him come home.

The first time he came home after being gone for so long, he remembers how you cried and held on to him, your anguished filled cries when you cried about how you thought he was never coming back, how you were scared he’d left you alone. He remembers how his hands found your waits holding you a bit away, another hand coming to cup your face, thumb wiping away your tears when he looked at you with tired eyes, “It would take the militia of this land's greatest sorcerers to even consider preventing my way back to your embrace.” Your teary eyes softened before you buried your face in his chest again hugging him and clinging to him.

He longed for that feeling of your embrace whenever he would leave you behind, he could deny it but on his way home to you, his heart ached and longed to feel your embrace and hear your praises of how he had returned. You cried no more because you were filled with that confidence he would always return.

——————

He’s a traditional man with his one form of values, not once did he long for sexual pleasure or was he consumed with lust. Misery, pain and the screams of his victims fueled him and filled him with an immense pleasure no woman’s body could ever possibly offer him.

They were all the same, sultry, scandalous, attention seeking harlots, prostitutes and women. Thinking they could better their lives if they could slip into his bed. They were wrong, every woman who he allowed to enter his bed chamber under these pretences had walked in with starry eyes and ambition. Only to cry and scream for their life while he slowly dug his nails into their flesh tearing them all apart, slowly and agonisingly. That was until he saw you that one day, any girl of age would’ve started to present themselves to him in shy or subtle ways hoping to catch his eyes. There you were kneeling out of respect in his presence, scared you had offended your lord.

‘Oh? Is this little morsel afraid?’ Fear filled and humbling yourself before him. You couldn’t look at him, there wasn’t an ounce of “I want to sleep with this man.” And yet these feelings caused a sentiment in the depths of his chest, something stirred inside him, you head captured his interest (non sexual at this point). ‘Hmm?, this will be a fine pet to break.’

You were a phenomenon in the temple, one he wanted to study, to take into his clawed hands and mould, twist, stretch and push to the edge and then just over the point of breaking to see what would become of you. Yet, once he had you in hands reach, once you were close enough for him to graze your skin with his nails… he didn’t treat you like a common daisy or water Lilly, no he took you into his hands like a Lotus floating on the water's surface. Making elegant work and taking care of your delicate bloom. You would be his delicate lotus that no one else would ever take the joy in having.

——————

“My gratifying queen, My delicate lotus, My benevolent wife.” Words he doesn’t speak so freely, he whispers them against your skin whenever you’d sleep by his side.

Delicate words and honeyed names had never once crossed his mind in his existence. Yet here he was, allowing himself to indulge in the smallest amount of vulnerability with these words. The press of his feverish kisses against your neck and cheeks between every word.

‘My little beloved pet, so tired, sleeping away the wares of today. How could something so small and insignificant like you cause this shift in my existence hm?’

The back of his hand brushing hair away from your face, nails grazing the side of your face lightly, he held you in his embrace watching you. Two arms securely around you, one supporting his head, the other kept grazing your skin. You’d stir in your sleep when he shifted slightly away from you to lay on his back. You’d become so used to his body heat even on the hottest days you’d search him out half awake.

‘My little lotus,’ he closed the space between you, pulling you into his side again, ‘rest your weary head without worries of tomorrow, I’m here to hold you now.’

He wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t even know it at that moment, but he was absolutely smitten with you in ways he had yet to comprehend. But it showed in his subconscious movements. A hand on your lower back or waist guiding you, knowing you’re close and safe.

Bringing home little jewels and trinkets he’d usually never spare a second glance . That is until a stone sparkles in the light of his flames and he stops briefly to take a close look.

My queen would look Devine with these adorning her neck. These stones would make fine pieces for my wife.

It was a shock when he came home one night waking you when he sat on the bed. You sat up sleepily while he handed you a bag of precious stones and jewels telling you he had brought you a gift, a free hand of his brushing your hair back and bringing you closer by the back of your head so he could kiss your lips.

——————

It was your wedding, there you were standing beside him in the Ceremonial Robes. You stood on his right, his eyes looking down at you.

Hmm, What an enticing display, to have my little pet dressed up so exquisitely for all to see and admire.

Even more enticing to know soon you’ll be round with my child, what an ethereal sight you will be laid out in silk robes and swollen carrying my legacy

My delicate little lotus, my malevolent queen, my gratifying and honourable wife. Perhaps these thoughts never be spoken aloud with heavy sentiment. But I vow myself to you in this instant, that I will do all to assure our future, our health, our children and our endless lives.

I will assure your hand never be left cold nor alone as long as I can take it. nor will it ever be lifted in vain or to labour. Your stomach is never empty as I will assure you have the finest wine and a feast every night if it’s what your little human heart desires, your head will always have a place to rest even if it is only on my chest. Your nights will never be cold, your days will never be short, your loneliness will exist no longer, and your heart will be mine, and mine will be yours.

It wasn’t all he told himself, but it was in the moment you felt a warm sensation against your skin, on your chest below the centre of your collar bone but above your breast was the same mark you’d seen on his tongue very few times.

Ryomen Sukuna DID NOT enjoy the thought of staining your teeth black, instead he took your hand, as if vowing and brains you, the ring finger of your left hand, the base faded to a black band, above it a snark mark matching your chest and another thin black bank, just below your nail was another black band. That’s how your little husband decided to present you as his.

Tag List: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

Broken :( @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378 @anyaswlrd @cyder-puff

[notapradagurl7]

Mine.

Black Fem! Reader x Method Man as “Jordan”

Summary: You and Jordan were becoming closer, both of you were successful businesses and he wanted to be in a relationship with you. But you play some games with him by teasing and underestimating him how powerful he can be in the bedroom.

A/N: whew, i missed writing about him😩 enjoy and don't forget to re-blog, comment, like to support!

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @caashmoneynae @satoruya @henneseyhoe @siqueth @sageispunk @cvpidvsq @soft-persephone @life-in-the-slut-house @kindofaintrovert @hxneyclouds @playgurlxoxo @planetblaque @last-lost-one @westside-rot @browngirldominion @kaywopp @blackelysian @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @thecookiebratz @thecapodomme @harmshake @vile-harlot @suckmybigtoe2 @daprettycancer @babybratzmaraj

Requested by @keyera-jackson

Warnings: PWP, +18, profanity, blindfold, spanking, use of ice, use of chocolate, oral(fem receiving) dirty talk, praise, too much damn teasing, straight-up filth, slight fluff, age gap relationship.

——————

You sat across the male with your champagne glasses clinking together, discussing your business. Smiling at him, the laughter and taking a sip. relishing in the success and celebration for your companies.

“I'm so glad that we had this talk about our business colliding," You exclaimed with a smile.

“I’m glad about that too,” he chuckled lightly, placing his glass on the table. His tongue glided over his lips made your clit throb.

You were 31 years old, and worked as a successful businesswoman for your real estate company, while he was a successful wealthy businessman.

The two of you met at a black-owned coffee shop, you were in a hurry but spilled your coffee on the floor. You were irritated and exhaled lowly.

He bought you coffee, "Let me help you with that," he said, grabbing some napkins and bending down to clean up the mess.

You noticed the way his suit hugged his frame perfectly, his muscles evident even under the fabric. The man bought you a new coffee and blueberry muffin, which was your favorite. How did he know that? You smirked to yourself, thinking about how much fun it would be to unravel this man.

There was undeniable chemistry between the two of you, he stood up from the chair across from you but he wanted you and you did the same. “Wait.. Y/N” he replied.

Ever since his heinous divorce with his wife Denise after her infidelity with various men and women. He had doubts about finding love again until he met you, it was as if it was written in the stars.

After experiencing several difficult breakups, you chose to remain single. Everything was great with him; in fact, it was ideal.

Meant to be, as someone would say. He wanted to take it slow with you, which you didn’t mind at all. He treated you like a queen, and pampered you. He had given you his black card to take you shopping, on trips.

But you were obstinate at first, you had your money, lived in a house and paid your bills. You had a car and a great job.

He wanted you to spend all his money which fell back into his lap again, get it right back for you. For your smile, for your

You told him that you didn't want money to be the root of your relationship, you wanted to be with him. He understood that completely.

You halted yourself in your tracks, looking up at the man that towered above you. Damn he is fine. “Yes?” You replied with a warm smile.

He grabbed your hand gently and pulled you close to him, “I want you to be my woman and I can’t deny what we have together baby..” he confessed softly, lowering his head to peck your lips.

Your heart thumped out of your chest, your face grew warm and you thanked God that he couldn’t see you blush. “I agree with you.." you mumbled.

You chose to poke fun at him, engaging in some playful banter. It would be entertaining for a few weeks, and since you had his number, a bit of teasing wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Y/N underestimates how powerful he can be in the bedroom. So, she plays some games with him.

You gently pushed him away from you and he lightly chuckled, “I can’t deny what we have either, but I’ll need to think about your proposal, Jordan. Let me sleep on it,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Jordan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your playful response. “Oh, so you're going to make me wait, huh? Playing hard to get, I see,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

You chuckled, enjoying the banter between the two of you. “Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. You'll just have to find out, won't you?” you taunted, a playful glint in your eye.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper. “Oh, I love a challenge,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your ear.

Your breath hitched at his words, feeling a shiver run down your spine. “Is that so? We'll see about that,” you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips.

