#quincewrites | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkyquince · 6 months

Text

Okay so maybe in just brain rotted... And I am BUT.

Love interests fucking GRABBING the dark urge for a kissy after the meeting with gortash. Man's turning up the rizz and flexing his stubble and eye bags and his anti-anxiety robe and his voice is low and seductive as he calls the durge an old *friend*.

Like, Karlach wouldn't even wait to be out of the room. Not even take a few steps away. Fully turn to you, grab you by the shoulders and fucking LIFT you up to plant a big smooch on you. Much to Gortash's bemusement and horror tbf. And the rest of the court's.

Gale would be more subtle, stepping close as you head towards the stairs and quickly press a kiss to your cheek with a soft smile. No way anyone would think it's a platonic look of adoration, even if his stomach is still twisting with the revelation that it was YOUR actions that led to this.

Astarion? Yeah, your conversation wouldn't have even ended before he's doing his slutty lil lean against you, resting his chin on your shoulder, still seemingly fully absorbed into the conversation. After it ends, he presses a kiss to your neck and idly follows after you, bemused by his own spark of annoyance at Gortash and his reaction to it. Mostly just exasperated by it though.

Wyll is filled with outrage for his father, for karlach and now for you. The implications seeped in Gortash's words and yet when you had joined up with the group, you had been left in the trash heaped, bloodied and stricken with amnesia. He's disgusted. So on the way out, he takes another look at his father and then slips his hands into yours. Raises it and gently kisses your knuckles on the way out. Even some of the court coo at the cute, gentlemanly gesture. Gortash looks mildly grossed out and Wyll takes that win, even with the prospect of meeting back up with Mizora in a few seconds.

Lae'zel would bare her teeth at him, smack his down and break his face in, if.... Well, if everything else wasn't going on right now, and it would upset the tin soldiers. So she settles for the next best thing, as resentment and possessiveness curl her tongue. Just gripping your waist and pulling you closer should do it. But she must add in a quick, harsh bite to your lower lip. Yknow, just in case.

Shadowheart? Gods, to make it clear, she's dying to press you against the wall and slide a thigh against your crotch, but yknow. Polite company. So instead she just slips her arm around yours, pulls you closer and whisper into your ear. Looks more salacious than it is, as she whispers that your past isn't who you are now and then drops a kiss to your earlobe. But it should to the trick.

Halsin isn't an envious creature. He really isn't. This man wouldn't care about your current other partners, so why should he care about past ones? Potential past parents, nonetheless. But, he'd never turn down the chance to pull his love close, especially in front of the man that caused all this trouble to begin with. Pull you close and tuck you into his side, maybe even kiss your temple.

Gortash? Gortash has missed his favourite assassin. He's waited for you, even with Orin hissing about your demise, and he never truly believed that such a piece of subpar, inbred Bhaalspawn could compare to you. The one who stole the Crown, the one who helped mastermind, the one who your father had chosen first. So what in the world was your little fan thinking? After a sweet, pleasant conversation, to start to paw at you? A fool no doubt. They might have gotten a few lovely weeks with you, but he had been with you for far longer, and he was finished waiting. No, he didn't see them being a problem.

2K notes · View notes

inkyquince · 8 months

Text

cw. Baby trapping. Ranging from dub to noncon. Somnophilia, desperation versus spite. Pseudoincest because Morgan is Morgan.

Characters. Kylar, Avery, Harper, Morgan, Bailey, Whitney, Remy.

Baby traps you out of desperation:

Kylar. You can't leave him now, not ever! Not when you two are forever joined with the life growing inside of you. Would prick holes in the condoms you tell him to use, or just smears his own fingers with cum before fingering you greedily. Even crushes up fertility pills and puts them in your drink, watching you drink it down with wet, staring eyes. You wouldn't be allowed near anyone else the moment it's confirmed you're carrying his kid.

Avery. If you're leaving him before he leaves you. Leaving the town for university, leaving him for someone better off, or for love. You let him down easy, with a soft smile, and thank him for all the years of help. Help. What he had done for you reached beyond help. He was your saviour from god knows what. Anger burns in his veins but he just breathes low and even before asking if you want to have one last evening, just like the old times. How could you say no? You should have said no. You think it'll just be slow, soft, goodbye sex but the moment the handcuffs come out, you realise it won't be. In the hot tub, on the bed, against the balcony railing, Avery drills into you, slamming in deep with every thrust. You should have known to try and run when you reminded him of the condoms in his back pocket and he took them out just to throw them in the bin right in front of you. Cums deep inside of you every time, groaning into your neck. Dawn slips in through the curtains and Avery lights another cigarette before looking at your spent body next to him. Do you think your had any future now, with anyone or anything else, when swollen with a child?

Harper. You were going to be released. After so much time together at the asylum, you'd leave the intimate nest that kept you close to him at all times. He had been so blind to every thing other than his work, his work and you, that he hadn't realised that the time for you to go had arrived. Just one last night together. So he creeps to your room, just to watch you sleep a bit. Just that. Just watching. He always likes you like this, unaware and soft. He watches, soft, until he can't watch anymore. No more mandatory therapy. No more check ups. No more washing you in the shower, soapy fingers slipping between your thighs. Harper could make it mandatory, but who would make you go? What could force you to keep coming to him, to his office, to his embrace? Well, it's obvious. It's the time of your life that would be the most closely monitored with doctor's visits and check ups. He doesn't even take his shirt off, just shuck his trousers down to his thighs and climbs on top of you. Doesn't matter if you wake up. His desperate rutting into you, making sure to cum deep inside, the thoughtless need of it all, it doesn't feel like a disgusting act of violence, but tastes like the honeymoon night, with the only person for him.

