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incognit0slut · 3 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (Epilogue)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Series Masterlist Part Summary: The couple finally finds the happiness they both deserve. Part Warnings: nothing really just implied smut, fluff, and happily ever after

Author's note at the end!

...One year later...

"WE NEED TO LEAVE."

The urgency in his voice carried a subtle tone of exasperation as the words softly left his lips. The urgency wasn't overtly pronounced, but it lingered in the air, urging her to quicken her pace. She focused her attention on the bathroom mirror, hastily slipping into the dress chosen for the occasion of the night.

"Give me five more minutes!"

"We're already five minutes late!"

"And whose fault is that?" she retorted, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

She could almost imagine the incredulous expression on his face from the other room as he responded, "Mine? Really?"

"Who insisted on spending this afternoon watching a documentary about the wonders of deep-sea exploration?" she teased.

"In my defense, it was fascinating," was his immediate reply. "Did you know there are creatures down there that look like they're from another planet?"

"I know, Spencer, we watched it together, remember?"

"You fell asleep halfway through it."

"Well, in my defense—" She paused, struggling with the zipper of her dress. "You were really warm."

His laughter resonated from the other room. "So it's my fault you're taking forever to get ready now?"

"Absolutely, it's a cause-and-effect scenario," she replied, her arms stretching behind her in an attempt to reach the stubborn zipper. A sudden strain and a high-pitched groan escaped her lips. "Ouch!"

His concerned footsteps approached and he appeared at the bathroom doorway. "What's wrong?"

She winced, rubbing the sore spot on her back. "I strained my muscles trying to zip up this dress."

He raised an eyebrow. "Need a hand?"

She shot him a mock glare. "Are you insinuating I can't handle a zipper?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Of course not. But if we want to make it to Rossi's place on time, maybe a little help won't hurt."

She glanced at him from the mirror as his gaze lingered on her dress, tracing the contours that hugged her figure. She noticed the subtle appreciation in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the effect the outfit had on him. A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she sighed in mock defeat.

"Fine, but no funny business."

He slowly approached her, gently taking the zipper in his fingers. "No funny business."

She felt his presence as he settled behind her, the air carrying a subtle warmth that seemed to dance across her skin. Instead of immediately tending to the zipper, his fingers, gentle and deliberate, traced a tantalizing path along the exposed skin of her back. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and for a brief moment, time seemed to slow.

"Spence," she breathed out, the name carrying a subtle plea for him to continue or to stop—she wasn't entirely sure which.

"Hmm?"

"I thought we were late."

He smiled, the corners of his lips lifting in a playful yet knowing expression. He held her gaze as he leaned closer to her, brushing a feather-like kiss on her shoulder.

"I believe we can spare a few more minutes," he replied, the timbre of his voice holding a warmth that echoed through the space between them.

She couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "And what, may I ask, do you plan to do with these 'few more minutes'?"

His lips lingered on her shoulder for a moment longer before he pulled back, still maintaining their proximity. "Well, I was thinking of using them to properly appreciate how beautiful you look tonight."

Her cheeks flushed with a combination of flattery and playful embarrassment. "Very smooth."

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin as he spoke, and a teasing glint sparkled in his eyes. "After all, punctuality can sometimes be overrated, don't you think?"

She chuckled. "Coming from someone who likes to be punctual."

"Maybe I've learned a thing or two from you." His fingers traced a gentle pattern on her exposed back, and he murmured, "Besides, Rossi wouldn't mind. We have more important matters to attend to."

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "And what might that be, Dr. Reid?"

He pushed the strap of her dress down her shoulder, his touch gentle yet filled with a subtle urgency. His fingers traced a delicate path along her skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

"You," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

As his lips met the exposed curve of her shoulder, a soft sigh escaped her. "Baby... are you really trying to have sex right now?"

"Why wait when the opportunity presents itself?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his sudden change of mind. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, a boyish charm lighting up his features. "Guilty as charged."

Before she could respond, he dipped his head and sucked on a spot right below her ear. She breathed out a moan and leaned back into him, giving him better access. When she felt him tug down her dress impatiently, her rational thoughts flew out the window.

"Fine," she agreed, letting her dress fall around her feet. "But make it quick."

As if to answer her challenge, he scooped her up in his arms with unexpected strength. Her laughter mixed with a surprised gasp as he carried her towards the bedroom, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. Quick was a concept they never quite understood when it came to their sexual needs, but maybe they could entertain the idea, starting from now.

They were an hour late.

Fifty-six minutes, according to Spencer, because apparently, he measured the exact time it took for them to arrive at Rossi's house.

Although calling his place a house seemed like a mockery considering how big the property was. It was more like a mansion, and even when Spencer had taken her here a few times ever since the early stages of their relationship, Rossi's place never seemed to seize her amazement.

The host of the night didn't even bat an eyelash when they arrived, he didn't mind their tardiness. The other team members, however, couldn't resist making comments about the couple's late arrival, and the teasing became even more persistent when the girls cornered her at one point in the night.

Penelope raised an eyebrow with an impish grin. "What took you two so long?"

She wasn't sure how to answer the question. Should she just be honest and tell her she was being fucked in different positions? Penelope didn't seem to be the type to judge, granted, the first time she was introduced to her, the perky blonde woman didn't have much filter on her mouth to begin with. But she also didn't want to discuss her sex life with her boyfriend's colleagues.

She contemplated her response, weighing the balance between honesty and maintaining privacy. Penelope's inquisitive gaze lingered, and she decided on a response that offered some truth without delving into the details.

"We lost track of time," she replied instead, keeping it intentionally vague.

Emily leaned in, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is that so?"

She laughed, her cheeks flushing even more. "It's not what you think."

JJ joined in the teasing, "Well, someone is glowing tonight. I hope you at least have a good excuse for being fashionably late."

"Actually, we were discussing the intricacies of deep-sea exploration."

The girls exchanged amused glances, and Penelope quirked an eyebrow. "Deep-sea exploration, huh? Is that the code for something?"

She laughed. "It's about a documentary."

They exchanged a knowing look, clearly unconvinced by her vague explanation. Despite the embarrassment, she couldn't deny the warmth that spread within her. It was a strange yet comforting feeling, knowing that they had something special that others could only speculate about. When Penelope and Emily left to refill their drinks, JJ leaned in closer to her.

"We're sorry," she insisted. "Spencer never had a serious relationship before, we couldn't stop teasing."

She smiled appreciatively at JJ's sincerity. "No harm done. I understand it comes with the territory, especially with Spencer."

JJ smiled, her expression softening. "Just wanted to make sure you're okay with it."

"I can handle a bit of teasing. Besides, it's all in good fun, right?"

JJ nodded, a friendly smile on her face. "Absolutely. He's a great guy, and we're just happy to see him happy."

She followed JJ's gaze, watching Spencer engage with the kids. His eyes lit up with childlike excitement as he performed a silly magic trick, and the children erupted into giggles. The older child, who initially seemed to act as if he was at a big boy age, now wore a huge grin and eagerly urged Spencer to perform another trick.

She couldn't help but smile as she witnessed his effortless connection with them. It was a sight that made her heart swell with affection. A year ago, she could only dream of such moments. The happiness that Spencer brought into her life was beyond her wildest expectations. Not only was she in a happy and steady relationship, she was welcomed into his world.

The memory of visiting Spencer's mother, a year prior, resonated in her thoughts. Witnessing his patience and tenderness with his mom had moved her to tears. It was a moment that spoke volumes about the depth of their connection and the kindness embedded in his character.

Now, a year later, even when she had interacted with his teammates before, she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude. Their presence made her feel as if she was embraced as an additional family member to this tight-knit group. The realization touched her deeply, and her eyes lingered on Spencer with so much affection, reaching a point where her heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting.

"He's really good with kids," JJ suddenly said, bringing her back to reality.

She smiled, a warm feeling coursing through her. "Yeah, he is. It's amazing to watch."

JJ nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Have you ever thought of having your own?"

The question hung in the air, and she took a moment to consider it. The idea of starting a family with Spencer had crossed her mind, but discussing it with someone else made it feel more tangible, more real. She took a moment, her gaze drifting back to Spencer, still enchanting the kids with his magic tricks.

"I... I think about it sometimes," she admitted, her voice soft.

JJ's smile widened, and there was a glint of genuine happiness in her eyes. "You two would make wonderful parents."

The compliment warmed her heart. The thought of a family with Spencer, navigating the joys and challenges of parenthood together, painted a vivid and hopeful picture in her mind. Yet, it was also a conversation they hadn't explicitly delved into.

She looked back at Spencer, his laughter mingling with the children's joy, creating a symphony of happiness. The idea of sharing these moments with their own children felt like a dream she hadn't dared to fully embrace. His gaze suddenly met hers and he waved in response.

JJ leaned in, her voice softer. "Whenever you're ready for it, just know you have a whole team here ready to support you both."

A mix of emotions swirled within her. Spencer, seemingly sensing her emotional state, excused himself from the impromptu magic show and approached them.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

JJ gave her a knowing look before patting Spencer on the back. "Just sharing some girl talk, don't worry."

He quirked an eyebrow but didn't press further. JJ slowly excused herself and now that they were alone again, he pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She leaned into his comforting embrace, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, I'm more than okay." Her eyes then trailed over to JJ and her kids again. "They seem to adore you."

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "Well, I adore them too."

A comfortable silence settled between them. She wasn't sure it was the right moment to have this discussion, but she found herself voicing her curiosity, even when her heart was beating fast. "Have you ever thought of... having kids?"

Spencer's gaze softened as he considered the question and she waited with bated breath for his reply.

"I used to, but then I've always been focused on my work and solving cases." He paused, his fingers gently tracing circles on her back. "Although lately, I find myself thinking about it more, especially with you."

She let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. "With me?"

"Who else would I be thinking of having a family with?"

She couldn't help but smile at his response, a warmth blooming in her chest. "Fair point."

His thumb continued its gentle movements on her back. "The idea of creating a home together, it—” he let out a sigh. “It sounds like a dream."

Her heart skipped a beat. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "It really does."

They stood there, wrapped in the warmth of shared dreams and the quiet excitement of the future. But then her smile faltered, a subtle cloud of worry casting a shadow on her face. Spencer sensed the shift and gently tugged her. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes reflected a hint of concern. "I... I haven't had my period this month."

His own brows furrowed as he performed a quick calculation in his head. "Of course, you haven't, you're due—" his words trailed off as his gaze met hers. "...two weeks ago."

She wasn't sure which one was more surprising—his knowledge of her menstrual cycle or the fact that she was two weeks late. The weight of the situation settled in, and just as anxiety started to swell within her, Spencer's face transformed into a wide grin.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "Spence—I... what if...?"

His grin widened, eyes filled with a mix of excitement and joy. "What if we're going to be parents?"

She threw him a ludicrous look. "How are you not panicking?"

He laughed. "Didn't we discuss how great it would be to start a family?"

"Well, sure, somewhere in the future, not now."

He led her away from the festive atmosphere surrounding them to a quieter area out on the back porch. When they were finally alone, he stood in front of her, making sure his body was shielding her distraught face.

"Hey," he said gently, cupping her face in his hands, "This could be a wonderful surprise. We just talked about it, right?"

She nodded, but uncertainty still lingered in her eyes. "Yeah, but it's so sudden. I didn't expect it to happen a minute later after we discussed it. What if we're not ready? What if—"

"No one is ever fully ready for a significant change, but we have each other, and we'll figure it out,” he cut in, his thumbs caressing her cheeks.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "But... w-what if I'm not a good mom?"

His gaze softened, and he cradled her face in his hands. "Are you kidding? You'll be an amazing mom. I've seen the kindness, strength, and love in you. Those are the qualities that make a great parent."

Her heart swelled at his words. She sniffled, a small smile breaking through. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he affirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

A sense of calm washed over her as she absorbed his words, holding him closer. It was scary, yet nothing was certain yet, and there was no use in her worrying. He gently wiped away a tear she wasn't even aware of.