The tension between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with desire and anticipation. You knew you were playing with fire, but the thrill of the chase was too enticing to resist.

He observed you leave, the way your hips moved and the bounce in your step made him bite his lip. Jordan walked next to you and held the door open.

You moved ahead, and he trailed after you, observing as you headed to your car in the pleasant evening. "Have a good night baby.."

“Fine ass, shorty must think I’m playin’ because I’m not…”

The first week while you were on the job, he sent you a text, your eyes glued to the vibrant screen.

Jordan: Why are you doing this to me?

Your thumbs tapping across the keyboard on your phone screen with a smirk on your face.

Y/N: Doing what, Jordan?

Jordan: Playing hard to get. I know you want me just as much as I want you.

Y/N: Oh really now? I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

Jordan: I'm a patient man, but don't push it too far, baby.

Y/N: Wouldn't dream of it, Jordan. Can't make it too easy for you, can I?

The teasing continued back and forth between you, each message heating up the tension between the two of you. It was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill was addicting.

A riposte here, and a double entendre there.

After weeks and weeks of playful banter, sweet torturous teasing of each other.

It was Saturday night which meant you were dressed in a tee shirt that hung to your thighs. Panties underneath and watching classic movies with popcorn and a soda, it was perfect.

You’ve gotten a text and call from Jordan, asking you if it was okay with you if he come over. You typed yes, show me what you have in store.

You opened the door with a coy smile, inviting him in. Jordan stepped inside in grey hoodie and matching sweatpants.

His eyes dark with desire as he looked at you. "I'm here to show you just how much you've been missing out on, baby," he whispered, his voice low and husky. You closed and locked the door quickly.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, knowing that tonight was going to be unforgettable. He took your hand and led you to the couch, where he blindfolded you gently.

Laid on the couch with your feet planted on the brown hardwood floors, he peppered kisses along your neck with his teeth sinking into your brown skin. Leaving hickeys to let anyone know.

“You are sexy as fuck, smart as fuck, but you’ve been teasing all week long and now you're gonna fuckin’ get it..” he teased, his finger trailing a lazy pattern along your skin.

He grabbed the chocolate syrup and an ice cube from the cold fridge, and lifted the cap. gently spreading it in circles on your areola. You shivered and gasped once he took your breast in his mouth. A wave of pleasure washed over you as he suckled around your breast clean.

“Please..shit, I need your dick..” you begged him, pouting your lips.

“You've been a bad girl, you don't get some dick…yet.” Jordan growled, pinching your nipple while spanking your ass again.

His hand fondled on your breast, eliciting moans from you. “J-Jordan..fuckk! Please!” you groaned, closing your legs shut. He brought his lips to your ear.

“You've been good so far, hearing you beg turns me on..”

He hooked his fingers between your black panties and pulled them down, leaving them on the floor. You gently parted your legs and his hand gently trailed the ice along your breasts, feeling the drop on your clit. Moans echoed through the room. “Ouuu..”

You grew tired of the teasing, you quickly snatched off the blindfold, but you found his head between your thighs. His tongue glided over your throbbing clit, your essence pooling around his lips then trickled down his breaded chin. Making a mess of him and on the couch.

“Fuck..Jordan..” you moaned softly, rolling your hips against his mouth. His large hand latched on your thighs, resting them on his shoulders. Spanking your ass roughly.

“Why did you take off your blindfold when I was supposed to tell you to?” He teased, his two fingers parting your slick folds, gently pushing them inside.

He paid more attention to your clit using his tongue while his fingers pumped in and out of you, “M-more..ahh!” you moaned loudly, your

Why was such sweet torture from the man you've been teasing all week long, he wanted to be yours, he wanted to give you everything in the world that wouldn’t dare see you how he saw you.

His hands immediately went to your hips, pulling you closer as his tongue danced with yours. Straddling his lap as you captured his lips in a searing kiss, “Now you get your reward, babygirl..” he whispered, before your climax came he pulled out his fingers.

You held his thick dick in your hand, grabbing a condom from the dresser. Passing it to him, he gently slid the condom on his dick, his finger pulled on it to make sure that there was more room.

Are you ready for me, baby?” he asked, his eyes burning with desire.

You nodded eagerly, guiding him inside you, the feeling of fullness making you gasp in pleasure. His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one hitting you in all the right spots. “Yes! Faster…baby..” you hollered, your moans filled the room as you both moved together in perfect harmony.

He obliged by rolling his hips upwards, the pace was fast and sporadic. He bites down his bottom lip, tilting his head to the side, watching his dick disappear in and out of you.

Your mouth was agape, speaking gibberish and wrapped around his muscular shoulders. “Such a wet and tight pussy, what did I do to deserve you?”

“Y-you’re so good to me..” you slurred, rolling your hips a bit faster. Drool trickled down your lips.

The man fucked you assiduously like he had something to prove, his grunts turned to deep moans. “You're so beautiful, made for me..” he groaned deeply, His eyes rolled back at your pussy soaking his dick and the tightness in your walls. He felt the love with every heartbeat.

He whispered sweet praises in your ear, “You feel so fucking good around my dick..” he praised, he went harder, his hand spanked your ass. You squealed and he left a handprint on your asscheek.

“I never wanted to be with anyone else, only you.” he said seductively, his hand gripping your chin in an erotic way, bringing your lips to his.

The intensity of his words only heightened the pleasure coursing through your body. “You’re loving, considerate, and don't take shit from anybody. I love everything about you.” he praised, your ass smacked against his pelvis, making a clapping sound.

As you both reached your peak, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the euphoria of the moment. You came undone on his dick, he moaned at the feeling of you and he spilled his seed into the condom.

Afterward, you collapsed into each other's arms, he lifted you off of his length, gently basking in the afterglow of your passion, taking off the condom while tying the ends and throwing it away in the trash can.

“You good baby?” he asked in concern, raising his brows.

“Y-yeah, I'm good..”

You almost dozed off until he gently picked you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom, “Don't play with me ever again, I’m yours and you're

mine, you heard?” he spat, pecking your temple. His New York accent left his lips.

You hummed lightly, laying the side of your head on his shoulder. “My bad, i’ll be good Jordan. But you damn near broke my back..”

He lightly chuckled, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles. “My fault sweetheart, I’ll be gentle next time..” he smiled.

As he flipped the light switch. Bringing light to the spacious room, He turned the faucet, you heard the squeak.

Filling the tub with foam soap, at the right temperature, You were placed in the tub, allowing the water to soothe the ache in your body and pussy, sighing blissfully. You watched him walk into the shower and proceed to wash himself clean.

You washed yourself clean using the washcloth, dried yourself off and you fell asleep in the bed with him. His arm wrapped over you lovingly, smiling in your sleep, dressed in your clean panties and an oversized tee shirt.

————-

[miifu666]

Hi I’m a big fan of your blog , love how you draw the characters!!

How do you think monkey king and suklha would court each other.

Helloww ♡♡♡

Funny you ask that!!! 😭 i just finished a doodle about that too!

Since Wukong's a hot tempered and unpredictable monkey king with a high self esteem. I like to add a bit of Monkey facts in his behaviour. Ofc besides the fighting the gods to keep his lover i dont think thats normal monke

From what i know, male monkeys usually start the flirting to enter a sort of consortship with the female. So i believe, Wukong despite the virgin that he is. Would be the first one to show interest.

Monkeys usually spend time with their future mate during courtship, so i figured instead of eating and talking to eachother to spend time. Wukong would challenge Suklha during the first few stages of courtship, if Suklha manages to outwit him he would let out these noises thats a mix of excited chirps and amused chuckles. Seeing Suklha managed to beat him in his own challenge is akin to her saying

"oh you're good, but ill try and beat you to show you im capable of being beside you"

even better when Suklha lets him groom her properly, it would take hours upon hours for him to show her that he's a good mate to keep her pretty and light colored hair clean. Suklha sitting down and waiting for him to finish, only to groom him back with her own pinchers is a sign that she accepted Wukong's feelings. (In his head anyway)

This works with Suklha, too. Centipedes spend time with their mates to start the mating ritual. Female centipedes usually release certain pheromones to attract the male interest. Wukong might notice how she has a more enzymatic scent, floral and berry-like, reminding him of the tree peaches in flower fruit mountain. This works with monkeys, although i think they release a certain odour when they want to mate rather than... courtship-

This in turn, makes Wukong more physically affectionate towards Suklha. His hands never leaving her waist whenever they talk to someone, glaring at anyone who dares to come pick her up like some sort of harlot. Wukong would compliment her to make her pay attention to him more whenever they're in public, of course this is Wukong. Hes not that good with compliments-

Suklha : you dimwit! Ive told you before how to do it!

Wukong : It seemed like i was right at first! Why are you getting so mad over! Just because you're decent-looking doesn't mean you can reprimand me however you like!

Suklha : ...?

Wukong , counting his fingers : Smart, quick-witted, courteous! Just because you're all that doesn't mean you can shout at me all you want!!

Suklha : i..

Wukong : AND STOP LOOKING SO GOOD

Suklha : IM BREATHING???

Wukong : WELL YOU LOOK GOOD DOING IT

Lastly, it would be a hard way to recognize but Wukong would speak towards her with a deeper tone of voice than usual. He'd even try to talk to her more calmly than yelling high-pitched like usual.