Morgan. He always wanted grandkids. He loves grandkids. Seeing his baby round with life, and knowing it'll tie them to their papa for the rest of their life filled him with blind euphoria. No one could ever take you away from him, not like everyone from his wife, to the town had tried. You were his baby... He just had missed you so much. Doesn't help that you seemed so lonely at times, asking him to go to see your friends and go to your part time job. After all, he was the one insisting on home schooling and special cuddles since he made enough for the both of you. You needed to be home. You could have your baby for company, the same way he had his own for company. "Let daddy make you happy." He whispers to you, even as you act out. He just wants you to be happy. His baby deserves it all, his cock, his seed, your own bundle of joy.

Baby traps you out of spite:

Bailey. Maybe you ran your mouth just a bit too much that day. Maybe he was sick of your love sick puppies coming to the door and whine for some time with you. Maybe he just happened to grit his teeth to the point of pain as one of his brats sat before him, belly swollen as their baby daddy sat next to them, making plans to take them off his hands and live full time with them instead. Another source of income cut off. Maybe it was because you were his best earner and god knows if you fucking used protection. It didn't matter. What mattered is that, despite your pleas, he wasn't going to pull out. Slamming deep inside of you, hissing under his breath that you'd never be able to leave with any of your little boyfriends, not when another man's child grew in your belly. Later he might regret snapping like that, now that you had his brat. He might. Or he leans against your door frame, staring as you slept, shirt riding up to show the subtle bump of something growing inside of you.

Avery. But this time, if you're being bad. You ghosted him, you spurned him, you ran around with everyone in town without sparing a thought for the man that handed over enough money for you to thrive amongst Bailey's brats. Perhaps his snaps when he sees you flirting with one of his superiors, or that stupid kid you ran around with. Perhaps he waits outside the pub, smoking his imported cigarettes down to the filters until you appear, tipsy and looking like a whore. It doesn't take much to force you into the back of his car, ripping at your shirt to force it up, over your head to force your arms up, restraining you. You were his first. You were the one that was so perfect on every date before this rebellious streak. You've humiliated him. So there's nothing he'd want more than to return the favour. And when you're round with his child, and in need of support, he'd laugh. No one would believe you, a common street rat would have been forced to carry his child, him, a respected businessman. Doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy your hole squeezing tight around him as he roughly ruts into your poor guts.

Whitney. You dirty fucking whore. Running around with the greasy rat, the loser and the religious freak while he proclaims you as his bitch? Did the collar, did the tattoo, did your sore hole mean fucking nothing? So he corners you in the bathroom, snickering with his friends as he boxes you into the stall and begins to undo his belt. His bitch deserved a litter if you were going to let anyone who sniffed around you fuck you. Also it's just funny. The way the teachers would look at you with disappointment, the way your other dogs would stop sniffing around you. The way your uniform won't fit you at all in just a few months. Whitney still can't decide if he should show you off, the knocked up slut all for him, or to make you beg for him to keep you around. After all, the way you squealed and kicked on his cock, even now had him fucking dizzy.

Remy. Of course it made perfect sense. What sort of cow produces even more milk? One swollen with a calf. It helps that the idea occured to him after you made your latest successful escape attempt and Wren was the one to return you to your proper place in life. It's hard to run with a swollen belly, and milky tits. Maybe it would even endear him to you, snuffling into his hand, wanting some attention since your stupid, empty brain thought of him as master and as mate. So, with you struggling and huffing in your breeding bench, Remy sends everyone else out. He should just use some of the semen that the bulls deposited earlier, but why should he? Not when you were his favourite for so long, licking his fingers clean when the juices from the apple stained his skin. The one he looked forward to seeing the most. The one he fisted his cock to, imagining the way you'd keen and whine with his cock rutting into you and filling you up with his own milk. He could also prepare a room for your calf to live in, just so you'd paw at him to let you see his only heir, the one to inherit it all, even if they did have soft cow eyes and spotted, velvety ears.

#dol #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #nsft #kylar the loner #avery the businessperson #harper the doctor #morgan the sewer dweller #bailey the caretaker #whitney the bully #remy the farmer

1K notes · View notes

inkyquince · 7 months

Text

anyway, durge having weird ritual blood sex with gortash. Shout out to @angrelysimpping who sent the prompt from the sex magic book they were reading because we're both insane.

characters. lord enver gortash :3

content warning. dark urge reader. pre-tadpole era. gortash being viciously down bad, because he's very willing to have sex with durge while they're covered in blood and being watched by the cultists. exhibitionism. blood play. gore mention, along with murder. 2.6k words.

"Howerever, he also added a powerful dose of Tantrism by suggesting that magical work should be conducted in the nude, with the ritual use of a flail, and that rites should be led by a High Priest and High Priestess who would literally or symbolically couple at the climax of certain rituals." The Book Of English Magic, Carr-Gomm. P.