"We'll take it one step at a time. And no matter what happens, we have each other and a lot of people who care about us."

Her eyes traveled towards the group of people behind the glass window. The same people who had saved her life, the people who took care of her, the people who embraced her with open arms.

She slowly nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—fear, excitement, and so much affection. "Okay," she whispered.

"You know I love you, right?"

She softly smiled, a tender warmth enveloping her. Her thoughts traveled to the first time he confessed his love for her, remembering how flustered and embarrassed he had been. Now, those three words came effortlessly, carrying a depth that only time and shared experiences could carve.

"I do," she whispered, her gaze lingering on him. "And I love you too."

He smiled affectionately. "We'll get a test pack on the way home."

He then brushed a strand of hair away from her face and leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The irony of her initial thoughts about how wrong it was to be involved with him crossed her mind. The circumstances that once cast shadows of guilt over her feelings now seemed to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense that everything was right.

Their bodies melded together seamlessly, and the way his lips brushed over hers felt nothing short of perfect. She couldn't help but feel that what initially seemed like the wrong path had led them to this moment. It was the right kind of wrong—a beautiful contradiction that had crossed their lives together in ways they could have never predicted.

And the two lines greeting them later that night were evidence of how right everything was going to be.

Author's note

When I started this series, my goal was to give him the happy ending he deserves and a proper love interest. One that had a back story, one that clearly didn’t die, and one that would make him a dad! I wanted to portray a story as if you were watching a Spencer-centric plot on the show. (Although with the amount of smut here, I doubt it could be aired)

And with that being said, I apologize for any inaccuracy of the crime/mystery plot. Although it's not perfect, I'm pretty happy with how this turned out throughout the eight months this story went on. Yep, EIGHT MONTHS. This was my very first post on this blog and I'm deeply attached to it.

So thank you for reading, commenting, sharing, interacting, and just accepting me and my ideas. It's also safe to say that I won't be writing another series in the near future, but I will still be posting other things.

Again, thank you so much. I love each and every one of you💕

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morwap · 11 months

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𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍.

regulus black x fem!reader x evan rosier

smut

nav • r.a.b m.list • e.r m.list • poly!revan

sub!regulus, dom!evan, switch!reader, threesome, evan and reg are in the same year as the marauders, praise and degrading, oral m! & f!receiving, p in v, unprotected sex,

───────✧ 𓆩♡𓆪 ✧───────

evan rosier and regulus black.

the two names that have seemed to never leave your brain since the beginning of 8th year. two people you were never supposed to get involved with nor did you think youd ever even talk to without it being harsh words or hex’s but here you were having feelings for and relations with them.

evans dirty blonde curls and regulus’ grey eyes never seemed to leave your mind just like your frame and scent never left theirs, but at least they could express their feelings and needs with each other and you were stuck with inner monologues and your hand to satisfy yourself til the right time came.

one thing you all had in common was your friends hating the other person. evan had gotten more irritable and his patience was wearing thin when Mulciber or barty talked about you and regulus had to stop evan from lashing out at them and starting something that would be hell to finish, it was almost the same with your friends, james’ passive aggressive comments about regulus made you want to put him in his place but you refrained and remus and peter’s comments on evan made your blood boil as they talked shit about something they actually had no idea about.

sirius was a big factor, you knew hed be hurt if he found out you were fucking his brother and his brothers best friend behind his back but you never meant to get tangled up in regulus’ and evans web. the more you thought about it a lot of your friends would be disappointed so maybe that should’ve told you to cut it off after the first time but it was like a drug, the more you tried to stay away the more your want and need for it grew and eventually you gave in.

your bracelet vibrated once more, it was a gift from both of them to help make communicating better.

the three of you finally met up in the prefect bathroom durning dinner one night, regulus happily told you that him and evan were staying an extra day before going home for the break and that you should try so you all could spend time together before leaving.

and now here you were, almost everyone was gone for winter break and you were one of the few gryffindors left but there was just one problem, remus, remus fucking lupin had also decided to stay an extra day because he had been helping ms pince in the library. knowing remus he had the map, and would defiantly check it he if thought you were acting weird.

watching remus from your seat next to the fire, waiting for him to say he was gonna nap or walk around or go to the library, hoping and praying that he would say something like that so you could leave and get to evan and regulus’ dorm as fast as you could. your bracelet buzzed against your skin once more, you already knew which one was trying to give you the green light as to come to them.

normally it was evan, who only buzzed it once and then a second time if you were really really late; but today it was regulus, the constant buzzing at random times indicated that. you’d tease him about it since it seemed as if he couldn’t wait, you could imagine him mumbling the spell on the bracelet they had and waiting for you to show up at the speed of light and then doing it over and over when you were taking your time to get there.

jumping a little when remus coughed and got up and stretched. “i gotta go to the library, wanna meet up and walk to dinner together later?” remus asked, grabbing his wand and book then fixing his shirt while waiting for you to answer.

you nodded, “yeah ill come up to the library so you dont have to walk all the way over to get me” you said and smiled at him. remus nodded and left the common room.

muttering the spell towards the bracelet to let them know you were on your way. waiting a bit so you knew remus was far away before leaving the common room.

the bracelet buzzing again, making you smile and think about how to tease regulus about it in a bit. turning the corner as you kept looking around for any other people but luckily there was no one around.

evan was waiting for you beside slytherin common room, you watched him play with his sleeve before he looked up and saw you.

crossing his arms with a smile on his face as you got closer then reaching out and pulling you to him.

lips already going at each other and hands roaming and gripping at clothing and skin, hungry and needy for each other from being away for so long. the amount of glances and fantasizing while looking at the other person was gone and replaced with what you both desired, the real fucking thing.

pulling away to catch your breath, hands rubbing against his chest as your back was now up against the cold stone.

“you have no idea how much we missed you” evan whispered, his lips coming back to yours for a quick kiss before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours.

“i think i know by how many times hes buzzed me” you quipped, and evan instantly laughed and shook his head.

“i told him to quit, that you’d be here when you’d get here but hes basically cumming in his pants at anything that has to do with you” evan said, the happy tone in his voice made your heart flutter. you giggled and mumbled the spell to the bracelet, sending two buzzes to let him know you were and it buzzed back almost instantly which made you and evan bust out laughing.

“well, lets not leave him waiting” you laughed and took evans hand, pulling him towards the common room door. evan said the password and looked around to see if the common room had anyone in it, luckily no one was in there.

evan guided you to their dorm, all their dorm mates were gone leaving it the perfect spot.

regulus’ leg bounced up and down, he was excited to see you and get off since evan had been denying him since the night they found out they were staying too, no matter how hard regulus begged for evan to touch him or if he wanted to touch himself the answer was “no, you’ll thank me later” and regulus knew he probably would.

evan snuck you into the room, making sure no one would see you in case they just showed up out of nowhere. regulus jumped up when he heard the door click open. a smile coming onto his face almost instantly.

seeing them used to be awkward but now it was just like hanging out with your friends but so much more intimate, you wished you could be around them all the time which is crazy now since almost a year ago you didn’t like them and they did not like you.

the transition from seeing you again to already getting intimate was smooth and quick, it didn't feel forced like you were just there to have sex with them and then leave, it was loving and like you all had come home from a date together.

you sat on the side of evans bed, regulus was on his knees taking your pajama bottoms off, you could see his hard on in his pants.

“reggie you’re already hard, we’ve barely even started” you teased, regulus whined a bit at you pointing it out, he was aching, had been since he knew today was the day you were coming.

“told you he was practically cumming in his pants” evan quipped as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“I wouldn't be if you had let me cum” regulus snapped back, making evan laugh. you smiled then pouted at regulus.

“he’s so mean isn’t he, i’ll make sure you cum tonight baby” you said to him as you took the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up and off him. regulus had scars, not at many as sirius and definitely not as many as remus. he told you about them once, one day on the astronomy tower late into the night.

“thank you” regulus mumbled and side eyed evan. you took off your shirt and looked at evan, he was undoing his pants.

“how about you show her how thankful you really are” evan said with a smirk, regulus looked up at you.

“can i?” he asked, you nodded your head and regulus’ hands went to your panties and pulled them down quickly.

“good boy” evan praises him, your hand went to evans cock which was covered by his boxers. regulus kissed your thighs a few times before licking your slit.

regulus moved your leg over his shoulder, his tongue getting faster as you were getting more turned on. evan leaned down to kiss you, his hand going to your jaw.

you moaned as evan kissed you, regulus’ tongue was lapping at your clit quickly. evans grip on your jaw held you where he wanted you, you continued to touch evans cock.

you pulled down his boxers, he was as hard as regulus now, you broke the kiss and brought your hand to your mouth and spit before stroking his cock.

evan groaned and rolled his head back, you focused on his tip then started stroking him from his base to his tip over and over.

regulus pressed kisses on your clit before sucking then moving down to your entrance. he spread you apart with his fingers, his cock straining in his boxers made him think about touching himself but he wanted to be good for both of you.

“you’re doing so good reggie” you moaned, evan grinned and watched regulus.

a few minutes later you were struggling to keep your hand going, you were so close to cumming, evan knew it and so did regulus, reggie was going faster.

“i think that's enough reg, i think its her turn to make you feel good” evan said, regulus whined and pulled away from you.

regulus leaned up and locked your lips with his, evan started moving his hips while you kept stroking him. regulus pushed himself against his boxers, he was trying so hard to be good.

evan watched you two, his hand moving down to yours, he guided you— making your touches on him more firm. your other hand snaked down into regulus’ boxers and once he felt your soft hand grasping his cock his body shivered and pushed into you.

you could hear evan laugh softly. you smiled as you teased regulus, making him shudder and break the kiss multiple times.

regulus broke the kiss and rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“please—please, keep touching me— i'm almost there” regulus begged, his eyes were closed tightly and he pressed more into you.

you glanced at evan, silently asking for permission.

evan grabbed regulus by his hair gently, pulling his head back to look at him.

“why would you want to cum in her hand when i was gonna let you cum in her” evan asked, cocking his head slightly and furrowing his brows. you stopped touching regulus, pulling your hand out of his boxers.

“what do you wanna do reggie?” you asked him, placing a kiss on his neck.

regulus lets out a sigh, “i wanna cum in you” he says with a nod.

evan let go of regulus’ hair, your hand dropped from evan as he took a step back and walked to the other side of the bed.

“lay down regulus” he commanded, regulus moved from you and got onto the bed, you turned to watch them.

evan guided regulus onto his back, moving his head to hang off the edge of the bed a bit. your hand moved to regulus’ thigh, rubbing up and down and inching closer to his boxers.

you moved closer to regulus, now hooking your fingers on his waist band.

“you remember don’t you? tap my thigh three times for me to stop” evan reminded him, regulus nodded and hummed in agreement, you and regulus made eye contact as you pulled his boxers down to his mid thigh.

“i love you” you mouthed to him, his face went a bit red before he mouthed it back.

evan smiled as you moved to straddle regulus. he leaned towards you, locking your lips with his for a few moments.

he pulled back, “are you ready?” he whispered softly.

“more than ready” you said, pressing one last kiss on his lips before sinking down onto regulus’ cock.

a sigh came from both of you, you hadn’t had him in so long and it just feels so right. regulus was covered in goosebumps, the feeling of you around him felt so good.

evan tapped regulus’ mouth with his cock. “open your mouth baby” he instructed. evan’s cock glided into regulus’ mouth smoothly, regulus was basically trained to take evan, you three just started and regulus was practically deep throating him.

regulus’ eyes closed and he moved one hand to evan’s thigh and the other to yours. you could see the outline of evan’s cock in regulus’ throat which made you wetter. you started moving your body up and down, trying to find the right spot where your clit would make contact with his pubic area.

“you’re doing so good reggie, being so good for us” you praised, your hand rested on his ribs and the other on the bed. evan could feel regulus whimper, the vibrations took some air from him.