He'll smile more and probably do anything, yes even kill some demons and yaoguai to get an object of her desire or something that reminds him of her. Like a red jacket he saw in a village near the mountains, he'll snatch it and put it on Suklha without any word. Not even a "here's a new jacket" nope. They're already this deep in the courtship stage, she should understand what he means when he gives her things. He might glare at Suklha whenever he sees her missing the object he's given her, no words, just bites and glares.

All in all, it would be a bit chaotic. Like seeing your two best friends slowly getting together. Especially Suklha who despite showing interest in the courtship, suddenly denied Wukong of her answer after his proposal. Of course, this isn't done out of spite. She knows the consequences of accepting his proposal and she wont let a creature of this world suffer due to her. Suklha is a trickster, but she still has a heart.

[feasibilities]

Forsaken | Thomas Shelby x Reader (NSFW) ⚮

Synopsis: Thomas eases his loneliness with a famous burlesque dancer. Warnings: False Imprisonment (technically), Assassination Attempt, Spanking, Pet Names, Exhibitionism, Desperation Author's Note: S6 Thomas Shelby? My man, my man, my man. Enjoy.

“Sorry, sir, but the show is over.” You said aimlessly, feeling the presence of a man. 

“Not for me, it isn’t.” He retorted, rubbing a cigarette across his lips & lighting it. 

Your head snapped back to the British gang leader turned MP, Thomas Michael Shelby. He looked quite different from the first time you saw him. He was starting to grey on the sides of his head and he sported wireframe glasses. 

“A Member of Parliament coming to see a burlesque show. How appropriate.” You chided, crossing your legs. 

“Just came to see what the buzz is about.” He said while looking you up and down. Your mink fur shawl sat low on your chest and Thomas hoped it incidentally fell to the floor. 

“Well, you’ve came and seen. Have a good night, Mr. Shelby.” You dismissed him. You watched him stand there for a moment and then walk towards you. He lifted your chin and caressed your cheek lovingly.

“I’ll have you, and that’s the end of it. See you tomorrow.” He said. 

——

Hearing a knock at the door, you opened it believing it was your car service. You met the somber gaze of one of Thomas’ goons. He took your suitcases from your hands and gently led you to the 1927 Bentley out front. He politely opened the door for you and guided you inside. You stared at Thomas with hatred. He smiled warmly and moved your hair from your face. 

“No way to greet your beloved, eh?” He said.

“You are no beloved of mine.” You scorned.

“I will be in time.” He retorted as the car drove away.

You spent the long drive ignoring Thomas as he took you in. He had seen you many times on stage, but you were captivating up close. He had no qualms about taking you as Lizzie was long gone. What better way to alleviate a man’s loneliness than to spend time in a beautiful woman’s bosom? 

Arriving at Shelby Manor, you were taken aback by the size of his home. An MP’s salary in addition to gang activity must pay well. You were greeted by friendly waitstaff and Thomas’ dog, Cyril. Thomas thanked everyone and told them to leave you two alone. 

“Want a drink?” You asked while walking to the unnecessarily fancy liquor cabinet, feigning cordiality.

“I don’t drink anymore, but I appreciate the offer.” He said, admiring you from behind. Pouring yourself a glass of whiskey, you sat on the plush sofa. You sighed and stared at him intently.

“I’ll stay for the night if you pay me. We can negotiate starting with £1,000.” You explained. 

“You’re staying for as long as I want.” He attested.

“Who do you think I am? Some harlot to keep you busy since your wife left you?” You questioned.

“I would’ve taken you over the vanity in your dressing room If that’s the case.” He said, adjusting his glasses. You couldn’t deny how attractive he was but you had to hold out to rile him up. You simply rolled your eyes and finished your glass in one go. 

“Let’s head upstairs then.” You said, standing up. Thomas scooped you and carried you upstairs into the master bedroom. Your heart sped up at the feeling of his hands holding you securely. Laying you on the bed, he stared down at you as he removed his suit jacket. His gorgeous eyes were illuminated by the faint candlelight. You noticed the gun in his holster, but you wanted to distract him from it. You beckoned him to you with your index finger. He crawled on top of you and kissed you delicately. Taking a handful of his hair, you snatched the gun and held it to the side of his head. You pulled the trigger. 

The revolver made clicking noises as you grew frantic. You wondered why his brains weren’t staining your silk blouse. Thomas laughed sweetly and took the gun from you. 

“It’s not loaded, love. See that?” He said softly, flicking out the empty cylinder. He was eerily calm.

“Thomas, I-“ You started, fearing what could happen. 

“Shh. You think you’re the first woman who wanted me dead?” He hushed you. You two stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Suddenly, you kissed and rutted against him. He responded by shoving his hands underneath your blouse. A faint whimper emitted from you from his intensity. 

“Need some discipline, yeah?” Thomas whispered against your lips.

“Not at all.” You fired back. 

He snatched you up once more and put you over his knee. He slid your skirt up to reveal black lace panties with a tiny silk bow at the waistline. You felt him massage the supple flesh of your ass. You pushed back against his hand to antagonize him.

“Little bunny…” He purred. A series of harsh smacks landed on you as silent tears fell from your eyes. Arousal began to pool in between your legs. An inflamed imprint was left on your cheek. Thomas slipped his hand between your thighs and brushed his fingertips against your clothed cunt. Rubbing small circles, another faint whimper came from you. Then, he pulled aside your underwear and plunged two fingers inside of you. The silver band on his ring finger brushed against your clit as he pumped them slowly. 

“Christ…” You moaned. He curled his fingers slightly making an indecorous noise leave your mouth. You wondered how he knew your body so well. 

“Hush now.” He said, pumping his fingers faster. He grew hard at the squelching noises from your arousal. You were on the verge of climaxing before he removed his fingers and sat you up. 

“What the fuck, Thomas?” You said annoyed. 

“Stand in front of the window.” He ordered. You rolled your eyes and followed his directions. You watched him undress in the reflection in the glass. His body was amazing for a man in his mid 40s. You hurriedly shed the rest of your undergarments before he turned around. Walking to you, he pressed you uncomfortably against the glass. Despite being a burlesque dancer, you were deathly afraid of being seen by his colleagues or waitstaff. 

“Stay just like this, yeah?” He said, voice slightly beyond a whisper. He kissed your shoulder gently before pressing his tip against your folds. Both of you sighed in delight when he bottomed out. He stilled for a moment to compose himself. You rutted against him out of impatience. Thrusting deeply, he buried his face in your neck. Your mewls progressed to screams of delectation. Restrained groans occasionally left Thomas’ throat as he held you tightly and nipped your ear. Thomas snaked his hand between your legs once more and rubbed your clit vigorously. His loneliness became an afterthought as he finished you off. 

[marchsfreakshow]

Desperate Pain [James Patrick March]

Uhh,,,,idk this time lol

James saw someone flirt with you. He thinks that since you looked at the man, you were flirting back.

Idk what this is but @coentinim gave me the idea. With some things from @briaroftheroses too<33

18+!! Just because. MINORS DNI.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Hands desperately tugging behind your back, despite being tied up strongly. And little pleas, crys and whimpers escaping you. "please James, i didn't even say anything to him.."

Oh no, that's not good enough though is it? He's not giving into your desperate cries. Instead he's carrying on his job, making sure this absolutely dreadful man knows what he's done to you. "You see, this, beautiful angel, is in fact, mine." The words beautiful angel dripped with exaggeration, but you knew it to be true. James was simply obsessed with you and your beauty.

The man, simply just asked if you were single and how a pretty thing like you was sat alone at a bar. All you did was look at him! You shot him one single look. A deadpan, neutral face. Now he was pathetically crying, yelling out. His fat being cut, his hands being burned to a crisp.

James knew he couldn't have that. He couldn't have you away from him. You even acknowledged this desperate man? Such a harlot. Do you even love James? Do you even want to keep your promise of being his? He's asking these questions quietly to the half dead, man holding up a knife to the idiot's cock. Just a little cut wouldn't hurt. One slice through the middle. So he really wouldn't hurt your precious cunt. That was his property, only for him to ruin and destroy.

"see what you've done my pretty little harlot? You hurt me so dear." Another desperate whimper left you as he dragged the used knife under your chin. Watery and begging eyes up at him, just wanting to apologise. Such an adorable sight weren't you? Squirming around on the bed as your legs and arms were bound by his bloodied ropes, just wanting to get up and stop James. "I don't think it's fair that he gets it all and you get away free hm?" Oh no. What was it he was planning? Whatever it was, tears were threatening to escape you, making your vision blurred.

James chuckled as he watched you move around on the edge of the bed. "I will not be touching you, anywhere until you have learned your lesson." He whispered right by your ear, even refraining from lightly tracing that cute jaw of yours. "Find other means of pleasure until I say so my dear." You suppressed a sad groan. Your own pleasure was the worst. How on earth could you do that when James can fuck you so good at a moments notice? He'd drop anything if you were desperate enough.

A whimper escaped the two of you out of the seemingly, erotic, eye contact. James' head whipped around to flirting man.

Shot after shot. Bang after bang. Two holes now in the half dead man's heart. If he wasn't dead before, he was dead now. Back to your crying face. The bloody knife still in hand. "how else to make you learn your lesson?" He questioned rehtorically. If it was up to you, you'd let him fuck the idea into your empty head. Getting it through that small, thoughtless head of yours that you. Are. His. Forever.