Gortash was not one to be summoned. Summoned, sent for, demanded to show up with haste at the whim of someone else. While he might schmooze with the Duke and hastily head over when Ravengard demands him to come talk, he is a man not to be controlled and demanded things of.

But you always were such a delicious thorn in his side. While others, like Thorm, would try to pry it out, getting their fingers bloodied as they struggled to grip onto it, Gortash relished the sting that came with every movement. The ache, the soreness of the skin struggling to reject the barb, the trickle of blood leaking down his side. He adored it. The cushy life he led in Baldur’s Gate had softened his skin, despite the sulfur of the hells soaked into it. You were refreshing. A tinge of pain that was inflicted on him in the House of Hope by the boatload, except this time, the claws that had raked down his back as a punishment had turned into something deeply pleasurable for him.

So when you sent for him, he’d never dream of keeping you waiting. Your letter mentioned something about needing his help with a ritual of Bhaal’s, so while he was looking forward to seeing you, he was quietly hoping that you weren’t about to blood sacrifice him or something. It would put a damper on the plans you two shared.

Gortash knows the path down to Bhaal’s temple well enough by now. He almost basked in it, enjoying the looks the other worshippers would shoot him as he made his way down, some questioning, some openly hostile and a select few viciously jealous. But this journey down was different. No stray cultists, whispering about guts and garroting. No weird little butler scuttling after him.

Nothing.

Except when the chanting reaches his ears.

The low, rhythmic voices, all whispering, all culminating into something strange, something wrong, something that makes the hair on his neck stand up on end. Gods, he really hopes he isn’t a sacrificial lamb here. He refuses to spurn an invitation from you, so he continues down, down, down, the chanting getting louder, louder, louder.

Entering the main sanctum, he finally sees all. Bhaalists crowding all the stairs leading down to the platform with the sacrificial altar, with no sign of you. Just a deep, dark, pool of blood, big enough for someone to swim in. Even more worrying.

His presence didn’t go unnoticed. The cultists were already parting for him to make his way through, and closing in behind him, barring him from exiting. The whispers quietened for just a second before resuming, even louder as he was prodded, like cattle to continue down. Before too long he stood on the platform, his palms itching. Just when he was about to demand answers, the chanting stopped, the disconcerting whispers cutting off into dead silence immediately.

The blood in the pool quivered and a body breached the liquid, coated in a deep, slippery crimson.

Fuck.

Gortash always knew you were sublime in red. But you were completely covered. Dripping blood as you step out of the pool, you don’t even push away the blood painting your face, not when you open your eyes and focus on him.

The entire room seemed to drink you in, your naked form, glazed with the very essence your father urged you to spill. It was only a few seconds of silence before the chanting resumed, but it was different this time. As if the previous whispering had been a chorus of begging, for you to emerge, but now? It was a demand, for the ritual to resume, for it to be completed, to taint the room further.

All the air in Gortash’s lungs had stilled, but when you came closer, it rushed out all at once. Your naked form was always deeply divine to him, no matter how many times he bedded it. While he paid for his whores and some married ladies adorned his bed, he often got tired of them, seeing them as run through, and no longer exciting. But you? Fuck. Hells, even your bloodied, nude form was already getting him hard.

“Sorry for the vague invitation.” You murmur, as if you two were at a soiree that he just got the invitation for. “Needed someone for this and I don’t think Thorm can get it up at his age.”

Gortash’s lips twitch, but your bloodied fingers curling around his wrist silenced his snarky retort. Nothing to say, not when you lead him to the altar.

“What-”

You hushed him, pressing a finger against his lips and leaving a crimson mark in its wake.

“Don’t worry. Just a ritual for each decade that passes. Better me than Sarevok, believe me, even if he has run out of his own spawn to give daughters to.” You roll your eyes but push him back, against the altar, forcing him down as you straddle him, staining his clothes.

He’ll never throw them out.

The altar was no soft bed, and while he wasn’t a squeamish man, the strong smell of blood was clouding his head. It was at this angle, that he noticed the cuts along your side, looking like marks made by a flail, even though the blood you were drenched in weren’t from your own injuries. Even the dozens of eyes trained on the two of you, there was a delicious string of excitement, pulling his spine taut and tight.

Gortash was no Bhaalist, not when he followed Bane, so while he was no stranger to certain rituals, he was unused to ones of this… Variety. He made a note to himself that he should read up on them, just in case he was about to have a Bhaalspawn of his own somehow. Not that there has never been an attempt to baby trap him in the past, but this was… Different.

You, naked and bloodied, on top of him with wild, dark eyes, the chanting of some, excuse his phrasing, cultist weirdos echoing in his ears. The only thought his mind could form as you dragged your hand over his lips, down his throat, was that if this was a ritual purely for Bhaal, he did hope He wasn’t aware that he was the one getting hard underneath his favorite spawn.

But that seemed to be the point. You gave him a dangerous smile, blood slipping in between your lips and staining your teeth, similar to when you’d bite him during sex and come away with crimson painting your tongue. As per usual, you had no patience for his belt, instead opting to barely loosen it and slip his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Thank the Gods he had, a self admittedly fat, “pretty” cock. Though, he doubts if he didn’t, you wouldn’t have bothered with him beyond your first tryst. But being humiliated in front of the dagger happy zealots was not high on his list of priorities.