“he really liked that” evan groaned out as he fucked regulus’ mouth faster. you could hear noises coming from regulus as he took evans cock, his nails digging into the skin of your thigh.

you threw your head back as you found the right spot, your clit dragging on his skin and his cock hitting your sweet spot. evan watched you, he missed you so much and was so relieved there was time for you three to be together, he didn’t care if you three just sat in silence, he just wanted to be with you and regulus.

“you’re so pretty darling” evan moaned, his hand grasping your neck gently, you smiled at him and leaned closer to him. your head was still a little tilted back and evan bent to meet you halfway. a sloppy kiss broke out between you two, you tried to keep up but with the friction on your clit it was getting harder to keep a clear head.

evan kept his thrusts at a good pace with a few stops in between so regulus could get a breath, he could feel every moan and whimper regulus produced.

you pulled at evans lip with your teeth teasingly.

“i love you” you whispered into the kiss and evan moaned it back.

you gasped when you felt regulus cum inside you, painting your insides with his cum. your cunt basically milked him, it started to run down out of you and onto the part of his shaft that was exposed and down his balls.

reggie was trembling, you could feel it. Now the knot in your stomach was getting tighter, regulus’ hand was gripping your thigh harsher.

you muttered cuss words as you tried to chase your climax, you were close, so close you could feel the beginning of it. you twisted the bed sheets in your fist as you tried to keep the friction on your sensitive clit up.

evan pressed his lips to your forehead, you watched evan’s dick move in regulus’ throat. you knew you were probably overstimulating reggie.

you clenched around his cock which made regulus whine.

you moaned as you clenched harder, you tried to keep moving as you came, trying to get as much stimulation as possible, your muscles tensed up and your abdomen trembled.

evan was soon to follow, his breathing getting quicker as he could barely stand any more stimulation from regulus. his cum shooting down regulus’ throat, he could feel regulus swallowing everything he gave him and once he was empty evan pulled out of regulus’ mouth.

Regulus took in a few deep breaths and coughed a few times. you gently laid on regulus, your head resting on his chest, his cock still in your cunt. regulus’ hand came to your back, tracing shapes on your skin.

“you took me so good reggie, i’m so proud of you baby” evan praised, leaning down to kiss regulus’ forehead.

you hummed in agreement with evan, “we’re both so proud of you” you added. regulus smiled and mumbled a ‘thank you,’ you felt evan place a hand on your head, ruffling your hair.

“you alright darling?” he asked, you smiled and nodded.

“just perfect” you responded.

#regulus black #evan rosier #marauder era #regulus black smut #regulus black x reader smut #evan rosier x reader #regulus black x reader x evan rosier #evan rosier smut #marauders era x reader #regulus black x reader #evan rosier x reader smut #marauders era smut #poly!evan and regulus #poly!revan #poly! evan rosier x regulus #smut #hogwarts smut

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

Text

A day in the life of Pampérigouste & her long-suffering daughter

I went on a llama safari today, following the girls around to see how they keep busy on winter afternoons, and what I’ve learnt is that Pampe is the only one of my animals who tries to find food when the weather is like this.

I know I’m biased when it comes to interpreting my delinquent llama’s behaviour, but it really looked like Pampe was playing at being a wild llama, eating twigs and bark and such, while the others faffed around because they know they are domesticated animals who are fed at regular intervals. Pirlouit wouldn’t even follow us around the pasture, he just waited by himself near the moose in case the hay fairy came in our absence; Pampelune stayed with her family but didn’t bother foraging, she was like “My ten years of experience have taught me that humans always give us lots of hay on snowy days. This is a waste of time.”

Baby Poldine was like “My ten months of experience have taught me that it’s better to listen to my grandma than to my mum, but she looks really happy to teach me this stuff”

The Winter Survival lessons involved teaching Poldine how to eat the first hazel catkins—

—and which trees have bark that comes off easily. Pampelune just stood behind watching them like “... you don’t have to eat tree bark.” Pandolf & I also declined to partake and although Poldine gamely tried to gnaw at some tree bark, she quickly became self-conscious.

Pampérigouste then disappeared into a thicket (the same one where I once found secret elder trees!) and Pampelune was like “The good thing about my child being an adult is I no longer have to follow her” and waited outside like the dignified grandma she is, while Pampe dragged baby Poldine god knows where.

When I managed to find them again in this snowy tangle of branches and brambles, Pampoldine was trying to eat a twig, looking unconvinced, and she got a nose kiss for the effort.

We finally emerged from the thicket and Pampe stood pensively for a second, then went “Oh! idea” and bolted, to Pandolf’s immense delight. The rest of us followed more warily.

... Pampe wanted to demonstrate that in places where the old fence still stands, you can reach for forbidden grass by shoving your face through the netting. (Yes there is Allowed Grass 20cm to the right; no Pampe will not dignify this remark with a response.)

Poldine tried and immediately got her nose caught in the fence and started shaking her head & the fence desperately. She really wasn’t made for crime.

The last survival lesson was about rummaging in the snow looking for grass. Pampelune does it too when it’s a thin coating of snow, but when it’s deeper she doesn’t bother.

I hope you enjoyed this llama winter safari !

Conclusion:

#crawling along #the Chronicles of Pampérigouste #& friends #it's really adorable how pampoldine always imitates her mother even when she genuinely looks dubious #and/or concerned about pampe's ideas

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spacedace · 8 months

Text

Snippet/prolog thing from a DP x DC fic that lives almost entirely inside my head outside of this & a few other bits.

Please feel free to take this as an overly long prompt haha

If anyone wants context to this let me know and I'll be happy to info dump at you lol

The kid had been eleven the first time John Constantine met her.

A little ghost girl, too small for the crowns and dominions that were rightfully hers, wandering the world alone and unattended because to stay in one place would drive her mad - or worse. He didn’t think himself as having a particularly soft heart, but there was something about little Stella Phantom that grew on him - a bit like a mold, he liked to explain. Maybe it was the way she swore like a sailor and kicked a demon in the low hangers with a feral grin the first time he met her. Maybe it was just how lonely she looked, small and slight in the large world she was so obsessed with exploring.

She had a family. A Grave of her own that worried about her, but who couldn’t follow her on her constant travels no matter how much they wanted to. Proof that being some of the most powerful beings in existence wasn’t enough to prepare you for parenthood.

Somewhere along the lines she started following John around. Interested in what he was doing, where he was going, who he worked with. It hadn’t taken long to get her folded into JL Dark. Zantanna had blanched when he’d shown up with little Elle, pulling in the big wigs from JL Light to argue about the ethics of involving a child in their work. As if Supes and the Bat had legs to stand on with their own brood so often in the thick of danger. Elle was safer under his watch than she’d be under the loose oversight the Titans had or whatever fresh hell was going on with Young Justice but hell if anyone would listen to him on that front.

He lost the war when she met Superboy Jr. and Robin V.

She’d adored them from the start, delighted at having children her own age around to spend time with. They formed a little team, working together here and there, then more often as they got older. She still worked mostly with JL Dark, but she was growing up. Spreading her wings a bit.

Elle was seventeen when the Bonds first formed. The spider-silk thin threads finally winding themselves into the heavy binds that spilled out of her Core and reached out for anchoring in the boys. It was sickeningly sweet, in the way puppy love always was. She was too young for Core Bonds like that to settle, of course, in the way children were always too young when they fell in love the first time. It was normal though. Ghost children the Realms over made Bonds only for them to fade or change as they grew, almost never anchoring to anyone til they were full grown.

She’d blushed as red as Marvel’s suit when she realized John could see them, stuttering and embarrassed. He’d teased her about it for a long time, about how much she’d grown up, how much trouble she was going to cause, how he was going to have to fight the big bad Bat and his pet boy scout when she inevitably dishonored their poor, innocent sons. It was entertaining, endearing.

He waited for the Bonds to fade or shift. Weeks. Months. Years. As she turned nineteen, he started to wonder if they would stick around. If in another few years they might strengthen, begin the slow process of anchoring.

She was twenty-one when her boys - calling themselves Flamebird and Phoenix now - started dating each other.

The Bonds remained, steady and solid and painfully unanchored.

John stopped teasing her about them.

They hadn’t changed to accommodate platonic bonds, nor had they faded any. Their tendency to tangle around her like snare was another point of concern. Core Bonds weren’t meant to cause difficulty for the ghost they were born from, and they certainly weren’t meant to wrap around the ghost’s limbs and body in painful loops like that. They weren’t supposed to hurt.

When she was twenty three he started suggesting it might be time for intervention. The irony that he of all people would be trying to get someone to take steps to cut out the thing harming them was not lost on him. Nor was the way the fond feelings he had for the girl had skewed decisively paternal over the years in a way that his younger self would have mocked him for endlessly.

He felt better about broaching the subject knowing that her Grave had been suggesting the same thing. That he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of whatever odd partnership they’d developed over the years. John was, he had very reluctantly come to accept, the girl’s mentor if nothing else. His job was to teach her and guide her, not be her parent.

No matter what his old, battered heart might try and suggest.

Even still, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

She was twenty-five when they got temporarily launched into that broken, bleak world. When they met the Elle and Flamebird and Phoenix of that horrible dimension.

The three alternates’ bonds were anchored completely, tying the triad together in threads of silver and green. Not even Other-Elle’s complete, sickening deterioration into something cannibalistic and feral had been enough to break them. He can’t imagine how much it must have hurt to see that, for his girl to glimpse a world where something she’d longed for for so long happened, only for it to seemingly be at the expense of reality itself.

He helped cover for her, after their two groups had been mixed up and separated for the night - or what might be called night in a world that no longer had any light to make those kinds of distinctions in time. When she came back with the Flamebird and Phoenix of that world, after their little separation from the larger group he kept her two boys misdirected. Distracted Nightwing and Zantanna so they didn’t go asking too many questions he knew Elle wouldn’t want answered. The Bat John was helpless to do much about, but thankfully the big brooder seemed too intent on the desolate, lightless world itself to notice the way Elle’s gaze was going distant, bittersweet at the edges.

He didn’t know what, exactly had happened in the hours she was gone. He could guess, from the way the Other-Phoenix and Other-Flamebird looked at her, the way she avoided her boys. Loneliness and desperation made for an easy slide into bad decisions. John might just have to admit that Zantanna had been correct, all the times she’d said he was a bad influence on the girl. Not that there was any surprise there.

Elle’s Bonds were even more of a knotted mess than before. Offered something so close to anchoring only to find no purchase. They twisted about her throat like a noose now, ready to strangle the life out of her one day.

He signed off on her leave of absence when they finally made it back to their home dimension.

Anyone else would want details to write down. Would want to know the specifics of why and for how long and a whole mess of other details she either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. He’d get his ass roasted over the fire for the mess the paperwork was in, but that was fine. He’d endured far worse for far less important reasons.

Personal leave, he’d written.

Duration of leave: indefinite.

Reason for leave: None of your fucking business, Bats.

They shared a cigarette on one of the high catwalks in the Watchtower watching dawn break on the world below. Grateful to see the sun and stars again after those two days in utter blackness. They didn’t talk about her Bonds. About what happened. About how she hadn’t talked to her Boys since coming back. Just stood and smoked. He pretended not to notice her tears. She pretended not to notice his. Neither of them had ever been any good at goodbyes.

When the time came she bumped his shoulder in thanks - for the cigarette, for the company, for the years of friendship and family - before turning and stepping through the bright purple door standing impossibly in the middle of the walkway.

He glimpsed the green of the Infinite Realms and the distant shape of her Lair beyond. A world of worlds, paradise to one that never stopped, always off to find something new, something never seen before. It was against all odds that she’d even stumbled upon this one in the first place. A small speck in the crushing infinite.

When the door closed it did so slowly, a painful whine and a soft, mournful click all that marked her leaving.