So, your trousers were ripped off. Discarded on the floor somewhere, and a warm breath on your thighs. He was just torturing a man, why were you so turned on? "Ow..ow, fuck!" You squealed. James' bloody knife in your inner thigh, carving his initials. A raggedy 'JPM' as a way to mark his property. Drops of blood trickling down your thigh, onto the bed. It took every ounce of self control in the ghostly killer to not lick up the irony tasting liquid. He had to keep to his promise. Not touching you, not for a while anyway. So he left it to bleed.

Leaving it to bleed as he worked his way up to your exposed, veiny neck. A J there, P right in the middle and a sweet little M to finish the job. No one could deny that you were his now.

"There. Now, you. Are. Mine. Dangerous bird aren't you?" He chuckled at your dying body. You'd come crawling as a ghost, so he knew not to be upset.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

[writingsofwesteros]

Otto pulls some Viserys shit and marries a girl the same age as his son

A beautiful girl, who due to her kindness and charm, ends up being beloved by the court. All except for Otto himself. He basically married her for an alliance and her dowry, but is otherwise uninterested in her. He arranged separate rooms for them after the consummation ceremony. The staff around the Red keep joke that ‘Otto Hightower may be the only man in court not in love with his wife’.

Plenty of men in court try to start up affairs with her, including other men from the Small Counsel. Tyland Lannister never fails to be overly complimentary, bolder lords send her gifts, even proper Jasper Wylde (after one too many cups of wine), despite being upon his 4th wife himself, supposedly expressed surprise that Otto wasn’t more eager to ‘hike up such a young pretty skirt’. He later denied this of course.

She always refused them, and people commended her piety, fostering a good relationship with her religious stepdaughter Alicent.

But in truth, just like Alicent, it was not her husband she longed for, but her stepchild. Gwayne.

She and Gwayne had both been raised in Oldtown, moving in the same circles, eyeing each other for years, and despite always keeping and appropriate distance, the attraction was mutual and powerful.

As ashamed as it made him to think on it, Gwayne had once pressed the favour she had given him for a joust to his nose as he pleasured himself, imagining her in his bed. On another occasion he had happened upon a harlot who bared a resemblance to her, and promptly paid her to spend the entire night with him. He took her back to his room and fucked her on every surface and at every angle, moaning the Lady’s name.

Gwayne had foolishly hoped, when his father entered discussions with the Lady’s family, that he was arranging a marriage for him.

Instead his father claims her maidenhead and then treats her like a bothersome accessory.

He’s baffled to find out his father has been known only to enters his wife’s chambers one evening every three moons. He crosses the hall, is in her chambers for less than an hour and then goes to bed in his own chambers alone. He can’t understand it. He’d be in her bed every night.

Even now, the tension between them remains. They try so hard to be proper, to act appropriately, but they keep ending up alone together, they keep getting closer, more intimate, he still visits whores who look like her, she closes her eyes during her husbands brief visits and pretends it’s Gwayne. But for so long they’ve refused to give in.

Until one day it becomes too much.

Otto had been talking down to them both, bemoaning his sons lack of achievement, talking about his wife’s ‘disappointing lack of fertility’ both to her face and behind her back. And now instead of visiting, Gwayne is in the capitol full time.

One day they find themselves alone again, sharing their feelings, and somehow the Lady admits to how unsatisfied she is in her marriage. Somehow, Gwayne ends up on his knees in front of her. Somehow, she allows him to disappear beneath her skirt. And finally, she is satisfied, again and again. Finally, Gwayne gets to taste her.

And he swears, he will make her Lady Hightower Twice Over, if it’s the last thing he does.

- 🌝🌚 anon is back, and I’m not done

Lady Hightower Twice Over

WELCOME BACK xx

I adore this so much (Otto being such a prick that we love and blaming her for not being fertile , pft )

Poor Lady will tug on Gwayne's hair as she rocks against his face; her stomach tightening before the knight's hand reaches for her sleeves and began to tug.

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (5/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @lottins-only

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list Thank you again for your love and appreciation!

Zuri stood in front of her full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of her nude corset top for what felt like the hundredth time. Paired with high-waisted black trousers, the outfit was sleek and stylish, but she couldn't shake the nervous energy thrumming through her body.

"Girl, you look fine as hell. Stop fussing," Senait's voice crackled through her phone's speaker.

Zuri glanced at her best friend's face on the screen, propped up against her vanity. "I know, I know. I just… I want this to go well, you know?"

Senait's laugh filled the room. "It's a date with your own damn husband. How bad could it be?"

"Fiancé," Zuri corrected automatically. "And you'd be surprised. Things have been… complicated."

It had been a few days since their return from Mallorca, and Aurélien's schedule had been insane. Between training sessions for the upcoming match against Valladolid and team meetings, she'd barely seen him. But tonight… tonight was theirs.

"Complicated how?" Senait pressed. "Last I heard, you two were getting cozy on some fancy yacht."

Zuri felt her cheeks warm at the memory. "It's not like that. We're just… figuring things out."

"Mhm," Senait hummed, clearly unconvinced. "And does 'figuring things out' usually involve you trying on every outfit you own?"

"Shut up," Zuri laughed, but there was no heat in it. God, she missed this – the easy banter, the shared jokes. "I just want to look nice. Is that a crime?"

"For Mr. Soccer Superstar? Nah, girl. Knock him dead."

As Zuri applied the finishing touches to her makeup, she filled Senait in on the whirlwind of the past few days – the tension, the almost-kisses, the slowly building… something between her and Aurélien.

"Sounds to me like you're catching feelings," Senait teased.

Zuri rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite deny it. "It's not… I mean, we barely know each other."

"And yet here you are, nervous as a teenager before prom."

Before Zuri could retort, her phone buzzed with a text. Aurélien:

On my way. Can't wait to see you.

A flutter of anticipation curled in her stomach. "He's on his way," she told Senait, unable to keep the smile out of her voice.

"Alright, alright. Go get your man. And Z?" Senait's voice softened. "Have fun, okay? You deserve it."

As Zuri ended the call, she took one last look in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, a mix of excitement and nerves clear in her eyes. This wasn't how she'd imagined her life going, but standing here, about to go on a date with her arranged fiancé… she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

The sound of the front door opening and Zeus' excited barks filled the house. She could hear Aurélien talking to the dog in French, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"ZuZu? You ready?" he called out.

Taking a deep breath, Zuri grabbed her clutch and headed down the hall. She saw Aurélien standing in the foyer, looking devastatingly handsome in white jeans and a graphic t-shirt, his usual Van Cleef and Arpels and Cartier bracelets glinting on his wrist alongside a silver watch. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers.

"Lilies, right?" he said, offering her the bouquet with a smile. "I swore you mentioned those were your favorite."

Zuri felt her heart skip a beat. "You remembered," she said softly, taking the flowers.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with comfortable small talk, the city lights of Madrid sliding past the windows of Aurélien's car. The sushi place was a sleek, modern establishment, all clean lines and soft lighting.

As they settled into their seats, Zuri felt the last of her nerves melting away. This was Aurélien, after all. The man she'd been living with, laughing with, slowly getting to know.

"So," Aurélien said, his eyes twinkling over the menu, "tell me something I don't know about you yet."

Zuri laughed, the sound light and genuine. "That's a dangerous question, Tchouaméni. You sure you're ready for all my secrets?"

His answering grin sent a warmth spreading through her chest. "Try me," he challenged.

Zuri took a sip of her drink, considering. "Alright, here's one: I'm terrified of butterflies."

Aurélien's eyebrows shot up. "Butterflies? Really?"

She nodded, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "Something about the way they flutter. Freaks me out."

"Noted," Aurélien chuckled. "No butterfly gardens in our future."

The casual mention of their future sent a little thrill through Zuri. "Your turn," she said, deflecting. "What's something I don't know about you?"

Aurélien leaned back, his fingers toying with the stem of his glass. "I play the piano to calm down after a crazy day."

"I've noticed," Zuri admitted. "I've heard you playing sometimes. You're good."

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "I'm alright," he said, taking a sip of his mojito.

"Don't be modest," Zuri pressed. "How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was a kid," he replied. "My mother insisted. Said it would give me discipline."

Zuri could picture it – a young Aurélien, all gangly limbs and serious expression, bent over piano keys. "Did it?"

He shrugged, that effortlessly cool demeanor never faltering. "Maybe. Or maybe I just needed an excuse to sit still for a while."

Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the arrival of various sushi rolls. Zuri found herself leaning in, drawn by Aurélien's quiet charisma and the glimpses he was offering into his world.

"Okay, another secret," she said, popping a piece of sashimi into her mouth. "I can't whistle. At all."

Aurélien's laugh was low and warm. "Now that's tragic. How do you call for taxis?"

"I wave my arms like a lunatic," she deadpanned, making him laugh again.

Zuri felt herself relaxing more and more. This didn't feel like a dinner date with an almost stranger, an arranged fiancé. It felt… right. Natural. Like maybe, they were on the verge of something real.

After dinner, they made their way to Topgolf, the sprawling entertainment complex near Civitas Metropolitano. The night air was cool against Zuri's skin as they stepped out of the car, a stark contrast to the warmth she felt every time Aurélien's hand brushed against hers.