His busy mind screeched to a halt as you slowly began to pump his cock, even as he was hard as hells. Your touch, even just a nudge or your fingers brushing, felt like lightning, like something otherworldly was deigning to caress his very mortal skin. Your eyes, so delicious and darkened drank in his expression, his slow, shallow breaths as you continued to practically fucking play with him, like a mouse under your claw.

“Don’t tease me.” He murmured, low and throaty, just for the two of you and you just smiled your wicked grin.

Instead of heeding his request, you leaned down, as if to press a kiss to his chapped lips, and he raised his head to meet your kiss, but instead of something soft, he felt your teeth bite down. Splitting his bottom lip and letting his own blood trickle into your mouth. Even with just a few seconds of your lips against his even with the pain of being bitten, he missed it the second you pulled away. You firmly pushed him back down, but the ache from slamming his head against the stone altar was muted, when you refused to let up on massaging his cock, the pleasure seeping into his veins like poison.

“Fuck.” He hissed through his teeth, wanting to lean his head back and shut his eyes, but there was something deeply magnetic lingering in your eyes that made it impossible for him to ever look away.

You yourself slowly grinded against his thigh, enjoying the way the Chosen of Bane squirmed like a rodent caught in a trap. Shame he was such a charming rodent, one that nosed against your ear and chittered oh so invitingly. Your older brother hated the scurrying little things so, he used to take you aside as a child, and whisper to you exactly how to catch them, and then make them squeal. But this rodent, with his nice dark coat and fiendish eyes, the one who squirms so nice in your hand? He seems a bit too cute to crush.

Especially with the way he was panting low and hard, his tongue dragging over his teeth. Blood smeared over his mouth and chin, and his clothes were stained similarly. Delicious.

“Just let me fuck you already.” He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into your bare, bloodied thighs.

“Oh, that’s cute.” You murmured, low and heady in the way he adores so, at least in his room with the servants sent home for the day. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the tone. “This is about restraint. Submission.”

Gortash hissed through his teeth again, but said nothing, just drank the sight of you in. You finally took pity, with his hungry, desperate eyes that you usually only saw at the meetings, with maps strewn across the table, as he talked about the plans for the future. It’s also a look that he used to give you when you two first met. Raising your hands to his lips and kissing the knuckles, eyes boring into you. It’s a look that grew in intensity each time you met, until the night he got you alone finally, dragging his hand greedily over your side as he leaned in to kiss your throat. You’d thought it would end up diminishing but it never did. It quietened at times, but he had the look of an addict waiting for his next fix.

Finally shifting up, you pressed his leaking cockhead against your hole. Enver could feel it slicked with blood, but his mind raced with thoughts about you getting ready for the ritual, writing out the letter inviting him down as you slowly fingered yourself, lubed up to your knuckles and imagining him. Or Thorm, since apparently he was also an option. Thank the Gods that the sight of you dipped head to toe in blood was far more arousing than that intrusive thought, otherwise he might have gone soft. No doubt if you two were ever having sex and he lost his erection, you’d butcher him right then and there.

No, just his cockhead slipping inside of you had him struggling to concentrate, the chanting beginning to rise in volume again. Gortash couldn’t even figure out the words, it just made his head spin.

You just watched him try to breathe slowly and evenly as you enjoyed the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you before you slammed your hips down, making him bottom out inside of you. His cock was your favorite, no doubt about it. Out of all the ones you’ve seen, flaccid and puckered in death as your followers stripped them of their belongings, hard and ready for the select lovers you picked out, unaware that they were bedding a spawn of Bhaal, his remained the best. Maybe it was because he was one of the few madmen ready to stick their dick in the God of Murder’s child, maybe it was because it was curved in a way that hit just right deep inside of you. Or maybe he was one of the few men that had the talent to back up their bragging mouth.

Gortash couldn’t help but thrust upwards, into you, basking in the whorish sounds of your moans. Your fingers dug into the section of his exposed chest, beginning to ride him in earnest, as if there weren't the cultists watching without heat to their eyes, as if watching you do your daily chores. Wasn’t exactly a turn on, Enver thought grimly, though if you would just let him finally take you to the brothel and allow at least the prostitutes to admire the amazing work you two put into having disgustingly dirty sex.

You rode him roughly, just watching as he struggled to look away from you, his own blunt nails digging into your thighs even more, as if trying to make sure to keep you there. Blood coated his cock as he thrusted up into you the wet slapping of skin against crimson glazed skin echoing throughout the room, the chanting drowning out your shared sighs and moans.

Fuck, it felt too good. He was dying to fondle your chest, pinch your nipples till they were all sore and puffy and so cute. The only downsides that he could only be half sure that you wouldn’t cut off his hand for touching anywhere other than your perfect fucking thighs. The blood was slowly drying on you, the glimmering sheen giving way to a dark matte look, pieces flaking off. You looked fucking perfect.

Gortash was clinging onto the edge, concentrating on not cumming before you did, but you wouldn’t be one of his favorite pieces of ass if you couldn’t see through him as if he was made of glass. With a nasty smirk, you leaned down again, mid bounce and kissed him right on the mouth, swearing the blood from his bitten lip. It was too much at that point. He was not some virgin who came from kissing, but fuck. Fuck.