John watched it bleed out of existence, and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

Six months later, the stars started to disappear.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #john constantine #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #jon kent #jon el kent #damian wayne #damijon #one sided (?) Super Serious Chaos #for the record it's not actually one sided Damian & Jon are pining for Elle just as bad as she's pining for them #alternative universe versions of themselves went and complicated things further #bruce wayne #infinite realms world building #ghost cores #Constantine caught a case of Father Figure-itis (it's definitely batman's fault)#angst #there's so much back story and nonsense in this fic idea #there's a whole looming apocalypse thing and Elle trying to sacrifice herself #and Jon & Damian thinking something terrible happened between Elle & their AU selves to cause her to pull away from them #there's ghost core lore (ha that rhymed)#one of these days I'll actually write it all down #in the mean time enjoy a prompt

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rafesgoldrings · 11 months

Note

would love to see what exactly occurred when rafe slapped our ass black and blue for bitching too much 🤭 and whether he got any of the other kooks involved or he took this on as his responsibility…

(edit: adding a little more to this because I thought of more🫶🏻)

You were pissed, fully prepared to brat to your hearts content when Rafe, Topper, and Kelce came over. They hadn’t paid you nearly enough attention lately, hadn’t bought you any new gifts, too fucking busy golfing and partying to pay attention to you. You’d complained to each of them individually, and then to all of them at once in the group chat. Telling them that you were bored, that they weren’t answering fast enough, that they needed to answer you now or buy you something to make up for it. It’s all they heard for the last few days and they were getting fed up, part of it was their fault, they spoiled you too much, but you were bitching just a little too much for their liking. All of you were supposed to hang out at your place that weekend, ready to make it up to you then. So when they walked into your living room, they expected their usual greeting, a kiss to their lips and a hello, but when they walked in? You’d walked over and slapped Rafe in the face, hard, and walked back to your couch. Sitting with a loud huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Rafe touched his face, tracing the hot splotch your hand left, jaw clenched and tongue sucking his teeth. You knew you fucked up, you knew it was soon as your hand made contact, but it was already done. He’d stormed over to you, hand harshly gripping your upper arm and bending you over the arm of the couch. He ripped off the tiny skirt you had on, smirking when he saw you had no panties on and telling the boys to watch him , and slapped your ass. “Ow, that fucking hurts you dick. First you abandon me, no gifts or anything, and now you’re hurting me.” you whined, a harsher slap landed on your ass followed by a firm ‘shut the fuck up’. Then you’d heard that sound, the sound you both dreaded and desired, his belt buckle being undone. It wasn’t but a few seconds later the rather made contact with your right ass cheek, a loud crack filling the room and echoing off the walls as the welt began to show. He moved on to the left one, the same cracking noise filling the room as you tried to squirm away. He’d brought your hands behind your back and held them there, moving his legs to tangle with yours and hold you in place as he kept up with his relentless attack. You could feel your cunt dripping, the sticky arousal coating your inner thighs, leaking more and more with each whip of the belt. The boys watched in pure satisfaction, knowing if you couldn’t handle it you’d let them know, eyes moving to the glistening on your thighs and dripping hole. Your ass was on fire, sore and hot to the touch, but Rafe kept going. Tears cascaded down your face like a crystal river, small drops falling onto the couch. “3 more. Count them and fucking thank me you fucking brat”

He’d brought the belt down again “O-one. Thank y-you Rafe”

Again “Tw-o. T-thank you Rafe”

Again, but this time you forgot to answer, head too empty to remember.

“I said,” the hand not holding the belt letting go of your hands and moving to wrap around your throat to squeeze it, loving the way you gasped for air “Fucking count. You’re not that much of a dumb slut to do that right? You’re so smart yeah, our smart girl? So try that again” he’d coo, releasing your throat as you coughed and caught your breath.

One final crack of the harsh leather against your ass “Thr-ee. Thank you R-Rafe”

“Good girl baby, all done now okay? Did so so good for me sweet girl” his voice soft and gentle, his hands caressing the bruised and broken skin. He’d cleaned you up, having the others grab some ointment to rub on the broken areas of skin, before the three of them admired Rafe’s handy work, splotches of red, purple, black, and blue covering your ass. He let go of your body, moving to sit on the couch, before pulling you into his lap and smirking at the hiss you let out. Ass sore and sensitive.

“Let this serve as a reminder not to ever fucking do that shit again. Not to me, not to Kelce, not to Topper. If something is bothering you, you talk to us and tell us how to fix it like the big girl you are princess” you’d nodded your head, curling into Rafe’s chest as the other two began rolling a joint.

Safe to say, you never dared brat that way again. Especially not towards Rafe, it took several weeks for the bruises to go away and for you to be able to sit properly.

Tag List: @sweetestdesire @congratsloserr @xyzstar @madelynie

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #asks <3 #rafe cameron x kook!reader #topper thornton smut #kelce outer banks

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fettuccinealfred0 · 2 months

Text

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

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 fanfiction #x reader #til death do us part

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starogeorgina · 7 months

Text

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest, uncomfortable situation

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Reader

1.05

Letting out a deep sigh, you place your hands on your lower back, trying to relive some of the weight of the baby pushing down on your spine. With the size of your bump, you could easily be mistaken for having twins, although the maesters said it was only one baby and a lot of swelling.

After the meeting with the King’s Counsel was over, you and your grandsire headed towards your mother's quarters to have an unofficial meeting with the Green Counsel. The green’s council consisted of your mother, Ser Cristion, Aemond, the hand of the king, Aegon, and the lech Larys Strong. You went out of your way to keep Helaena out of the scheming and plotting; she was far too innocent to be involved.

Feeling your eyes burning into you, you finally sigh, “Yes, mother?”

Your mother pursed her lips and said, “That's a very interesting dress you chose to wear today.”

With your breasts swelling to twice what they normally would, you had decided to wear a gown that was designed for pregnant women; however, the one you’d chosen that morning had irked your mother. It was black with red roses sewn onto it on the bottom of the skirt, and the queen hated seeing her children wear house Targaryen colors. “It’s a gift from Lady Malia Lannister; she had it sent to the keep after finding out I’m with a child again. It would be rude not to wear it.”

“The princess is right, your grace,” Larys says before taking a sip from his cup of tea. “Small gestures, such as wearing gifts from other houses, are a reminder of who’s loyal to us.” The smile on Larys face sends shivers down your spine. There was something incredibly creepy about the clubfoot. He changes the conversation: “I hear Princess Rhaenyra has just delivered her second son, fathered by Prince Daemon.”

You roll your eyes; you have more pressing matters to discuss than your elder sister and your uncle. “Ser Cristion, is there any further word on who is behind the child fighting pits in Flea Bottom?”

“I’m afraid not, princess, but thanks to your connections we were able to locate one of the fighting pits, and it has since been destroyed.”

“Thank you, Ser Cristion,” you say sincerely.

“Is sending members of the King's Guards into Flea Bottom to knock down gambling pits really the best idea?” Larys asks.

You pull a face of disgust. “Gambling? The children are purposefully kept malnourished while their teeth and nails are sharpened for combat while sick spectators place their bets and cheer on to see which child will win or die.”

Your grandsire shifts the conversation to another issue, with Larys remaining quiet for some time. Shayla, who had now become one of your ladies in waiting, entered the room looking nervous. Sensing she was nervous, you excused yourself and stepped into the hallway to be greeted by one of the servants who watched the children while you attended meetings, holding onto your son's hand while gulping down. You take in Tré’s appearance and immediately burst into laughter; he was covered head to toe in mud.

You run your fingers through his silver locks, which had thick brown streaks of dirt and some greenery from what you assumed were bushes and flowers tangled in them. “You are filthy; what have you been doing?”

Tré giggles, “Me and Jaehaerys were pretending to be dragons.”

“You are dragons, my sweet.”

“The princes ran away from me, princess; I did try to stop them."

You cut her off with a soft laugh. “It’s quite alright, no harm done.” You lean down and lift Tré up, holding him above your bump. You kiss him on the cheek multiple times, making the young boy squeal in delight. “You sound like Breeze.”

“Your grace,” Shayla says, bowing.

You turn back around to see your mother looking at you with a somewhat amused expression on her face. “Ashara, your dress is filthy.”

“You don’t like it anyway,” you point out, earning a surprising smile from her. Although you and the queen hardly ever saw eye to eye, she was still your mother and loved her grandchildren greatly.

Soon as you walk back into her chamber, Aegon bursts into laughter, while Aemond’s jaw tenses, no doubt from watching you carry your son. You could only imagine your husband's reaction when he learned the princes managed to run off.

You sit back down to resume the meeting, which was almost over, with your son sitting on your lap. You kiss Tré’s cheek as he falls asleep in your arms. You remember once telling Aemond you never wanted children because you didn’t think you’d be capable of loving them. Oh, how wrong you were. Tré was your whole world, and you knew you’d love the next baby just as much.

—

Sitting in the garden, you gently rub your swollen stomach while watching as Aemond plays with your son. Tré was crouching behind bushes, giggling, thinking he had successfully hidden from his father, but of course Aemond knew where he was.

“Princess,” Silas, one of the servants, approaches you with a tray in his hands. He carefully places the plate of pastries, grapes, and bread on the table before sitting the tea down. While doing this, he quietly says, “I heard you are trying to stop the fighting pits in Flea Bottom, and I think there’s something you should know.”

You motion for him to sit with you and say, “Please go on.”

Silas nervously glances at your husband, who was watching your interaction, and declines your invitation to join you. “I do not wish to cross a line, princess, but I’ve heard rumors regarding Prince Aegon.”

Your mouth goes dry. “What is it you’ve heard?”

“That there are children fighting in pits with Targaryen features, and that they have been fathered by the king's eldest son.”

Silas couldn’t have been older than six and ten; he had an innocence around him that you wanted to protect. You place your hand on top of his and say, “Thank you; you did the right thing by telling me.”

“Please don’t tell anyone I told you, princess. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You’d risk getting into trouble by telling me, why?”

He shrugs. “You’ve always been very kind to me.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you safe, sir,” you smile.

He smiles back at you until Aemond stands behind you with your son in his arms and a murderous look on his face. Silas quickly bows his head and says, “My prince.”

You feel bad watching the young boy fumble over his feet to get away. You pout at Aemond as he sits down across from you and says, “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Scare the young servants.” You take a handful of grapes and begin cutting them into pieces. “The ones who approach me are harmless.”

Aemond smiles, something that he hardly ever does in front of others. “Motherhood has softened you, my love; you are far too trusting.”

You push the plate of cut-up grapes in front of Tré and say, “Perhaps, but it’s also common knowledge what will happen to anyone who crosses the wife of the rider of the largest dragon living.”

“Vhagar!” Tré squeals excitedly, making you chuckle.

“Hmm.” Aemond leans forward and brushes hair behind your ear. “Regardless, you are my wife, and I want to keep you safe.”

“Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes.”

—

You clench your teeth as you dip your feet into the basin that has been placed in front of you. The maester had added a mixture of oils that were meant to help ease the pain of how swollen and painful your feet had become during your pregnancy. You were supposed to be meeting your grandsire to discuss the latest news of Aegon’s bastards, but you were in far too much pain to walk further than your own bedchambers.

“Princess, Lord Strong is here to see you.”

You frown. “I’m improperly dressed. Tell Lord Strong, I’m feeling unwell and will see him tomorrow.”

It was only midday, but you had decided to resign in your chambers for the rest of the afternoon due to feeling so uncomfortable. Aegon and Helaena had gone dragon riding, while Aemond had gone to sit in with Tré for the remainder of his lessons, giving you much needed time alone. Even though this pregnancy was better than your first, it was still exhausting.

Closing your eyes, you lean your head back in the chair and try to doze off, but the sound of a cane hitting the cobblestones alters your appearance. What didn’t he understand about your request? You scowl at hearing him dismiss your lady-in-waiting, who is frantically telling him to wait. You reach for the dressing gown that is hanging on the side of the chair you are sitting in and quickly put it on to keep your modesty.

“I believe you were asked to leave.”

A look of shock crosses his features. “I do apologize; I have obviously misunderstood.”

Your glaze burns into the Lord as he sits down across from you. Seeing him limp, you feel obligated to allow him to sit for a moment. You nod for one of the servants to move the objects on the chair away so he can sit down comfortably. “What is it you want, Lord Strong?”