"Ever played before?" Aurélien asked as they were led to their bay.

Zuri shook her head. "Unless mini-golf counts?"

His answering grin was both amused and challenging. "Oh, we're going to have fun with this."

As Zuri took her first few swings, it became clear that golf was not her forte. Her shots went wide, barely making it past the first marker.

"Here," Aurélien said, stepping closer. "Let me show you."

He moved behind her, his chest pressed against her back as his hands came to rest on her hips. Zuri felt her breath catch in her throat.

"You want to rotate your hips like this," he murmured, guiding her through the motion. His breath was warm against her ear, and she could feel the solid presence of his body against hers.

As he adjusted her stance, Zuri became acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The warmth of his hands on her hips, the strength in his arms as he guided her swing, and… oh. The unmistakable pressure of his heavy crotch against her backside.

Ho-ly fuck, that cannot be all him, can it?

She swallowed hard, trying to focus on the golf ball and not the heat building low in her belly. "Like this?" she managed to ask, her voice sounding breathier than she intended.

"Perfect," Aurélien said, his voice low and intimate in a way that had nothing to do with golf instruction.

As she took her swing, the ball soaring further than any of her previous attempts, Zuri couldn't help but wonder if this was still just about getting to know each other. Because right now, with Aurélien's body pressed against hers, it felt like something much more.

Like he was trying to fuck.

Aurélien's hands lingered on her hips for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally stepped back, she felt the loss of his warmth acutely.

"Not bad," he said, his voice still low and intimate. "Want to try again?"

Zuri nodded, not trusting her voice. As she lined up her next shot, Aurélien moved close once more, his presence both comforting and electrifying.

"Remember," he murmured, his hands ghosting over her arms to adjust her grip, "it's all in the follow-through."

His proximity was intoxicating, making it hard for Zuri to focus on anything but the heat of his body and the subtle scent of his cologne.

After a few more attempts, each accompanied by Aurélien's "hands-on" guidance, he finally stepped back with a satisfied nod.

"Alright, ma belle," he said, his signature smirk playing on his lips as he reached for a club. "Step aside and let me show you how an expert works."

Zuri moved out of the way, grateful for the chance to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. As Aurélien took his stance, she couldn't help but admire the fluid grace of his movements, the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt.

He glanced back at her, that cocky grin still in place. "Watch and learn, ZuZu."

As he swung, the ball arced perfectly through the air, landing squarely in one of the furthest targets. Aurélien turned back to her, eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

"Show off," Zuri teased, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the intensity of his gaze.

"Your turn," he said, holding out the club to her. "Let's see if my teaching methods stuck."

Zuri stepped up again to take her shot, she couldn't help but hope he'd offer some more of that hands-on instruction. This "getting to know you" date was quickly turning into something far more charged, and she found she didn't mind one bit.

Aurélien's cleats dug into the pristine turf of Ciudad Real Madrid Florentino Pérez as he ran drills with Camavinga. His body moved on autopilot, muscle memory taking over while his mind wandered back to last night at Topgolf.

Fuck, he thought, gritting his teeth as he remembered the feel of Zuri's body against his. What kind of masochist was he, putting himself through that torture? The memory of her warmth, the subtle scent of her perfume, the way she'd leaned into him… it had taken every ounce of his self-control not to do something stupid right there in the golf bay.

He'd spent half the night in a cold shower, desperately trying to cool off, only to be plagued by another vivid dream that left him aching and frustrated. Part of him argued that he shouldn't feel guilty - they were engaged, after all. But Aurélien didn't want his growing arousal to muddle the genuine feelings that were developing between them.

It hadn't all been sexual tension, though. He smiled, remembering their easy conversation, the way Zuri's laugh had made his chest tighten in the best way possible. It had been… nice. Really nice.

The shrill blast of Ancelotti's whistle cut through his thoughts, bringing practice to an abrupt halt.

"Tchouaméni!" the coach called out. "Communications department wants to see you."

A chorus of "Oooh" rose from his teammates, and Aurélien felt his stomach drop. Being summoned to Communications was like being sent to the headmaster's office - it usually meant you'd fucked up somehow. Had some compromising photos surfaced? But he hadn't been to any wild parties lately, hadn't done anything that could be considered scandalous.

With a resigned sigh, Aurélien jogged off the pitch, ignoring the curious glances from his teammates. As he made his way through the complex, his mind raced. What could they possibly want? He'd been careful, especially lately. Hell, his most risqué recent activity had been teaching his fiancée how to golf.

The walk to the Communications department felt longer than usual, each step heavy with apprehension. Whatever was waiting for him behind that door, Aurélien steeled himself to face it head-on. He just hoped it wouldn't derail the progress he'd been making with Zuri. After all, they had their families arriving soon, and the last thing he needed was some PR nightmare complicating things further.

Taking a deep breath, Aurélien knocked on the door, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He stepped into the Communications department, his heart racing as he saw his PR team seated around a table. The atmosphere was tense, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to drop.

"Aurélien, have a seat," his PR agent, Marco, said, gesturing to an empty chair.

As he sat down, Marco slid a glossy photo across the table. Aurélien's breath caught in his throat. It was him and Zuri from last night, caught in an intimate moment at Topgolf, his body pressed close to hers as he "helped" with her swing.

"The Daily Mail is releasing an article with these photos in about..." Marco glanced at his watch, "ten minutes."

Aurélien felt his sick to his stomsch. "Shit," he muttered.

The team quickly outlined their predicament. The original plan to introduce Zuri to the media was now shot to hell. The Communications team looked shocked when the arranged marriage was mentioned, but they quickly recovered.

"We suggest not revealing the engagement," one of them said. "For now, let's present this as a regular relationship. It'll keep the noise down."

Aurélien nodded, remembering all too well how crazy things could get when a footballer's love life became public. His last relationship had been a nightmare, the media frenzy ultimately contributing to its demise.

"Aurélien," Marco said, his voice serious, "you need to tell Zuri about this. Now."

Aurélien nodded, "I'll call her when I get home—"

"No," Marco cut him off, pointing at the clock. "The article drops in five minutes. She needs to know before then."

Aurélien sucked his teeth in frustration. "My phone's in my bag—"

Without a word, someone pushed a landline phone towards him.

"How do you know I even know her number by heart?" Aurélien protested weakly.

Marco smiled knowingly. "Because by the way you're looking at her in these photos, I know for a fact that you do."

Cursing under his breath in French, Aurélien dialed Zuri's number, praying she'd pick up. After three rings, her voice came through, sounding wary.

"Hello?"

"Hi, ma chérie," Aurélien said, acutely aware of the fond smiles his term of endearment was earning from the room.

"Aurél? Is everything okay?" Zuri's worry was palpable.

"Yeah, yeah, just some stuff..." he paused, wiping a hand down his face. "Zuzu, they found out about us."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "What do you mean, 'found out'?"

Aurélien took a deep breath. "There are photos, from last night. The Daily Mail is publishing them in a few minutes. I wanted you to hear it from me first."

He could almost hear Zuri processing this information. "Okay," she said slowly. "What does this mean? For us, I mean?"

Aurélien glanced at Marco, who nodded encouragingly. "For now, we're just going to say we're dating. Nothing about the... the arrangement. Is that okay?"

Another pause. "Yeah, that's... that's fine. Aurél?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for telling me."

Aurélien responded softly, "Of course, ZuZu. We're in this together, remember?" He hung up and headed back to practice, his mind racing.

Post-practice, Aurélien stood in the locker room, staring at his phone. The screen was lit up with notifications - Instagram, Twitter, missed calls from his parents. He felt a headache coming on.

Jude and Camavinga approached, concern etched on their faces. "Everything alright, mate?" Jude asked.

Aurélien gave them a brief rundown of the situation. Camavinga clapped him on the shoulder. "It'll blow over, man. Just stick together and weather the storm."

As he drove home, Aurélien tried calling Zuri again using the hands-free system. When it went to voicemail, he left a message: "Hey, ZuZu. I'm on my way home now. I know this is a lot to process, but we'll figure it out together, okay? See you soon."

Arriving home, Aurélien was greeted by an excited Zeus but no Zuri. "Merde," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Just then, his phone pinged with a notification - Zuri had posted on her Instagram story. He tapped it, realizing she must still be at the influencer event she'd mentioned earlier.

An hour later, Zuri finally walked through the door. Her face was a mix of emotions - worry, exhaustion, and something else Aurélien couldn't quite place.

"Hey," he said softly, approaching her. "You okay?"

Zuri nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged. "I don't know. It's... a lot."

They settled on the couch, talking through the events of the day. Aurélien explained what his PR team had said, and Zuri shared some of the reactions she'd seen online.

"It's weird," she admitted. "Suddenly everyone has an opinion."

Aurélien reached out, taking her hand. "Hey, what matters is what we think, okay? The rest is just noise."

They ordered Thai food for dinner and, in an attempt at normalcy, settled on the couch to watch "Emily in Paris" on Netflix. As Zuri curled into his side, Aurélien felt a strange mix of anxiety and contentment. Their world had shifted today, but at least they were facing it together.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Days after the news broke, Zuri found herself in a whirlwind of attention. Her phone buzzed constantly with notifications, her follower count skyrocketing overnight. The comments ranged from supportive to downright vicious:

"You two are so cute together! #CoupleGoals"

"Gold digger alert 🚨"

"Damn, Tchouaméni's got good taste 😍"

"She's not even that pretty. What does he see in her?"