He arched his back, pressing his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up till it began to drip out, along your bloodied thighs. You sighed, low and soft, tensing up around him to the point the poor fuck was seeing stars. The chanting slowly eased off into the casual hum of conversation, as you slowly slipped the Lord out of you, letting his cum spill out freely.

The cultists dispersed among themselves and back into the alternating halls as Gortash slowly regained his breath and sat up.

“A little head’s up would have been greatly appreciated.” He grumbled, hiking his trousers back up and tucking his softening cock away.

“And miss out on the chance of you chickening out?”

“I’d never.” He finally sat up and watched as the cum slipped down your legs to the floor, mixing with the blood to make a soft pink color. “... But if I did fail to show, any particular person you’d have picked?”

“Probably would have grabbed a random guy. Like the one who loves to skin people while they’re dying.”

Gortash quietly made a note to have that certain one jailed for some other thing as you stretched and glanced back at him.

“I need company as I bathe.”

You, of course, would never ask him to give you company as you washed yourself of all the blood and cum, but who was he to say no to such an appealing command?

#quincewrites #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge

511 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 3 months

Text

Thinking about Omega Harper. Best doctor for omegas around, so soothing, so gentle, with an impeccable bedside manner. Then he sets his sights on you. Just for you, he starts keeping inflatable knots in his drawer.

Tells you your outbursts and fighting are from a lack of a rush of hormones released when you're knotted. Don't worry, the clinic has something that can help with that. And you trust him, don't you?

Just a few sessions, getting your insides stuffed with his soft, gentle, omegan cock, with the artificial knot snagging on your poor hole. Whispers against your ear for you to present yourself, take his knot, be a good little mate for him.

Harper isn't one to let silly things like biology stand in the way of what he wants.

#:>#harper the doctor #dol #degrees of lewdity #semster has restarted and im doing long prose and screen writing #doing a lil dance #gonna make myself at least write shorter stuff #nsft #quincewrites

236 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 7 months

Text

anyway, here's gortash.

characters.... enver gortash. cmon now

content warning. gore mention? kinda? its not detailed. dark urge reader. they're in the middle of a long fuck sesh but its not that nsfw except gortash is fucking hard and it'll take talking about thorm to make him go soft.

The sound of Baldur's Gate's people going about their day always managed to steal through the windows, even with the thick curtains darkening the room. So many individuals walking around, haggling, buying, working, crying, loving, living.

So many beings. So much blood to spill, till the cracks in the cobblestones were stained red, never to be washed away.

Between your thighs, Gortash gives a low hum of contentment, looking up at you with his intensely dark eyes glinting in the low candle light.

"Thought about something you like, did you?" He murmurs, dragging his thumb over his slick covered lips, spit and precum gathering on his finger just to be tucked into his mouth to be sucked clean.

"Maybe," You muse with a smile, adjusting the way your leg lay over his shoulder and along his spine. "Maybe I enjoy you being on your belly for me."

Enver chuckled, low and amused. His reputation meant that he was held in high respect, and to tell him to take a knee to anyone other than maybe the Duke, was absurd. But here he was, on his stomach in his bed, with luxurious sheets, naked as the day he was born, with his face nestled between your thighs. You'd have considered this a victory, if it wasn't that he gave this freely to you. Gortash was the one who greedily hooked your legs over his shoulders, the one who always needed a hand against your back or cupping your elbow, no matter the looks he got from Thorm, or servants around his manor.

It was... Cute.

He licked his lips again, before slowly nosing over your pubic bone, up, over your stomach. Dropping kisses to the naked skin, he didn't stop till you felt his teeth against your throat, beginning to suck and bite away.

Now, this? This was adorable.

The only way for your lover to hurt you, the weapon your father favoured above all other, was to attack you with kisses and bites, till your neck bloomed with love marks and bruises. You had slaughtered so many in your father's name, and there was countless ways to gut Enver as he tended to your throat, but he could never.

What was clear to you, but maybe clouded to him, that he would never be able to bring harm to you. His hands weren't clean of blood, and the sulfur of the hells always stuck to his skin, as one's past often does, but you had no doubt that if the time ever came where he wanted the Brain all to himself, you'd fell him easily.

You gave another low sigh of pleasure and Enver answered with one of his own, finally abandoning his need to mark up the one person who'd never fully give themselves to him, not in the way he craved. But at least the love marks were pretty. Instead he kissed you deeply, his lean forearms caging you in.

His cock was hard again, dragging over your slick thighs as he lost himself in the taste of your mouth, something sweet and something metallic along your tongue giving him a head rush.

"Again?" You murmured against his lips, your tone inquisitive as you felt his heartbeat pick up.

"How could I ever show restraint towards you?" Gortash pulled away, his dark hair falling into his face. Despite spending most of the morning in bed, with the initial meeting he called fully abandoned, he had already spent three rounds with you on his cock, and when you weren't milking him for all he was worth, he was worshipping you. Between your thighs, with his fingers deep inside of you, demanding more orgasms from you than he had. According to the whores around town, he was a selfish lover, so you were surprised when you two first shared a private room. He had you against the desk, demanding you to cum twice before he even thought about pressing into you.

"Hmm," You mulled his words over, dragging your fingers over his chest, enjoying the hammering of his heart. "Might be wise. Thorm looked repulsed at our last meeting when you mentioned that red was definitely my color."