“For us to be friends, Ashara.”

Anger stirs within you. It wasn’t that he addressed you by your name; it was the arrogance that laced his voice that irked you. “Do not forget I am a Targaryen princess; next time you address me as any less, I will have your tongue removed.”

“Such a spirited princess,” he nods his head, looking amused. “I will do well to remember my place next time.”

When one of your ladies-in-waiting approaches you with a towel in her hands, you lift your feet from the basin to allow her to dry them. You notice Lary's eyes creepily glued to your feet, and the way he repositions himself on the chair makes you feel uncomfortable.

He clears his throat. “I am good companions with the queen; I just thought I’d offer my services to you.”

“I will keep that in mind, but I must ask that you please leave, as I’m very tired.”

“Of course, growing a child is a tiresome job.”

You avert your eyes as he slowly walks by you, with what appears to be a bulge in his pants. A sickening feeling builds inside you. Whatever had just transpired left a sour taste in your mouth and left you feeling uncomfortable in a place you’ve always felt safe.

Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes - My fierce dragon

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #killer queen #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen/reader

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peachhcs · 26 days

Note

Will and Sammy definitely did kissed again after that first kiss, maybe in some parties with a little alcohol involved, but I think they definitely repeated that kiss

kissing as "just friends" | the wonder years

oh 10000% they never talk about any of the times they kiss "as friends" because none of them count and it doesn't mean anything obviously!

warnings: underage drinking?

wooo me posting twice in one day?? here's one small blurbs of a time they kissed again plus samy being affectionate and making will confused while i continue working through my writer's block tehehe (takes place samy's senior year of high school and will's final dev year)

au masterlist

senior year was the "go big or go home" year according to samy's friends. actually, marcie had all the big plans including throwing a senior year kick off party. whatever that meant, the girl was throwing at her house since her parents were out of town so of course the entire grade was invited including the ndtp boys.

things were going well so far except that marcie's house was packed wall to wall with kids from their school and random extras people brought along with them. trying to move anywhere was impossible because of the crowds, so samy found herself stuck in the corner of the kitchen barely listening to lauren and riley yap on about something.

she took two shots already paired with some sprite mix, so her veins were buzzing and her head felt light with relief. she scanned the room looking for no one in particular until her gaze stopped on a familiar mop of blonde curls—courtesy to herself after she insisted will grew his hair out more to "attract more girls."

the boy stood with his friends as they somewhat mingled with the others around. not quite thinking straight, samy pushed herself through the crowd in that direction. she stumbled into a few people, not really drunk yet, but definitely buzzing and tipsy.

when she finally reached them she hooked her arm around will's. the boy snapped his head over, softly smiling when he saw who it was.

"like the party?" the girl wondered to him and everyone else standing around.

"i can't believe you guys know all these people," gabe chuckled.

"i mean, not really, but i've gone to school with them for the past three years," the brunette smiled a bit before glancing at will again.

"having fun?"

"yeah, thanks for inviting us," he hummed.

will's own alcohol consumption contributed to his more flirtier nature towards the girl. even more than before. the others immediately noticed their touchiness, exchanging glances with one another thinking the same thing.

"want another drink?" samy wondered as she peered into will's cup that most definitely was not empty. it was her subtle ploy to pull him away.

"mm, sure," will didn't even hesitate nor did he say goodbye to his friends as samy pulled him away.

they watched the two disappear back into the crowd. ryan's chuckle came first and a small head shake, "god, i can't believe how oblivious they are."

samy and will did not make it to the kitchen.

they detoured into one of the bathrooms that happened to be empty, so they shoved themselves inside. neither of them said anything as their lips attached to one another in a near desperate manner.

the girl's back hit the wall. will's hands were everywhere along with the heavy pants quickly leaving his mouth. the alcohol in their systems clouded every logical thought and the only thing on their minds was the feeling of their lips pressed together.

samy's hands tangled into will's curls, pulling at the roots when his lips danced further down her neck.

"mhm, feels good," the girl mumbled.

"just friends, yeah?" will breathed against her skin.

"mm, yeah, just friends. just friends," samy nodded.

when the night ended and the sun rose along with everyone's hangovers, no one spoke a word about the faint hickey on samy's neck or will's hot blush when gabe poked him about it later on.

—

the locker room was empty except for will sitting against his stall head in his hands after the worst game of his life. the other guys left knowing to give him his space until a small knock tapped against the open door frame.

"will?" samy's faint voice came through. the boy picked his head up and her heart immediately broke seeing his bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

she immediately slid next to him on the bench. "hey, hey. it's okay," samy wrapped her arms around his shoulders where he basically fell into her.

"we lost the fucking game because of me," will muttered.

"hey, no. it wasn't your fault. i promise. the other team played dirty," the girl shook her head.

"they took me out and it costed us our win," the boy frowned.

all samy could do was hold him and hope her presence brought his spirits back up. the two sat there for a bit longer while will let some more tears fall. samy didn't mind though. she hated seeing her best friend so upset especially since she knew how hard he was on himself.

after another five minutes, will lifted his head back up. samy took ahold of his face giving a gentle smile.

"i'm still so proud of you no matter what. one bad game isn't a bad player or bad career," she made sure he knew that or else he'd never stop beating himself up about tonight.

"thanks, samy. i'm glad you're here," the boy smiled. she leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead—something she did frequently but the gesture meant a lot more to the boy this time around.

the blush spread across his cheeks when his eyes landed back on her sparkly lip gloss. he thought about kissing her—telling her how he felt, how he thought these gestures meant a lot more to him than just friends—but then her phone buzzed.

kyle's name flashed across the screen—the guy she was currently talking to and sort of officially seeing. seeing his contact brought will back into reality knowing everything between him and samy would be strictly friends only.

even their drunk makeouts in someone's bathroom.

#hughes!sister x will smith au #will smith hockey #samy x will #boston college #boston college hockey #samy hughes #umich hockey #will smith imagine #will smith x oc #uofmichigan #bc hockey #will smith fluff #will smith hockey fluff

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v0rewhxre · 3 months

Text

QUICK SHORT THOUGHTS (MDNI)

If you remember how back in the One Direction Days, everyone would create those short blurbs about each of the boys? Well here's one with the Bad Omens boys!

MDNI!!!! 18+++++++

CW: SMUTTTTTT: f masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, dom/sub talk, talks of p in v, talks of rope play, talks of handcuffs, some fluffyness (Let me know if I missed any!)

This is my first go at writing something smutty in a long long time so go easy on me :)

How each boy would interact while you masturbated in front of them:

Noah: Noah is a little bit devious when it comes to allowing you to masturbate. On one hand, he LOVES that you feel sexually free enough to masturbate in front of him. He loves the confidence you have in doing it, despite the sheepish smiles you give him when you catch his eyes. That man STARES right at what you're doing with your pussy. When he's in a sub mood, you make him beg to look at your throbbing pussy. And boy does he whimperrrrr when you finally allow him. When he's more dominant he'll tell you what to do. He punishes you by rubbing his own cock, which he knows you get slightly jealous of. Why does he need to use his hand when he has you. It becomes a competition, who moans the loudest, who is going to cum first. It turns into Noah pulling you to the edge of the bed and fucking you doggy style. After you both finish, he helps you with aftercare which turns into him munching on you for a bit.

Folio: Folio is a very sweet boy, and he is submissive to your every will. You have him handcuffed and tied up, forcing him to watch as you ride your dildo in front of him. "You wish this was your cock love, right?" "Could you make me feel this good, love?". He politely says, "yes ma'am" with quick nods. His cock is so angry and hard, bobbing with every moan you let slip. He has tears streaming down his face, watching as you enjoy your toy more than he thinks you enjoy him... which isn't correct. Eventually, you guilty conscious takes over and you decide to make love to Folio instead. Riding him slow and sensually, kissing away his tears when you finally let him cum. You press your forehead against his as you finally allow yourself to finish. Once you're done , you'd both get in the bath and goof around with the fishing rod you bought him (which is a toy that is made for 3 year olds for the bathtub).

Jolly: Jolly is a little selfish, he loves the idea that you would want to get off in front of him but why is he not involved more. He wonders if your vibrator feels better than his fingers on your clit, he also wonders how often you do this when he's not there. When you close your eyes, you better be thinking of him. He often breaks the 'don't touch, only look' rule by slowly creeping his hands to your caress your thighs. Eventually he is sitting so closely that your butt is in his lap. He is slowly rubbing his tip all around your over-stimulated and over-wet slit, he can't help but join in. He doesn't even let you cum by yourself, he's fucking the shit outta you. You both finish at the same time, ending the night lounging around naked playing guitar together.

Nicholas: Let's be real Nicholas is a LOVER, but he also has quite a dominant side about him. He would lovingly watch you, not watch you play with your pussy or the way you use your toy, but intently stare into your eyes which drives you CRAZY (in many ways)! "Nicky look at how wet I am!" "Nicky, look at how well I play with my pussy". But he wouldn't, he would just stare at you with love which honestly made everything feel much more intense. He would watch you cum, and then fuck you slowly and punishingly afterwards. He would edge you until you were practically screaming, begging for some type of release. Only when he was ready to cum would he allow you to go over the edge with him. You both end up a sweaty mess with tangled hair. You would both fall asleep in each other's arms, Nicholas' lips pressed into the top of your head.

#noah sebastian #jolly karlsson #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #bad omens #why am i like this

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tadpolesonalgae · 9 months

Text

Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 6[*]

A/N: demon!Azriel just rubs me right. Also I’ve had this idea for this chapter for a little under a month by now so I decided to finally put pen to paper!

Warnings: handjob, a bit of oral (m receiving), smut, fingering, mosterfucking, kind of exhibitionism?, blood-drinking

-Part 5- -Part 7-

Azriel nearly groans when he opens his eyes.

He was gifted a few precious hours of sleep, having found the drop itself quite difficult. To a level that even his meticulous breathing cycles found it tiresome to deal with. And now he’s awake again, and his trouble is right before him.

You’re lying neatly on your stomach, blankets pooled around your waist while your arms hug the plump pillow beneath you. Your eyelids are slightly puffy from sleep, your lips smooth and—

The need thrums beneath his skin, instincts roaring at him to flip you on your back and slam inside, rut into you to relieve the incessant itch beneath his skin. You’re the bane of his existence in that moment. The perfect image of taunting purity, robed in white—he’d found it humorous at the time of giving them to you, knowing how quickly you’d be defiled—features peaceful, breathing even and deep.

He has to steady himself when you shift, sending a wave of your scent over to him. He wonders for a moment what you’re dreaming about; you seem like someone who dreams.

He hadn’t shifted last night. Had worried the need would be too unbearable—his instincts becoming a screaming tangle of curses and pleas inside his head, far too loud for him to manage sleep. Even if he knows you like it when he does. Which is vaguely amusing.

You act so prim and proper in almost every way. Even when he’s been inside of you, drawing those unholy sounds from your throat… And yet you seem to enjoy him the more dæmonic he is. He’ll often wake to find you curled against his side, back pressing into him with a pillow clutched to your front, between your thighs. It’s possibly the most unguarded you’ve been around him.

It’s as if his thoughts summon you awake, eyes peeking open, almost instantly latching onto his own. As if sensing that silent bond between you—even if, as a human, there’s no way for you to know.

“Hungry, Azriel?”

He growls low in his throat as he snaps his talons back in—having protruded while he was thinking about you, about your heat: being inside it, lapping over it, coming on it. He wants your mouth on him.

He needs to feel that pleasure.

You watch him quietly. On edge.

His eyes are fully black, which isn’t usually a good sign. And you would never admit it to him, but the dream you’d had was one of your more…lewd ones. That may or may not have involved him in some manner. Maybe concerning your shared trip to that river about a week ago. How he’d…

His nostrils flare, body stiffening, canines twitching, as if debating sliding out further but being kept in. You force yourself to swallow; calm yourself. “I am. What’s for breakfast today?”