Zuri was diligent about protecting her peace, not hesitating to block accounts that crossed the line. She refused to let strangers' opinions affect her mental health.

As she prepared for the Valladolid game at the Bernabéu, her first time attending a match there, Zuri felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Lila was in the Netherlands for the Dutch GP, leaving Zuri to navigate this new experience alone.

She dressed carefully - a simple white t-shirt under Aurélien's Real Madrid letterman jacket, his number prominently displayed. She'd added her own touch, applying silver glitter over his last name and number on the back. High-waisted jeans and Adidas Sambas completed the look.

For the first half, Zuri stayed in the VIP box, trying to calm her nerves. As halftime approached, she decided to venture out for some snacks. In the bustling concourse, she couldn't help but overhear whispers of "That's Tchoua's girl!" and feel the weight of curious glances. A lone security officer, undoubtedly arranged by Aurélien, shadowed her discreetly, ensuring her safety.

Armed with a plate of nachos and a newfound confidence, Zuri made her way closer to the pitch for the second half. Real Madrid was already dominating 2-0, and the atmosphere was electric.

The crowd's energy was infectious, and Zuri found herself swept up in it all. As the fans around her burst into a thunderous chant of "¡Hala Madrid y nada más!", Zuri clapped along, her phone out to capture the moment. The rhythmic stomping of feet and the sea of white jerseys created a spectacle she'd never experienced before.

When the final whistle blew, signaling a 3-0 victory for Real Madrid, the stadium erupted in jubilation.

As the players celebrated on the pitch, Aurélien's eyes scanned the crowd. When he spotted Zuri, his face lit up with a brilliant smile. Without hesitation, he jogged over, leaping up to pull himself over the barrier. In one fluid motion, he enveloped Zuri in a big hug, planting a kiss on her temple.

The crowd went wild, cameras flashing furiously to capture the moment. Zuri felt her cheeks warm, but she couldn't help the wide smile that spread across her face.

As Aurélien pulled back, his eyes were twinkling with joy and pride. He joined in with the fans, chanting "¡Hala Madrid!" with infectious enthusiasm. Leaning in close, he told her, "Meet me at the usual spot. We're going out to celebrate!"

Zuri nodded, still caught up in the excitement. As Aurélien jogged back to his teammates, she realized that this - the energy, the passion, the joy - was something she could definitely get used to.

Zuri made her way to the designated meeting spot, her heart still racing from the excitement of the game. When Aurélien appeared, freshly showered and dressed in a sleek tracksuit, her breath caught in her throat. He looked... incredible.

To her surprise, Aurélien reached for her hand as they walked out of the stadium together. Cameras clicked furiously, capturing them, while fans clamored for autographs. Aurélien signed a few, never letting go of Zuri's hand.

They ended up at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the aroma of authentic Madrid street food filling the air.

"You've got to try this," Aurélien said, offering Zuri a bite of his chorizo sandwich.

Zuri took a bite, her eyes widening in delight. "Oh my god, that's amazing."

They sat close on a bench, their laughter mingling with the bustling sounds of the city. As they shared their food, Zuri found herself picking up a piece of patatas bravas.

"Here, try this," she said, holding it up to Aurélien's mouth. He leaned in, taking the bite, his eyes never leaving hers. The intimate gesture felt surprisingly natural.

"Delicious," he murmured, his voice low.

And then, it happened. Aurélien leaned in, his full lips meeting hers in a kiss that made Zuri's world stop spinning. His lips were perfect, soft yet commanding as he took the lead. He nipped at her bottom lip, sending a shiver down her spine. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss of her entire life. When they finally broke apart, Zuri felt dizzy, craving more.

She gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, a look that didn't go unnoticed by Aurélien.

"Finish your food, ZuZu," he said, his voice low and husky. "You're not ready for all of that yet."

Zuri felt a surge of defiance, her bratty side coming out. "What makes you so certain about that?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow.

Aurélien's eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

The authoritative tone in his voice sent a thrill through Zuri, a mix of arousal and intrigue that she definitely wanted to examine. Instead of broaching the subject further, she focused on finishing her food, leaning into Aurélien as they relaxed in the Madrid night.

One thing was for certain — kissing her had quickly become his new favorite pastime.

As they lounged on the couch after a long day of preparing the house for their families' arrival that weekend, Aurélien pulled her closer, his lips finding hers with ease. Her body was soft and pliable against his, and the warmth of her skin made it impossible to think about anything else but how good she felt in his arms. The taste of her was intoxicating, and every kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second.

Aurélien’s hands caressed her back, tracing small patterns as Zuri melted into him. She kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, her fingers sliding through his hair, tugging slightly at the nape of his neck. It was these little moments, these shared intimacies, that made him forget about the whirlwind of events that had brought them together. Whatever was going on between them didn’t need a label right now — he was reaping the benefits, and damn if he didn’t love every second of it.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "You taste too good."

Zuri giggled softly, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed up at him. "You make it sound like I’m some kind of dessert."

Aurélien smirked, trailing kisses down her neck. "Maybe you are. I can’t get enough."

They had spent the entire day getting the house ready for their upcoming ceremonies. Both of them had fittings earlier for the traditional Cameroonian/Bamileke wear they'd be donning throughout the four days of ceremonies and dinners. From the Nkap Nkong (Knock on the Door) to the Famla Meeting, the Nkwa (Dowry Negotiation), La Dot (Bride Price Ceremony), and finally the Ntchounke (Traditional Engagement Ceremony) — it was going to be an intense weekend. But at the moment, all Aurélien could think about was how Zuri looked in her traditional attire during the fitting, regal and beautiful.

The weight of the upcoming events hung over them, but Aurélien felt surprisingly calm about it all. As long as Zuri was by his side, he could handle whatever came their way.

���We’ve got a lot to get through this weekend," he murmured against her skin, "but after that, I’ve got to head to Paris for camp with the national team. You should come with me.”

Zuri’s eyes lit up with excitement at the mention of Paris. "Really?" she asked, her voice full of enthusiasm. "I love Paris!"

Aurélien chuckled, leaning back to look at her. "Yeah? Then you better brush up on your French. No more pretending you can understand me."

Zuri playfully swatted his arm. "I understand more than you think."

"Is that right?" he teased, pulling her closer. "Then how about you prove it when we’re there?"

She grinned, but just as she pulled away, Aurélien’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her back into his lap.

"Stop being a tease, ma chérie," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with affection.

Zuri laughed, her cheeks flushing as she kissed him again, giving in to the moment. There were still so many things left undefined between them, but right now, that didn’t seem to matter. The connection they were building, day by day, was enough.

TO BE CONTINUED…..Read Chapter 6

[lesinquietes]

Bandit!All Smite is a hulking, muscular man. His biceps are the size of a human skull, and his physical force in combat is spoken of vastly across the land — he is wanted for murder, after all. Hearsay dictates that thick blonde tresses remain slicked back on his head at all times. He bears a sly grin that seldom falters. He can be identified from miles away, yet he’s confident he’ll never be caught. Factually, there isn’t a jailhouse in the country that can secure him. He’s been running rampant for decades.

When he isn’t spending time dodging the authorities he has a favourite bar. He doesn’t go there too often, but he steps in whenever he can. It’s a rundown little shithole, offering drinks that taste like piss and girls with smeared makeup. But it has something he’s had his evil eyes on for a while, now: a woman like you. He’s been lonely; to alleviate that ache, he’s willing to sacrifice a bit of hard earned cash and dignity.

You’re a harlot. He doesn’t know what circumstances brought this sorry life upon you, though it’s evident you’ve grown used to your profession. You do your work with a simper. Your pimp — the grimy bar owner — calls you and the rest of his flock ladies of the night. There are a host of rooms upstairs that customers can rent, provided they buy one of his fallen angels for the evening. Bandit!All Smite is happy to choose you every single time. The precise moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he was going to get hooked.

It’s good to see you, my beautiful girl… come here.

You’re incredibly obedient. He asks you to take everything slow. When you open your mouth wide, to pop the shell of his cock past your glossy lips, you do so at a gradual pace. It makes him harder when he finally feels your soft tongue against his shaft, hugging him with a passion that’s rooted in financial gain. He tips extra if you cause him to bust a nut more than three times in a night. You don’t fail to earn your dollars.

For months, he keeps biweekly contact with you. Nothing much changes, save for the pining in his chest when you’re absent. It’s strange; you’re nothing more than a whore, and still, he finds himself wanting you all to himself. He denies his attachment. He denies, and denies, and denies; until finally, his possessiveness is exemplified when he enters your establishment and asks for you. Your pimp says you’re entertaining another man. Worse yet, it’s the fucking sheriff. He laughs humorlessly.

You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you, too.