Gortash snorted softly, leaning back so he was on his knees yet still towered over your body.

"Hard to believe he had a wife, given his disgust towards any romantic intent shown."

"I doubt it's romantic intent he hates." You laughed softly as he curled his fingers under your ankle and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to the skin. "I bet he was a big old romantic, given his plans for the future. But coming from you? No doubt he nearly had a heart attack, if he could still have one."

"You wound me." Enver murmured, contiuing to kiss up your shin, till he got to your knee, when he ran his nose over the side of it. "I'm quite the romantic I'll have you know."

"More like a roguish flirt." You smirked at his short, bark of a laugh.

As his chuckles died down, he didn't resume his exploration of your body with his lips, which surprised you. He was usually so dogged in his chases. Instead of lust in his eyes, it was clouded with something else, despite the way his cock remained hard, jutting against his stomach with precum still slowly leaking against his skin. Something vulnerable, something scorching.

It was as if you had taken your favourite blade and sliced open his chest to admire the way his heart thumped amongst the gore. You waited, intrigued to see how long he dared to give you such a soft look, as if you weren't brought up with nothing but hard edges and burning brands. You wondered what you'd do, if he bared his heart to you willingly. Would you kiss the ruined organ? Embrace the stench of sulfur and rot and lick over it, or would you dig your nails into it, ripping it asunder and watch him twitch and scream? It worried you a bit that you didn't immediately settle on ruining him if he dared to whisper heartfelt confessions over his murmured lusts and desires.

Maybe he remembered what you were, a foul child of Bhaal. Maybe he saw the way your eyes flickered. Maybe he remembered how hard his cock was and craved to feel your insides around him once more before you killed him for a sickly love confession.

So, while the softness of his eyes didn't leave, a dirty heat clouded them.

"Now, let's abandon all this talk of Ketheric, lest I go soft. Instead, can I recommend we see how much I can make you scream before the servants get worried."

You awoke with a low hiss of pleasure, the luxurious surroundings of your lover disappearing for the chilled wilderness of your camp. It was dark, too dark, so you doubted anyone other than you were up, except maybe for Astarion.

Slowly sitting up, you raised your fingers to your neck, feeling as if the bites still lingered there, fresh and raw. You were unsettled. More unsettled than when your first dream visitor started appearing, more than waking up with Alfira's blood under your nails.

You were privy to what felt like someone else's life, rife with blood and gore and the feeling of someone's hot tongue pressing into you. It was calling to you, as if you were being offered this path again, to come back and take your proper place.

It wouldn't do to wonder about if this past lover dreamed of you like you did of him. You had things to do, memories to recover... Someone to look after.

Little did you know that Nautiloid Ship ride away, Gortash lay in his own bed, idly dragging his fingers over the pillow next to his. He felt foul. Orin's flirations were usually dredged in promises to gut him, to spill his blood till she could bathe in it. It usually left him feeling disgusted, but today it left him feeling nostalgic.

You weren't like Orin, despite having the same Bhaalspawn blood running through your veins. Your flirations were more subtle. Teasing. Flashing the dog a bone only to hide it away, and smirk as it sniffed hopefully at you. She was nothing compared to you.

With a low exhale, Gortash once more began to ruminate on where you were. Why you let Orin take over. What she had done to you.

And what must be done to get you back. No matter how much blood would be spilt, throats slit, lives lost, he knew that none of the dreams he had would cease until you were back at his side.

#nsft #quincewrites #enver gortash #gortash #gortash x durge #gortash bg3 #dark urge #bg3 dark urge #anyway here's wonderwall #ehe #okay im going to bed since my first masters class is tomorrow #wish me luck lads

430 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 2 months

Text

Thinking about being fwb with the older gen when they were younger.

cw. uhhhh. not much. implied rough sex, a mind break on eden's side, neglect of emotional stuff but some is implied, stalker-y obsessive harper, remy get the idea to start the underground farm from you and general friends with benefits stuff.

characters. bailey. eden. harper. briar. remy.

For Bailey, its a need to release stress, and you just happen to be the one person in the friendship group he could stand enough to not just spend extra time with, but spend it bending you over the back of his bed frame and railing you, all the while you can hear giggling from behind the door. He doesn't give a shit, he knows that the walls are thin in the orphanage, but this isn't for you. If you happen to cum, then, hey, it makes you tighten up around his cock and makes his own orgasm just a bit better. Don't think so much about how he offers you a smoke afterwards, when he refuses to even share his sacred, battered packet of ciggies with Eden. Don't start thinking he's soft. But maybe you should feel grateful that when you message for him to come over, he actually replies to you. Most of the others get ignored.

For Eden, it started out as pity. Probably the last of the group to loose his virginity, with Bailey snarking that he knows for a fact that Eden spends most of his time at night jerking his cock. He's just too intimidating for anyone at school to give him a chance, and the boys in the locker room have noticed how fucking fat his cock is anyway. There was a betting pool to see how long until he snapped. So what if it was pity. So what if his gaze thrilled you as you slowly took off your shirt in front of him, slowly unbuttoning as his grip on his knees tightened, his knuckles whitening. So what if by the time you tucked your thumbs into your underwear, his erection was straining against his jeans. It started as pity, for your friend to finally loose his v-card, and went on to Eden ripping at your clothes every time you two were alone, wrestling your body down onto his fat cock, bullying your hole, your friendship grated down into veiled attention around the others, and desperate rutting each second you two were alone.