Azriel’s blacked-out eyes stay locked on you as he rolls onto his front with beastly grace, muscles rippling with the smooth movement. This time, it’s you who tenses up. He prowls forward, and you have enough sense to keep still. You feel like any sort of movement will send him into fluid motion—whatever that motion is.

You stiffen, heart rate spiking, as his hand lands on your shoulder, ordering you to roll over. You silently debate disobeying him, pushing to keep still—you shouldn’t allow him to push you around like this. But when he gives another gentle wave of pressure, that’s firm enough you don’t think it wise, you follow him.

His hand goes with you as you’re turned onto your back; you suddenly feel cold on your front.

“Azriel?” You murmur, attempting to keep your voice level.

It’s as if his eyes have somehow become darker. They’re piercing into you, moving to be atop your body and traitorous heat starts gathering in your lower belly. He’s moving with that lethal grace of his, caging you in as he lowers himself to your neck and you’re certain he can hear your heart pounding.

Your breath hitches as he noses at your throat, scenting you. You wring your fingers together across your waist nervously as he takes you in, his heat practically melting into you.

His grip tightens on you, and you inhale sharply as his tongue presses against the side of your neck, dragging upwards slowly—so slowly. It’s lazy—leisurely. He’s taking his time…

No.

He’s savouring you.

When his canines scrape over your throat, your hands twitch, considering the merits of pushing him away. But he nudges your legs apart, and you flush, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Azriel…” Something like a rough purr sounds, reverberating into you—deep and raw.

“Azriel…” you repeat, setting your hands on his upper arms. “Azriel, stop.” He growls slowly, barely raising his head as he opens his mouth over your neck, canines beginning to press in against the soft skin.

You try to squirm away, hands now pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You begin to panic. You don’t know how dæmons work, whether they truly thrive off sin—maybe he needs this from you? Your teeth find your lower lip and you turn it over in your mind. Maybe if you give him a bit, it’ll help relieve some of the strain. You don’t think the gods will be angry if it’s done out of a will to help.

So you relax, arms snaking over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and he groans, his hips rolling into your own.

“Just a little,” you murmur. “You can have a little…just to help.”

He snarls at the permission, arms wrapping beneath your waist, forcing you to arch into him, head falling back on the bed as you bare your throat—eyes wide at the abrupt movement. Then he’s biting, marking you with the print of his teeth, nipping and sucking. His hips buck against you, and you can feel him pawing at your night robe, shoving it out of the way and—

You gasp as you feel him against your bare heat, the hard length of him rubbing against your slick.

You shove away from him, trying to scramble back, but he snarls, lips curling back from his fangs. “Azriel,” you plead, “stop it. I don’t want this. Please, stop…” He doesn’t.

Instead he pulls back, forcing your legs apart as he slots himself between them, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft dip between your thighs. Fear pours through your blood as he prepares to push in.

You don’t let him, shoving your hand between your bodies, gripping him tightly.

He gasps, eyes widening as he stares at you. You’ve never taken him so tremendously by surprise before. He’s off kilter.

You shuffle away, shoving at his shoulder but keeping your hand wrapped around him, until you’re both on your knees before one another. He growls, beginning to reach for you but you shift your hand and he inhales deeply, gaze remaining on yours.

And suddenly you have power. Suddenly, you’re in control. And it feels good. Is this what he feels like? This heady, crackling undercurrent of untapped energy?

“Show me,” you stammer. “Show me what to do.”

His skin is buzzing with lightening. Thrumming with an incessant pull.

You’ve got your hand around him. You’re touching him. You’re doing the initiating. He wonders if this is what it’s felt like for you whenever he’s started. But you’re still human, so maybe those senses are blocked off.

“I’ve never…”

You’re saying something, but he’s finding it difficult to focus.

“I’ve never really…helped, before. Not like this…”

Your heart is thumping in your chest, arousal coalescing between your thighs. He can scent how wet you are, how easy it would be to slide home. Settle into his nest.

“So tell me what you like,” he hears you stammer, “and I’ll do my best.”

A low growl sounds, and he realises it’s come from him. He hastily tucks his claws away, sealing them beneath the knuckles of his skin as he settles his hand over your smaller one. Much smaller. You struggle to grasp him.

His mind is going blank—relaying over and over that your hand is atop him.

He’s struggling to keep his composure beneath the humming pleasure.

“Azriel?” You manage, nervously.

He might be furious with you for taking such liberties. Maybe you should release him… But then you’d be giving up the power you’ve suddenly found over him.

Hesitantly, you squeeze him tighter, dragging your hand up until you’re grasping below his tip. Something milky looking has beaded at his slit, and you swipe the pad of your thumb over it. The creamy coloured liquid smears, and he hisses, trembling. You repeat the action, lowering your hand before raising up to his head again.

His eyes are still black as pitch, but colour is flushing his cheeks, breathing deeply as he begins guiding you. His gaze remains latched on yours the entire time. Up and down, down and up. Over and over. He squeezes, encouraging you to hold him brutally…what you would have thought was painfully. But he keeps going, and you’re too nervous—enraptured to stop. The twist of his wrist, how his hand fits around the length of him perfectly, the milky sheen at his tip. You wonder what it tastes like.

A heady flush warms your body, a kick of desire so strong that, for a second, you want to push him on the mattress and take him in your mouth. Like he’s done for you. Maybe it’s his own way of showing affection… Making you feel good in a way he knows will satisfy you. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before. You’ll ask about that, later. Maybe.

Azriel growls low in his throat, twitching beneath your soft palm. He’s panting, blood heating steadily as he gets closer and closer. Quicker than he would have liked, quicker than usual, but you feel so good. And you initiated. You wanted him. It would be enough to catalyse any male’s release.

He’s so close now. Just a bit more…

You know he’s near. You don’t know how, but you can sense it. Sense that edge rising up to greet him. His eyes are closed in pleasure, having fluttered shut moments ago. So he can’t see you. The thoughts flashing through your mind as you again peer at that slit in his head, licking your lips. Maybe just a bit. If it really is how he shows affections, then possibly… You don’t let yourself doubt. You lean downward, continuing with the movements.

Parting your lips ever so slightly, you press them just beneath the head of his cock. A strangled sound comes from his throat, and you can feel his eyes on you. But he twitches again, which must mean he likes it. When your tongue flicks out over his slit, he releases a snarl in warning. One that—were you his kind—you would have understood. But you’re painfully human before him, and don’t understand, delivering tentative laps to his head as he releases.

You squeeze your eyes shut, features heating with embarrassment and… You shiver, aching between your legs. You can feel exactly where the creamy liquid has landed, spurting onto you, dripping slowly over the crest of your cheeks. You bite your lip against the urge to moan, tucking the desire deep inside of you.

Pulling away, you manage to slip your hand out from beneath his. He’s still panting. Staring at you. The whites of his eyes visible. You probably look…You won’t finish that thought for him. But as you meet his gaze, you see the familiar hunger, the need to have you, and something flutters deep in your belly.

Your hand raises gingerly to where his come is dampening your cheek, finger catching it on their pads as you pull away to look at it. Slightly shimmery, milky in its colour, still hot. Your eyes flick to his as he watches you keenly, strain evident in his jaw as he hold himself back from…whatever wicked intentions he has. You don’t think about much else, only his release on the pads of your fingertips as you peer at him with stark curiosity.

“Is it…can I eat it?”

His head goes quiet, arousal thrumming like a war drum in his blood, singing at your words. He manages nothing more than a nod. He’s not one to pray to the gods, he knows they don’t listen to creatures like him, but if he were any other being, he thinks he may have fallen to his knees at the nearest temple.

You raise your fingers to your mouth. Tasting him.

He can do nothing besides watch. Totally bewitched. Enraptured and enchanted so thoroughly he questions your mortality. You hesitate, then scoop more from your cheeks, steadily cleansing yourself as you deposit each drop in your mouth, eyes closing shut in concentration, trying to mark his flavour.

It’s only when you lean forward, making to wrap your mouth around him that he’s spurred into action, gripping you gently by the shoulders as you peer up at him nervously. “Can I not…Do you not want me to?”

Gods damn him he wants you to. Wants it badly. So badly, but—

“Rest.” The word is rough, and surprises even him. “Go have breakfast. We’re going out.”

————

Had you done something wrong?

You would have expected him to want more…unless he didn’t enjoy it. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sit well with you. You should ask him, but how would one even go about prying like that…?

You sigh, and instead focus on your surroundings. It would be a waste not to seize the moment, especially when he seems to have actually attempted to do something for you. Something nice.

A cool summer breeze swishes through your hair, playing with the wisps that have escaped their binds, floating on the slow wind. The sun beats down on the rolling grassland, earth warm beneath your thin soled shoes, tempting you to remove them—as unkempt and errant as it would be. Despite your time with him, the experiences he’s served to you whether aware of it or not, you still have a modicum of womanly restraint within, and will not yield to the hedonistic ways of those religious zealots who claim the god’s favour. As much as you wish to run bare-footed, unbind your hair, frolic in the summer’s sun. Even if you’re burning with desire to leap and soar. Even if you know he would have no complaints. It’s not like he’s ever shown appreciation for human customs—quite the opposite. They seem to be nothing more than puerile hindrance.

A surge of wind crests through the knee-high grass, making your light cotton skirts billow in the breeze, whipping at your hair again, tugging more of it free.

In the near-distance you can make out a forrest, trees bedecked with luscious green leaves, ranging from the lightest sea-foam green, to the deepest tyrian purple, to the reddest of burnt paprika. Carried on the breeze is the twittering of bird-song, the tweeting and whistling of those melodic voices that coast along the feathery clouds. Near the tops of the trees you can make out how some of the green leaves are already fading to raw sienna, readily yielding to the crisp touches of autumn.

From the crest of the hillock you peer down the side that’s bathed in buttery sunlight, lush moss coating the outcroppings of rock that would normally be dangerous to bare-footed folk. At the base of the small hill you can spot a splattering of colour—wild blues that border on indigo, blossoms that are too smooth a blend of orange and red, like bursts of vermillion, small buttercups dotting between shoots of pale yellow and purest magenta.

The breath steals from your lungs as you take in the sheer beauty of the scape, noticing the brook that winds its way down the hillside, babbling with the breeze in a flurry of words your human ears can’t yet decipher. The sun has long since seeped into the very marrow of your bones, warming you as if you’re bathing in a heated pool of gilded water.

“This is…” How would you even begin? You’ve never seen a sight like this, too accustomed to the burning sting of dust and the drying-out crust of sand as it whips and nicks at exposed skin. A landscape like this…it makes you breathless. Deprives you of words and thought. Just the billowing clouds dancing over the grassland, temperate and perfectly lovely.

“I couldn’t in my wildest dreams create a place like this…” you manage hoarsely. You turn to look up at him, “are we even in the human realm, or is this place blessed with divinity?” His eyes narrow at you, “if you’re asking whether or not we’re permitted to be here…” Your throat closes up. “I was not asking that. I did not think even one of you would dare set foot on holy grounds.” He rolls his eyes, and you stiffen. “Would you…?”

This time he snorts, descending the slope of the hill, moving toward its base.

“Azriel?” You ask, but he keeps to his fluid movement. “Azriel!” You repeat shakily, stumbling after him until you reach his side and step in front of him—not your wisest choice. But all he gives you is a rueful little smile, and vanishes—to appear behind you. He continues walking even as you twirl on your feet. You’re rooted to the spot. You can’t be here. You’re mortal, and if these truly are the holy grounds, then…

“Take me back.”

He smiles to himself internally before turning, features neutral as he takes in your stand of defiance. “Take me back right now.” Again, he offers that smarmy, little grin, “I didn’t say we were in your so-called holy lands.”

“Azriel,” you murmur, eyes wide with sincere fear, voice lowering, “tell me you would not.”