He kicks in the door of your bedroom and catches you, about to strip for the bastard waiting on your soiled mattress. Your bra is already in a mess at your heeled feet. The villain grits his teeth, ruled by a vicious form of jealousy. He doesn’t waste a second. He draws his pistol and shoots. The bullet makes contact with the officer’s forehead, puncturing through his brain. Blood covers your face and torso. A scream rips from your throat, as he yanks you into his grasp and flings you over his shoulder. You’re kicking and crying and cursing at him to let you go. He snickers in retort. You’re adorable when you’re upset. He’ll let your tantrum run its course for the time being. He knows how uncomfortable it is to be filthy with blood. He’ll ensure he gets you back to his hideout so you can shower, pronto.

Shhh… quiet down, sweetheart.

The other girls — your former colleagues — scurry around and stumble out of his path. No one tries to stop him from leaving the bar. Your pimp cowers in horror behind the counter, peeping over the taps to get a glimpse of the villain making off with one of his money makers. You were the hidden treasure of this cesspool of dirt. Bandit!All Smite is glad he found you before someone else could taint you.

He pats your bare ass as he carries you towards his horse. All you’re wearing is a skimpy bra and thong. He mounts the steed with some effort, keeping your exhausted figure secure. With a devious smirk, he shifts your panties to the side and dips two of his meaty fingers into your damp hole. You gasp and wriggle, complaining about his intrusion. Ah, pretending you’re scared of him when you’re truly wet and aroused — that’s a silly game he won’t tolerate from a grown woman.

He keeps his digits screwed inside you as he embarks on the lengthy excursion to his hideout. Every jerk and bump of the horse causes his fingers to rub and caress parts of you that make your cunt pulse. Your eyes roll back. This probably has something to do with that aphrodisiac your pimp slipped into your water this morning, in prep for a busy day of clients. He only told you afterwards, when you had no say in the matter; now, his exploitation is coming to back bite you. Regardless of the source of your arousal, it makes Bandit!All Smite pleased with the image of slamming you down on his bed and claiming you once and for all. His grin — dark and sinister in the twisted throes of his lust — noticeably widens.

Next l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Judge Turpin

Buckle in, Rickmaniacs. This one was an experience to write. Trying to go appropriately dark side for this character with my own observations for him. A little plot for this one. In this, Reader is the Judge's wife.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

At first terrible. But as his affection for you grew, so did his care. In his eyes you're not just a conquest, you're his wife. He did swear to care for and protect you, and that includes taking care of you after he's thoroughly wrecked you.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. He likes what he knows he's capable of with them.

On you, he likes your inner thighs. The soft, inviting path to his prize.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside you, on your breasts, your face, he loves to debauch you and make a mess of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t have dirty secrets. What he wants, he does.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very. He's had a lot of conquests and that library of his is a complete guide to smut.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes all sorts of creative positions. But there is something to be said for simple missionary. Having you pinned beneath his large body, completely at his mercy and under his control.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is not a light-hearted man. He's very intense and focused.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn't bother. Most days he doesn't even shave his beard, but you actually quite enjoy his stubble.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You would not call him a romantic person. But he loves you in his own way and you know that. Calling you things like his "sweet, pretty whore" and treading a fine balance between treating you like a vessel for his lust and his precious little wife.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He'd rather have you do it for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Purity and corruption kink. He loves the idea of turning a sweet, innocent maiden into his wanton, begging harlot. Of course, after some time with him, you're far from innocent, but you know how to play the game still. Bondage and discipline. He really likes shabari, the ways he can tie you up and put you on display for him, and the marks the ropes leave across your body when he unties you. He has rules and how he expects you to behave. If you break these, he takes great pleasure in punishing you. Spankings with his hand, hairbrush or cane, denying or forcing your climax. He wants you to beg for his mercy but he’ll only give it when he feels you’ve earned it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere the mood strikes. Any room in his house, his judges chambers at the courthouse, in a carriage. One time you took a train journey with him, alone in a train compartment for hours. That was a memorable afternoon.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Watching you orgasm. Seeing you take pleasure in his touch is a heady feeling and he feels addicted to the way you respond to him. He likes to lay you out on the bed naked and make you cum with his fingers, just so he can watch you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Ha! Nothing turns this man off. But while he will push your boundaries and even cross lines at times, you are special to him. He'll push you to your emotional limits, but he'll also make sure you're put back together again afterwards.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Most of the time, he's receiving. He loves having you on your knees in front of him. But if he's in a generous mood, he will go down on you. He'll use this to keep you on edge till your crying and begging for release though.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and rough. He takes his time, pulling back slowly and thrusting hard. He wants to make sure you feel every bit of him before he pounds you so hard the headboard hits the wall.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers when he can take his time, but when he wants to get under your skirt, he will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He loves putting into practice what he's read in those books. If an idea intreuges him, he'll want to try it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Three rounds, with some recovery time. He's not the youngest man, but his stamina is still high.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No. The only real sex toys around are dildos, and with his posesivness, he doesn't want anything inside you except him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on his mood. Sometimes he’ll just have you without bothering with foreplay. Sometimes he’ll tease you until you’re crying with frustration and begging him to give you release.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

On the quieter side, heavy breathing, grunts and dirt talk.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

As long as he’s getting what he wants, he can be very attentive. When he’s refused or defied is when his dark side really comes out. As long as you’re being his good girl, he can be very indulgent and affectionate with you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Eight inches and pretty thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. This man is walking lust.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After he's tended to you, he can fall asleep pretty quickly, well worn out.

[moirindeclermont]

Day 15 of my Polin Kinktober and today the prompts are predator/prey and degradation 😈

As a disclaimer, this is all in a frame of a consensual couple playing with power dynamics. Also, the use of harlot and such as a dispregiative is just an indication of the time period, and not an actual author opinion on sex workers (author's opinion is that sex work is work).

Please advice caution if these types of dynamics make you squint. Also putting a cut so you can decide if you want to read it or not.

To all the other devils... Have fun!!

Pen can't deny the thrill going through her as she tries (not very convincing) to run through the labyrinth that is Aubrey Hall's garden. She knows it's just a game with Colin... To see if he can catch her, but it feels very real when he looks at her like she is his next meal.

She might have teased him throughout the ball. The maskerade ball in which they decided to show up divided, each with a new fake name, and in which Colin will chase her to bring her to his room in the residence.

The fact they went unnoticed by all their families is astonished, to be honest, but they told them they could not make it in advance, while the only one who knew and helped them was Benedict.

She had a dress that had a very low neckline. Not so much to be considered improper, but neither traditional. The key modification was that she didn't need to have a stay on, which meant Colin would not have to go through layers and layers.

She danced with a few gentlemen, noticing how Colin was looking at her. Then, she went out into the garden and he was beside her. Just a word was whispered in her ear: "run."

She gasped, as of she was surprised to find him there, and then started to run (well, walking at a high speed). Her breath was uneven and when she looked behind her there was no one following her. She stopped, asking herself where Colin was, only to turn again and finding him right in front of her.

She tries to take step back but his hands, rough and demanding, were already capturing her wrists.

"Nah nah nah, pretty girl, you can't run again," he said, pushing her against a nearby tree, slotting a leg in between hers. His entire body against her.

"Good sir, leave me please," she tried to free herself but his hands were unmovable.

"I don't think so. I have no intention of letting you go."

She gasped at that.

"You- you are a rake!"

He smirked at that, forcing her legs to open.

Pen was starting to get wet. No matter how many times they played this, it was like the first.

"I might be a rake... But you're the one looking at me while you dance with other men. Some might even say you're a harlot."

"Excuse me! I'm a well bred lady" she answered, faking indignation.

"Are you?" He transfered her wrists in one hand, the other groping her breasts roughly, before lifting her skirts up. His hand palmed her mound, a finger immediately started to play with her core.

She couldn't help but moan.

"A lady... Never seen a lady being this wet. No, you're an harlot. And I shall take you like one."

He made her turn against the tree, her backside now exposed to the air as he pulled himself out.

He checked in with her to make sure she was still on board before pushing in, roughly. The slightly burn and stretch made her pleasure bigger, even if she was rebelling outside.

"Well breed lady my arse. How many gentlemen's did you take tonight?"

"None," she tired to say but she did gasp in reality as his hand went to her dress, giving it a strong pull that separates the fabric, exposing her bosom. He grasped her, almost painfully so, as he pushed with a rhythm that made her see stars.

He released into her, before giving her a slap on her derriere.

"No more gentlemen for you tonight," he said, before taking her wrists and making her follow him.

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

"I'm naked.."

"Since so many already enjoyed you it won't be a problem"

He took her through a narrow path. No one saw them as it was path know only to the three brothers. Then, they were in his room in a matter of minutes.

He pulled her inside and disrobe her completely, before doing the same.

"Sir, please."

"You can't hide, little one. You can't shout."

Then he thought about that. "Actually, please, do shout, as I fuck you again and again"

Colin was over her in a second, flipping her so she was on her hands and knees. He went again inside her, making her moan loudly.

"Such a wanton harlot I've found," he said, salppong her as he pushed.

She didn't know why, but having him, always so gentle and caring, being so aggressive and powerful, calling her names, did something to her.

She matched his pushes, and heard him laughing darkly. He stop pushing when he felt her almost come.

"If you're a well bred lady like you said, just leave," she shook her head.

"Say it. Say you're a nasty, wanton, little slut and I'll give it to you."

He flipped her again, so now she was with her legs open and his cock just near herteasing her mercilessly.

"Say it!"

"I'm... I'm a nasty, wanton, little slut," she almost shouted as he took her again, pounding until she was coming hard on him, his release following.