It was obvious that Harper had wanted this for so long. Everyone could tell that the freak had such a crush on you. Always so attentive, popping up at your elbow, wanting to carry your books, saying you smelt nice that day, that he'll help tutor you, asking you if you want to go with him for ice cream after class. But you had to give credit where it's due, he was smart. Just one bad break up, and his selfless offerings of helping you feel better. That's all it took for him to take his rightful place between your thighs, getting to enjoy your needy riding, your kisses, the way you'd clench around his fingers when the dipped into your underwear during class. He encourages you to use him, use him, use him all you want, for stress relief, for any kinks you want to try. He likes it all, as long as he gets to touch you.

Briar just likes sex. He fucking loves it. In the future, he might tire of it, and just enjoy the delicacies of life paid for by bought sex, but not yet. You know you're just one of a rotation, but it feels different... At least to you. Sharing a group of friends, one night getting too drunk, and suddenly his tongue is dragging against your hole, being told you to squeal all you like, maybe someone from the party will hear you and come to see what's happening. Then Briar messaging you to come to him from then on. He likes watching you hump his cock, introducing you to the amass of sex toys he has, sharing a double ended dildo while he tortures your nipples with bites and harsh sucks. He makes no secret of his other conquests, people he also enjoys having sex with, but there's something about being the only one that can lean against him at a group hang out, his thumb rubbing small circles into your thigh, as the others argue on how to split the bill.

It starts with Remy just wanting it out of the way. Everything in his life is planned out meticulously, and once he hits 19, he quietly registers that most people his age are loosing their virginity, consenting or not. He will inherit the estate in his late twenties, he'll graduate from university early, and he'll make his mark on the town like his family has done for generations, with the riding school, with the investments. He'll find something that's uniquely him. But in the meantime, he'll hit the average amount of milestones that his peers do. You just happened to be the least objectionable to loose his virginity to. Between you and Wren, you're the one that'll be nice and submissive and let him enjoy himself however he likes, without some boneheaded suggestion of doing something stupid. So, he gets to take you to the estate, to fuck you on a bed more expensive than anything you could ever afford again. It's good. He likes it. But one day, in the fields with the others, overlooking some rinky dink farm with a family of red heads trying to make it nice, you do something. He's eating an apple, leaning against a tree, with you sitting by his feet with Wren's head in your lap, letting you braid his already too long hair. There's a crunch. He looks down and you cheekily took a bite out of the apple, smiling up at him. It itches his brain just right. He extends it to your mouth and watches as you laugh and take another bite. You become more of a pet from then on. Eating out of his hand, getting fucked in the ass, with a stirring fixation rousing in his stomach when he thinks back on how sweet you looked, eating his apple. Almost like one of the cows on the farm down below.

#i woke up POSSESSED by this idea #im supposed to be doing an assingment worth 20% of my final grade but i had to get this out #bailey the caretaker #eden the hunter #harper the doctor #briar the brothel owner #remy the farmer #dol #degrees of lewdity #nsft #quincewrites #shout out quiet for reading

339 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 4 months

Text

So you know when you have dogpeople activated, it's a huge taboo to be caught fuckin em and such

So they have the usual dog roles don't they?

So just... Having thoughts...

characters. Whitney. Mention of Landry and Niki.

cw. Whitney times ahead. Dog-person reader. Mention of animal cruelty but nothing graphic, just a joke. Breeding, pet play to the extreme, taboo behaviors, for fucking DoL at least. Whitney watching you piss, make of that what you will. 2.6k words.

Whitney never really liked dogs. Everyone thought he should, a boy treasuring a loyal companion who wouldn’t mind sticking by him, even joining in on his shenanigans. They were wrong. Whitney was never a fan of dogs. Cats. Anything.

Worse? Hybrids. Fucking useless. Not a full dog, not a full person.

So, when his aunt surprised him with a dopey fucking dog, he was less than pleased. What the shit was he going to do with this thing? None of the pros of having a dog, all the cons of having a dog AND a fucking roommate. Even if the stupid thing didn’t even realize it.

“Can just tie them up outside. It’ll walk itself, shit in the corner of the garden, piss. Just throw some chow out there and it’ll snarf that up.” One of his friends leaned over to light his cigarette, fingers curved against the wind blowing through the park.

“Pretty sure that’s animal cruelty.” Someone piqued up, coughing after dragging on a shoddily rolled joint.

“You’d only get half the sentence, though.”

Whitney huffed to himself and took a drag on his cigarette, letting the heat fill his lungs, tickling his throat pleasantly before exhaling raggedly.

“Should just sell the thing.” He mused, flicking the ash into the wet grass. “Get some fucking use out of it.”

“Give it to Landry, he and that photographer use ‘em for those videos.” That piqued his interest.

“What videos? The usual sick shit?” Whitney glanced over, aware of some of the shit the criminal helped produce. Fuck, that was the first time he ever jerked it to fucking internet porn. Some nasty fucking shit, not entirely… Legal, but fucking normal in this town.