You sound desperate, as if it would be such an awful thing for a mortal to enter the ‘blessed lands’ of the gods, he thinks. “Your soul will not be forsaken, despite what your tampered-with scriptures proclaim,” he replies smoothly, watching keenly. You pause, then “that’s not what I asked.” He bites back a smile at your misplaced terror. Oh, how he would delight in taunting you further! How many ways could he deceive you with your limited and mostly incorrect knowledge of the gods? How he will laugh when you begin to discover their truths.

Instead he speaks calmly, if a bit coldly, “you are indeed in the mortal-labeled holy lands. But as I have already said, your soul will not be forsaken nor damned, nor will you rot alongside the Underking. As much as your liar- priests and priestess’ love to profess it as truth.” Your eyes widen at his bold claims, the brazen statements he’s making. “You understand the severity of heathenism, don’t you? To make claims such as yours…to make assertions like that will damn you to hell.”

He doesn’t remind you of your belief that he’s forced you to reside with him in hell. That would cause too many questions, and he quite likes knowing you won’t try to escape, if only for fear of what lies beyond the castle floor which he holds you in.

So he simply laughs at your fear-spurred actions. How many joys have you refused because of your misplaced faith? Never mind that, you’ll have plenty of time to live out whatever joys you wish to indulge in. You have a long life with him. He doesn’t dare consider potential complications with the Ritual.

“Your false scriptures claim that should a mortal man set foot on sacred lands, he will be struck down where he stands.” His eyes flick to the clear skies, not a thunder cloud in sight, “I see you’re still standing. By logic, they must be untruths.”

Your lips purse, but you remain rooted to the ground, refusing to take another step. Good.

His lips lift in a feral grin as he stalks toward you until you’re cast in shadow, wings flaring, “you refuse to move forward?” He asks, eyes gleaming with sinister promise. Just aching to rip into you, you think. But he is his own kind, and has been designed to lure humans like you to break the laws of your religion, to seduce you into failure and destruction, brought about by the hubristic nature of mankind. The kind you refuse to bow to. Even if he can shred you apart, you will trust in your gods—they have never failed you.

They’d never failed you until that night you’d been dumped in the forrest, bound and left for the beasts to fight over.

Then again when you’d been stolen.

Then again when you’d been dumped in that frozen wasteland, a new side of Hell.

Maybe they have abandoned you. Maybe you were supposed to die that night, yet he’d come swiftly in their place to fill the void the holy creatures had left when they deemed your time to be up.

But those are sweeping assumptions you’re jumping to. Maybe this is their way of testing you, to see if you’re worthy of those Elysian Fields, where only the bravest and noblest of souls may rest. A step above Heaven.

There must be a step below Hell, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you.

“I will not be coerced into failing my gods,” you reply firmly, planting yourself stably into the grassland, “I trust in their power, and their words. If they told me to leave my homeland and travel, I would follow obediently, without question or hesitation.”

“And what if one told you to obey me?” He asks mildly, teeth flashing in an animalistic grin that sets your hairs raising. He’s pleased when you falter on your self-righteous proclamations. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Humour me.”

Your brows narrow as you peer up at him, arms folding over the front of your creamy coloured dress. What trick is he up to now? “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” you shoot back instead. Unsettlingly, you think his lips twitch in a smile. Unsettling indeed.

He looks down on you in that judgemental way of his—like he knows every thought that passes through your mind. It doesn’t make you laugh as you had expected. Instead, a strange sense of unease floats across your chest. You wouldn’t like if he could just peer inside of you. But you know so little about his kind’s powers.

“So you would disobey your oh-so-dear gods if their requests did not align with your own sense of right and wrong?” He asks, amusement dancing in his charcoal gaze. Charcoal—not hazel. “They wouldn’t do that,” you repeat again.

He merely shakes his head, “you are blinded by your misguided faith.”

“That misguided faith as you so brazenly call it is what will separate us in the afterlife, Azriel.”

He laughs. It’s cold and heartless. “And what have I done to make you believe I deserve those silver flames? What makes you believe death will claim me—or any of my kind?” He questions, something honed and merciless glittering in his eyes. “You are what you are. Death will claim all of us. Only the Mother is beyond its cold clutches. Even gods yield before that carver’s scythe.”

Darkness writhes around him, a stain marring the beautiful landscape. A smudge of evil amongst this sacred nest of divinity. A wolf in a children’s nursery.

“Careful,” he warns, smiling vaguely, “you’re starting to sound like one of those heathens you so despise.”

“My words are not an affront to the deities. I recite what is written in our holy books,” you defend, even if a shiver spider walks down your spine at his accusation. Men had been turned to candle-wicks for less. “You speak of the death of a god. Such a thing is not taken lightly.”

“Is that a drop of reverence I detect? I thought you had a particular distain for those divine beings,” you reply, staring up a him with half-wild eyes. You will not be pushed from your faith. You will not waiver or tremble.

“I find myself quite close with one of those divine beings,” he drawls, watching as you flinch, trying to sort whether he’s telling a truth or attempting to deceive you, “and I do not think he would be pleased to hear someone—a mortal, no less—discussing his eventual ending.”

Your blood runs cold beneath the blazing sun, leaving a sense of nothingness in the absence of your life’s heat. “I don’t believe you.” But even to your ears it lacks the bite it needs. The unyielding conviction you had spoken with before.

But instead of pouncing on the obvious soft spot, he takes a different approach, returning to the conversation that had started the heated debate. “Your belief aside, you think I would put you in a position of danger? You seem to be in possession of a somewhat sound mind. You should understand I do not wish to have a corpse for a bride. Or a wife. Even I could not reach you once you passed over. I believe you would make a rather dull accomplice.”

The chill deepens, but you raise your chin, staring him down. “I will not take another step. These are sacred lands not yet meant for me.”

It seems to be the answer he was waiting for.

He grins, an animalistic flash of teeth and fangs and then he—vanishes.

You feel the shift deep within your bones. Somehow the veil between your beings has thinned—maybe the holy grounds play a hand in it. Either way, you’re caught off guard as his snout shoves beneath your legs, making them buckle as you’re tossed high into the summer’s air, enough to make you breathless.

And then you’re plummeting back down, landing atop a powerful back, corded with beastly muscle that shifts and ripples with languid grace as his wings snap open, flaring as he moves to shoot high into the heavens, you still seated atop him.

“Azriel!” You gasp, enough sense about you to dig your hands into the thick fur at the meeting point of the tip of his spine with the slope of his nape with the broad width of his shoulders. And the very breath whooshes from your lungs as you’re launched high into the blue as those great wings snap downward, capturing the wind beneath them as you soar to the clouds.

You grip tight, hauling your body flat against him as the wind beats at you, accompanied by the thunderous booming of his wings as they propel him higher and higher—

Those are clouds he’s coasting. Clouds he’s surfing up and over and around. He reaches the base of one, spiralling upward in a tight circle, cutting at its edge as he flies, soars further and further and then he’s at its peak. A wide expanse of pale blue lies before you and your stomach lurches as he begins the deadly plummet.

“Azriel!” You scream, words snatched away by the wind as his wings tuck in. Your heart rate spikes, thundering like an echo of the leathery beat that had pulled you so far from the safety of land and earth. Blood rushes in your ears, pounding through your body with wild intent and he plunges.

The earth is so small beneath you, and you’re unable to pick out the hill you came from as he dives—mostly because you refuse to look. Your eyes would probably tear up anyway. Then you become aware of the weakness of the wind, how the cold is no longer biting at the skin of your calves, catching in the pools of your dress. But he’s dropping—you can feel it in the spasming of your thighs as the end rushes up to greet you.

You clutch tighter to him, nestling into the heat of his silky fur and you pray. Pray to every god you know. To the Mother, to your parents, to the king, to every force you have comprehension of that he’ll pull up.

Blood pounds and you feel yourself losing grip. Silver lines your eyes as you’re dragged down through the atmosphere—a millstone dropped into the ocean of skies, plummeting, sinking, dragging you to its depths. You’ll splatter. Faced with your own mortality.

“Pull up,” you mutter under your breath, not even a whisper. Your stomach spasms with the plunge, the effort of keeping yourself intact. “Pull up,” you beg quietly, hands trembling as you fall, the hill coming into sight—the mossy outcroppings, the splatter of wildflowers, the babble of the brook. “PULL UP!” You scream at him, tugging at his fur because one more second and it’ll be too late.

His wings snap open, catching the wind beneath them, leathery skin going taut but holding. You’re jerked on his back, grip being shaken free, and you lurch, as if about to be sent careening from his back to plummet the rest of the way. But shadows snake over your thighs, hug your waist, fastening you to him as he evens out, shooting across the grassy flatlands as he coasts the green sea.

He’s so close to the ground; you’re certain should he wish it, his talons could till the earth. He’s going so fast, hurtling through the open fields, moving with lethal motion, propelled forward by the powerful, beating muscle that binds his wings. Colour blurs by as you pass over dotted patches of wildflowers, leaving only gusts of wind in your wake, crystal-like water spraying to a fine mist as he shoots across a stream.

A laugh—young and wild and reckless—bursts from your throat. His shadows wrap slightly tighter as your grip loosens on him, allowing you to sit upright—that shield that he’s put in place blocking you from the air that would surely knock you clean from his back.

The caged woman inside of you breaks free, tasting the wind and the air and seeing the vivid whirls of colour, smelling the freshness of green grass, the crispness to the summer breeze, edged with the floral sweetness of wildflowers and the earthy tones of the forrest. Everything around you is alive, humming with unspoken life, moving to that unheard melody that keeps the harmony in nature.

You want to bathe in it. To unbind your hair, tear your shoes from your feet and throw your arms to the wind. You want to dance through the clouds as he does, want to shred the dress from your body if only so the essence of the world can fill you up, to shower your senses in the force of nature. Feel the heated grass between your toes, rinse your skin in the crisp and clear water from the spring, roll down the grassy slopes and sleep in the wildflowers.

You sit upright, and raise your hands from his fur, letting the weightless spiralling feeling grip your soul, feeling the billowing air breezing by. Joyous laughter spills from your lips, bright and sun-filled as you allow yourself to forget—just for a moment—about the world you come from. Forget about being a proper woman, forget about duties of piety, of obligations to honour your household. Instead, you exist. You are. You be. It’s wondrous.

More, more, more—

His wings flare, pulling him to a glide downwards, flapping as he lands smoothly on the grassland, not too far from your take-off point.

What?

“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly. “Why are you stopping? Go again,” you push, but he remains grounded. “Azriel?” You question pleadingly. You want to go again. To soar higher and higher until the air is stolen from your lungs. To make the drop again and again. To feel the lurch of the world beneath you. To have the earth ripped from your feet.

But he shakes his shoulders in a gesture you take to mean get off.

“Just once more,” you breathe, fingers tightening in his fur as you lean closer to him, “one more ride. Please.” His head cocks, tilting to the side, eye curving round to see you on his back. What will you do for me?

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thumping in your blood. So many bargains, so many deals. Always one thing in return for another. But you need that high again. He’s given you a taste of the summer winds, how pure the air can be, how the world can tip as you dive and you need it again. Need to feel that insignificance—the unity with something greater.

So you make a reckless decision.

Your lips pull back from your teeth in a feral smile—one he’s given you before—then you’re swinging your leg over his shoulder, sliding down his silky fur as you drop to the mossy grass: spongey and soft. You turn to look at him, almost trembling with energy, sparking at the seems with inherent need and vivacious life.

As soon as your feet touch the ground he’s shifted, and you don’t allow yourself to fear him—only think of the skies and the clouds and that drop. You grab him by the hand, grin still splitting your lips as the sun shimmers in your eyes. You turn, tugging him along, moving as quick as you can as you drag him over to one of those patches of splattered colour, a section of wildflowers.

“You want me, don’t you?” You breathe, peering up into his dark eyes, writhing with darkness and malevolence and—hunger.

No second guessing, no room for doubt, you turn and step into him, hands snaking up his chest as you press against his body. He leans into you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against him, taking in your scent as he growls—half beast. “You’ll let me bed you in a field?” He asks, a taunting undertone to his low drawl.