They looked at each other, and he caressed her cheek tenderly. The change was instantly. It was back to her loving and doting husband.

"Too much?"

She shook her head.

"I liked it. Like a lot."

They kissed and Colin attended to her like always. That night she asked him if he wanted to do the same but with him as the prey, and he said he could not wait. The perfect husband indeed.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Epilogue

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13k

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

Read on ao3 here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s been a year now, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, you win,” you admit reluctantly.

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

“What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never,” you cut him off.

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

“I understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “But what about you?”

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

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

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

“You can stop whenever you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much, too good,” you slur out. 

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

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

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

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

“Celebrate what?”

“Our anniversary.”

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

You giggle. “What about a kiss?”

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

—-----------------

FOUR YEARS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your reflection grins back at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It just came to me.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, but now I can finally do this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bows elegantly and extends his hand out.

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

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

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

They both laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ancunin palace,” you correct him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, really?” Astarion raises his eyebrows. 

“Some might. But not me.”

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

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

“And I’m lucky that I found mine.” 

The smile he gives you is radiant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gods, your mouth,” Astarion groans. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes fall closed as you let yourself drown in the soft strokes of Astarion’s fingers along your folds. It feels like you might very well burn alive.

Astarion’s other hand gently weaves through your hair. You’re sure the rubies that Shadowheart spent hours weaving into your hair have long since been scattered across the floor. You can’t bring yourself to even begin to care. 

“Answer me when I speak to you, pet,” he commands in that wonderful low voice. 

It’s accompanied by a sharp tug on the roots of your hair that have you offering up your neck to Astarion. His mouth dips down to suck at your throat and you mewl in delight when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. 

“You know I love your cock,” you tell him. 

You’d add how much you love the rest of him, too, but that doesn’t seem to fit the mood right now. No, you’d save that for later tonight while you rode him, forbidding his hands from roaming your body. With his hands tightly gripping the sheets, you would shower him in praise and be those lovely, pathetic whimpers he made as he fought to keep his hands off you. 

Astarion hums, tilting your chin up to press another deep, slow kiss to your lips. “And you know I adore your mouth.”

His hand keeps moving in maddening, feather-light patterns along your cunt, occasionally moving up to brush against your clit before his fingers are darting away again. It seems Astarion has not finished having his fun with you tonight. 

He speaks against your lips, “You look so pretty on your knees for me. I’d keep you there forever, pet, but I think I’d grow tired of not being able to properly kiss you.”

And if anyone else said that line, you’d be rolling your eyes and grimacing about how corny it was. But this is Astarion and he commits and says it in the low, hungry voice that has your toes curling and heat pooling in your cunt.

His mouth is hovering just centimeters away from yours. You can feel each panting breath on your lips. You move forward to kiss him, but Astarion tugs on your hair again, keeping you just a hair's breadth away from what you want. 

Trying to outsmart Astarion, you use your free arm that is not holding your skirts to pull him down by his cravat and seal his lips against yours. He actually seems rather glad that you managed to work around his grip in your hair as he hums happily into the kiss. 

And either Astarion is extra observant tonight or you’re just being extra obvious about the way you chase after the taste of blood in his mouth.  

“She tasted divine,” Astarion says, his thumb making a slow circle around your clit before it’s gone again. “But I doubt you want to hear about that, do you, pet? No, I think you’d much rather hear about how she paled in comparison to you.��

He dips just the tip of one of his fingers inside you before pulling it out again almost immediately.

“She was nothing. They’re all nothing,” Astarion hisses. Gods, how did that even manage to sound attractive coming from him? “No one else has ever made me feel as good as you.”

For a moment, his pure, unadulterated love breaks through on his face and your chest burns with love- you know how devoted he is to you, you know how much he adores you. 

For a moment, it is just the two of you in a little bubble of love. And then Astarion finally, mercifully pushes a finger into you, working it in and out so agonizingly slow. You whimper and Astarion smiles wickedly down at you. 

“They all bow to us, you know?” Astarion asks, knowing you are in no state to answer. “They bow to me. To you.”

You pull his lips down to yours again and slip your tongue in his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing- he knows this line of speaking always works you into a state of frenzy. And you know that arrogant side of him enjoys the sound of his voice just as much as you do. 

It had been so easy, too, to work the nobles onto your side, to start poisoning their minds with your and Astarion’s ideas. A few carefully placed smiles, a few favors promised and repaid, a few veiled threats. The two of you worked together so easily- Astarion charmed and you schemed. 

Astarion chuckles, slipping another finger into you and curling them in a way that makes you unsteady on your feet. He seems perfectly content to keep his other hand threaded in your hair, delivering your mouth to his whenever he wants a kiss. 

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you, pet? You like thinking about them on their knees for you, just like you were for me a few moments ago.” The heel of his palm brushes against your clit. “Do you want to hear more? Do you want to hear about how even the sun herself bows her head in deference to your light and beauty? About how even I bow down to you, surrendering myself to you in worship?”

“Show me, then,” you pant out, pulling on the back of his neck to press his forehead against yours. “Show me how you intend to worship me.”

That has Astarion cursing under his breath and reaching down to give his cock a few pumps before he’s pushing into you, already hard again. 

The fullness and the stretch of him finally inside you soothes the ache that had been plaguing you all night. And when he moves, you can’t help the barrage of moans and gasps that fall from your lips.

“Quiet, little flower. We don’t want everyone to hear, do we?” Astarion asks, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. They’re still wet with your arousal and you follow his silent cue, sucking them into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs and it sends a spark straight to your cunt. You feel yourself tighten around his cock and Astarion groans in response, his hips thrusting into you with even more desperation. 

The thought of who’s the one being loud now? passes through your mind as Astarion groans and tells you how good you feel. And then, because deep down, you’re a little bit vindictive, you let one of your fangs scratch along the skin of Astarion’s fingers in your mouth. You greedily lick up the blood, enjoying the way it mixes with the taste of your wetness on your tongue. 

What was it that Astarion always called the combination of your blood and your cunt? The nectar of the gods? He might be onto something there. 

Astarion’s eyes lock in on you with a single-minded focus before he’s wrenching his fingers from your mouth, capturing your lips with his own. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, lapping up the blood until your wound closes.

“I love you,” you whisper when he pulls away.

His cock pulses inside you and his hips stutter a bit before he can recover his rhythm. You would never get tired of that- of reminding Astarion of how deeply you loved him and watching how he never failed to viscerally react to those words. 

“Love you, too,” Astarion says, pressing a peck to your cheek. You can feel him smiling against your skin. It’s a total contradiction to the obscene way his cock drives into you.

You grab Astarion’s hand from where it had been gently cupping your face and drag it down between your bodies. 

“Need your hands.”

“I know just what you need,” he assures as his magical fingers begin circling your clit. 

There’s that lovely heat building low in your stomach, rising into a great inferno that surrounds you. And with Astarion’s whispered promises of how he loves you, how good you feel, how you shine brighter than the sun, you come. 

Astarion fucks you through your orgasm before his fingers fall away from your sensitive clit and his hips continue to drive into you as he chases after his own high.

“Come for me,” you tell him, half a command and half a begged request. “Want to feel you inside me.”

Astarion’s forehead rests against yours as he comes.

He keeps you pressed to the wall with the full weight of his body for a few moments longer as the two of you fight to steady your breathing. 

Frankly, it’s a miracle that you managed to hold up your dress the whole time. You had been so worried about damaging the lovely needlework that Astarion had spent so long embroidering that you had kept the fabric clenched to your stomach in an iron-vice the whole time. 

Astarion ensures you are steady on your feet before he shuffles around the closet in search of a rag to wipe between your legs. He finds one and helps you to clean up before throwing it in a bucket with the other dirty rags. You finally release your skirts and flex the muscles in your aching arm as you lean back against the wall, grabbing Astarion’s wrist to pull him back toward you. 

“I love you.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he pulls you into a hug. “I love you, too, now and forever.”

“‘Til death do us part,” you tease, because the idea of death to a vampire seems nothing more than a joke. 

Astarion laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And even after then.”

----------------------

Notes:

Me? Ending a fic on the title? It's almost like I planned that from the beginning... This chapter could alternatively be called 'I let Astarion have a delusions of grandeur as a treat for working on himself.' He's still the Astarion we know and love and of course he's still a little bit evil, but now he's got a wife to help him channel all that energy in healthier ways!

Wow, I can't believe this story is over and this is my final note. I'm getting a bit teary eyed as I write this. Know that I will never be able to fully express my appreciation to everyone who has read/liked/commented on this story. This whole experience has been so much more fun that I ever could have imagined and I have all of you to thank for that!!!

As always, hugest thank you to my beta-writer (and real life friend) AliensNSuch on ao3. She has put up with my insane text rants about obscure details and she has logged many, many hours editing this thing and hyping me up over the parts I hate. I owe her a lifetime of boba for her service!

I've also got some plans for a new fic that I'm gonna start. I'll have a follow up post on my blog talking about my plans if anyone is interested in that. I'm not quite done with Astarion yet!

Thanks again. I love you all!

Taglist: @ayselluna@idkbrodontaskme@maruichio@fanfic-share@the-littlest-bruja@asterordinary@divineknightmare@fandomarchiveilyd