You don’t let his words summon that flicker of shame as you shake your head. You look him in the eyes, peering up at him as his heat seeps into you—warm despite the chilly upper airs. “Lie down.”

His pulse stumbles at your words. Your command. The feral wildness reflected in your gaze. He can hear the thrumming of your heart against your ribs, how it’s pounding in your chest with a need to be free. “Lie down, Azriel,” you repeat, hands tightening on him with need. Barely hiding his reluctance, he settles in the grass, watching you silently for your next move.

That melody is still living inside of you, strumming your heartstrings; playing on your ribs, but it’s fading. You need to hear its symphony again, that cluster of chords that will make you feel the fire of life. You straddle his thighs, fingers working deftly on his ties to set him free and you hear his breath catch at your intent. Then a rough laugh sounds in the back of his throat, wetness gathering between your thighs in response. “You want to have it here?” He growls lowly, eyes piercing into you.

“Yes,” you breathe, gripping him in your hands.

He doesn’t get much warning as your mouth descends on him, tongue lapping over his head as you had wanted to do this morning, wet heat encasing him. He hisses an inhale at the sudden sensation, taloned hands fisting at his side as he feels blood drain from his head with such dizzying speed.

You’re tempted to keep licking at him, but you’re aching, and want to feel the wind on your skin as you ride him. It feels good, like there’s a greater current tugging you toward him, urging you on in your movements. It feels right.

So you scramble up his body, mouth opening over his own as you slant your lips against him. A sound rumbles in his chest as his hands grip your hips brutally. Your own hands drop to the hem of his leathers, pushing and pawing in attempts to remove his top as you moan against him, letting your heart-beat guide you to what you want.

“Azriel,” you pant between the flashes of teeth and the flicker of his tongue. You again grope at his shirt, pushing it up and he finally follows, removing it and you take him in, mouth practically watering as you actually take him in. Every scar, every swirl of ink, whorls of shadow decorating his skin with ancient marks that beckon and call to be licked and inspected.

“You’re look at me as if you haven’t eaten in days,” he purrs darkly and you can feel him against your thigh. Something fractures inside of you, splitting down your spine and lashing at the inside of your skin, flaying you raw with need so great it threatens to obliterate you.

He senses it, the war drums inside, sitting upright as he grabs you roughly, your arms snaking over his shoulders. You moan when he kisses you, a deep, wanton sound. Your hips roll, pressing against him and he groans at your desperation—for him. Thoughts begin to eddy from his mind as primal need slowly seeps through him, weakening his restraint.

To his surprise, you lift your dress, pushing aside your underwear as your fingers find your pleasure-centre. The loudest moan yet spills into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, hand tangling in your hair as the wind whips around you, sun still high in the sky. Two fingers press inside, and you curl them. You know you need to prepare yourself for him. He was gentle before—or you were ready for him. But this time you’re taking him of your own accord, and you need to be fully equipped to deal with him.

Your breath catches when one of his hands slides possessively down the curve of your back, squeezing your ass before slipping beneath your dress. Talons scrape menacingly against the soft skin of your inner thighs and you whimper with pleasure. His claws retract and the air is pushed from your lungs as you feel one of his fingers join your own. “Azriel…”

He growls over your mouth, tongue flicking your roof as his grip tightens in your hair, drawing more pleasing sounds from you for him to devour. “Is this why you prefer your dresses? For ease of access?” He manages between breaths. “Yes,” you pant, his fingers curling inside of you. He doesn’t believe for a second you’re actually paying attention to what he’s saying, but it sends an overpowering wave of fire lighting his spine regardless.

“Yeah?” He chuckles as you roll your hips against him, getting wetter by the second—he can feel it. Feel you. “You want me to start taking you whenever I want?” He growls, mouth leaving yours as his teeth graze your neck. Your breath catches, one hand tangling in his hair as you tilt your head to the side with primal need, “bite me.”

He snarls, pupils dilating at the whispered command. He follows obediently, fangs scraping over the scars, before sinking down. You whimper, gripping him tighter as he laps at your life that spills on his tongue, drinking down every damned drop he can before his saliva seals you away again. He’s tempted to take another bite.

But you’re tugging at him, and your mouth opens over his, the metallic flavour coating your tongue as you taste him. Then you’re pulling back, taking your fingers from between your legs, too—more room for his own that he presses inside. A groan drags from his throat as you push your fingers between his lips, whimpering as his tongue laps at your flavour, heat raising to his skin as he stares you down, the wet muscle in his mouth flicking and twining over and between your digits as he sucks that taste from them.

“Do it,” he growls, retracting his hand from between your thighs, guiding his tip to your entrance. You pant breathlessly, settling your weight over his head and you know you can just sink down and have him inside of you filling you up making you spill—

“Azriel,” you cry, burying your face in his neck, teeth pushing at his skin desperately, “Azriel…” You repeat his name again and again, chanting it as if it were an ancient spell to relieve you of pain and bless you with unending joy and life. Over and over you say his name as a scared mantra, whimpering and whispering it against his skin with aching reverence. Lower and lower, inch by inch, until you’re sat in his lap and the world spins.

You remain still, basking in the fullness, bursting with energy. Your hips wind softly over his, and you hiss at the pleasure, white spots dancing in your vision like feathers or blossoms on the breeze. Your nails press again his tough skin, raking at his back as you lift, then slide down.

More. You need more. You need that symphony to sing to your bones, need to melt into him, break under him, yield and reforge into molten pleasure until your screams turn to song.

Your hands find the hem of your cotton dress as you pull away. Then you’re tugging it up over your hips, over your stomach, over your breasts, throwing it to the grassy floor. Press against him, bare skin on skin, heat and life and beauty flowing freely between you but you need more.

You guide his hands to your hips, hooking his fingers beneath the cream fabric. His talons slice without you having to ask, and you pull it away, kicking off your shoes and toeing off your socks until you’re completely bare.

Tears brim at your lashes at the feeling, of being utterly naked to the world. You can feel the heated grass beneath your shins, the wildflowers caressing your skin, the sun beating down on your form, the summer air—crisp and clean—filling your lungs. And him. Him filling you from within, filling you until you’re about to burst, laying upon you gift after gift of experiences. So many you would never have touched had he not stolen you away.

You manage to raise yourself from his lap—then sink down, settling yourself on his cock. You moan, loud and unrestrained. One hand raises from your hip to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, pushing away the dampness. You’re not sure if you’re anymore capable of movement. Of breath, of thought, of anything other than being entirely with him. Of being entirely his. With every bone, every breath, every thought. If it’s all his, will it ever be enough?

His hips buck and a silent moan spills from your lips, cock touching a sensitive spot that has you finally spurring into action because you want more and more and more and it isn’t enough. You raise up, and drop down, pushing him deeper inside of you, so deep you’re winded from the fullness.

“Azriel,” you whisper over his lips, tipping your head upward as you wind over him, finding your pleasure in his body, “Azriel, please.” You need him in that way of his, need him to obliterate you. Your nails claw at him, grazing the base of his wings and he hisses. Repeat it, gentler. He groans. More pleasure.

“Azriel,” you beg again.

He pulls back to look at you, something raw in his eyes, “what?”

“Shift.”

His head goes quiet, almost silent, and there’s nothing left in him to resist your request. His features sharpen, fangs protruding beneath his lips, eyes slitting to slivers of darkness then his iris’ turn black, swallowing the whites. Talons push from his knuckles, thick fur dusting his abdomen and then—

Your back arches, curving up into him as you cling on desperately. His cock shifts, expanding below the head to rub against that spot inside of you, to drag against it whenever he—yeah. That’s it. Your eyes have gone wide and glazed, winding over him with fluid ease, as if you’re following some innate rhythm inside of you that’s perfectly synchronised with his roar of harmonies.

“A little more,” you breathe, staring up at him, “just a bit more, Azriel.” He shifts further, fur raising to his stomach, finger merging to form three-toed paws, accented with razor sharp claws. His cock grows inside of you, swelling, and you think you could die. Right there. You could be peaceful. So happy and content.

He grips your hips, urging you to move, to find your pleasure. To give him his own, too. But you can hardly move with the sheer size of him, one shift of your body will likely send you— He lifts you up and slams you down. You scream, gripping onto him as your hips buck wildly, and he’s pounding into you, canines scraping and nipping to deliver that edge of pain that has stars and moons colliding in sprays of silver and gold inside of you.

He keeps going, raising your hips and slamming you down and the breath is knocked from your body as you free-fall through ecstasy.

And you shatter.

He feels you fluttering around him, clamping down and he can’t help himself—his teeth sink again into your skin. Bursts of lightening buzz beneath your skin as pleasure sings to your blood, sparking and fracturing and welding and reforming. Heaven spills on his tongue, finest ambrosia put to shame as he’s swallowed by his senses. Indulging in your divine decadence until he’s lost what he is.

It takes minutes for the both of you to come back down from the highs you’d flown to. To glide back down and fully settle takes longer, and when you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, and push up from his body to meet his gaze, you’re not quite sure what to do.

Something changed. You’d been working in tandem, flowing from the same beginning to the same end, blending at some point as you blurred and melted.

You barely manage the energy to pull back a little, to put some space between your bodies so you can peer down. You’re startled by the sight of the bump in your lower abdomen. He just watches quietly as you lower your palm to it and press curiously. Both of you hiss as you press his cock against you through your skin. He’s so big. So big you can see his mark from the outside. How full did he make you?

“I…” You rasp, but don’t know what to say. Instead his eyes gleam, though there’s still something raw in those dark hazel depths, “still want that ride?”

Both of suck in a sharp breath as you tighten around him at the kick of need in response to his double-edged question.

It takes a while before you’re able to ease off him, and you feel empty once you’ve slid out of his lap. Empty enough you’re tempted to scrap the ride through the skies and instead hop back on top of him.

He probably wouldn’t mind.

But instead you manage to make it to a stream, both of you bathing in the waters. You dry off quickly in the sun—even if small blades of grass litter your body. With a little reluctance, you re-adorn yourself in your crumpled cotton dress, though your underwear is done for. You attempt to tie the sliced pieces together over your hips, but Azriel only re-slices them once you’ve managed. You can’t tell whether it was accidental or intentional on his part.

The ride isn’t as intense as the first, both of you seemingly in need of something soothing and calming to replenish yourselves with after the frenzied coupling.

The winds are still pleasant, the weather delightfully temperate, and he flies until your stomach growls in protest. You would have asked him to fly more, if you hadn’t thought maybe he might be in need of food as well.

So you spend the afternoon lazing in dappled shade, gorging on berries and weaving wildflowers—you haven’t done so since you were a child, and take great joy in seeking out the colours and stems you want.

Azriel lazes at your back, shifted into a four-pawed form to settle at the base of a towering oak. He keeps his eyes shut, but you get the feeling he’s watching silently as he always seems to do for you.

It’s only when you approach him gingerly from the front that he cracks his eyes open. His large head raises from the sun-warmed earth, peering down at you with a blacked-out gaze. His attention runs over you, going from the crown of your head—where a corona of flowers sits woven into your hair—to your still-bare feet.

Hesitantly, you hold up the circlet of wildflowers, beginning to approach. He growls lowly when you set it on his snout—unable to reach his brow. With a heavy huff of air, he blows the small crown up high, letting his shadows guide it lower to rest atop your own wreathed head.

You blink, touching the crown inquisitively. He waits for you to kick up a fuss, to start crying or to stomp away, but you stay where you are for a moment, watching him warily—as you should. Then walk away.

His eyes close, settling his large maw down atop his paws until he feels a small weight press into his side. Shadows swirl to find you dosing against him, the sinking sun bathing you in orange light as you press into his side with a yawn. The second crown tilts slightly as your eyes close, head tipping to the side. You continue slumping until you’re laying flat against the ground, still nestled to his side as you usually do when sleeping.

It’s somehow good to know that behaviour isn’t limited to when you think he’s unaware. It’s good to know you’re settling into some more animalistic habits. Hopefully when the Ceremony comes, it won’t be too demanding of a change.

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