“Oh, better. Landry’s a sick fucking puppy, bro.” His lackey grinned up at him, so proud of catching Whitney’s interest at long last. “Yknow, those pups are horny, but you gotta just shake them off and then they just lick their own crotch for a while. But, y’know, some people? Some people… Fuck em.” “Yeah, no shit, cuntface.” Whitney wasn’t a fucking idiot. Hell, he loved sending stupid sluts to go grab something for him, only for them to get trapped with a dog person. Fucking rubbing their stupid cunts on their face, or getting mounted by a fat dick, and the stupid slut crying for someone to help them. No one wants to be seen getting rutted into or against by one of those stupid things. It’s fucking humiliating. The entire town labels you a pervert. “I know people fuck the-” “Landry films it. Films it and uploads it. Then give the dog-person over to the pound or something.” She relaxed against the grass, leaning back so glibly that she didn’t realize that she was lying in his cigarette ash. Idiot. The others pulled faces at each other, grossed out at the thought of anyone getting off on watching someone fucking or getting fucked by a dog-person. Whitney, however, squinted at her.

“Any good?” “Whitney, gross-”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, are they any good?”

“I mean… From the views alone, I’m saying Landry is making a neat little sum on the side.” She shrugged before pulling her phone out and typing on it, her long fake nails making the most annoying clicking noises. Whitney’s annoyance grew until she finally showed him a website she pulled up. All he got was a glimpse of a page packed with thumbnails of cocks and tits and dogtails before she took her phone back again. “I say, sell the thing to him, and if they’re good enough, you’ll get a nice bit of pocket money on the side.” “Hey, that’s not a bad idea, is it, Whit?” One of the other blockheads piqued up. “Grab random dog people and sell them?” “Landry’s not going to take any random mutt, shitlips.” “It’s Lipschitz! And fuck off, it was a good idea-”

“Yeah, for a dipshit-”

Whitney rolled his eyes and leaned back on the swing again, exhaling the smoke from his nose as he ignored the bickering between his lackeys again. Yeah. Get rid of you, and get a nice payday. He could work with that.

Except as he walked, he couldn’t help but mull it over. The site. The amount of videos. Curiosity nagged at him with each step, bringing him closer to his evening plans.

His parents were never in anymore, especially in the evenings. Off, on a date night, wrapped up in each other, or at work, or at what the fuck ever. It’s always been up to him to make his own food, wash up, clean, except now he was doing it for two. Heated up something in the oven for himself and poured some food for you into your bowl, dragging on his cigarette as he watched you chew loudly, snarfing it down gratefully. Refilling your water as he washed his plate, jabbing at the chunks of food before giving up and leaving it to soak, so his mother would eventually take care of it. Pulling a face as you whined to be let out and nudging the backdoor open so you could trot out and make yourself comfy, stubbing out his cigarette as he watched you piss into the grass, feeling something warm in the curve of his belly. Eventually tugging you back inside and locking the door before heading upstairs, ignoring your excited little steps after him. Continued to ignore you as he flung himself into bed, as you nosed among his things, before tucking yourself under his cluttered desk with a little yawn. Whitney’s kicks off his pre-ripped jeans, underwear and shirt before giving his balls a rub, stretching out on his duvet. He slipped on some sweats, before dragging a blanket over his midriff, more focused on his phone, pulling up the website whats-her-fuck showed him earlier.

It was obvious that most videos came from one person, with only a few being some real amateur shit, with shaky camera and an overexcited camera person. No, Landry’s shit was obviously good. Niki as the camera guy, appreciative angles, but also…

It fucking looked good.

The dog boy sitting all cute, blinking like a stupid bitch at the camera as it zoomed in on his big eyes before zooming out. Late at night, at the beach, his tail wagging, before the camera pans over to some guy, naked from the waist down. Cock bobbing as this dude massages his own balls.

“This your dog?” A voice from behind the camera asks and the guy nods. “You fuck the pooch a lot?”

“Oh yeah.” The guy’s obviously mic'd up, with the seashore wind picking up. “I got him from the pound and he just had such a cute ass. They’re so easy to train. Watch.”

The guy whistles and the puppy boy trots over excitedly, his bubble butt raised high and proud, almost inviting a pervert in. Whitney’s cock began to rise, tenting his sweats. He huffed to himself, laying his hand over his bulge and giving it a squeeze. The dog-person leans up to sniff a bit at the guy’s cock but doesn't seem that interested, more into sweetly nuzzling at his balls. There were a few chuckles from the men standing around and the pup looked around, tongue lolling out, tail wagging so hard at being the object of such enjoyment.

“He’s cute.” The guy behind the camera said, to some murmurs of agreement.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” The guy chuckled before snapping his fingers at the dog-boy. “Present.”

The change was instantaneous. His ears perked up and his tail started going a mile miles per hour. Fuck, even his knotted cock sprang up so quickly that it earned an appreciative whistle. Within moments, he had fallen onto his back and rolled over onto his soft tummy, raising his ass, even humping the air a bit, as if trying to entice.

“Yeah, puppy. You want a nice breeding, don’t you?” The guy dropped to his knees and Whitney had to slip his hand into his sweats at long lost, massaging at his shaft eagerly.

The puppy-boy whined and raised his ass further, spreading his legs.

“Breed! Please breed!” He whined, shaking his ass like he was about to pounce.

Whitney groaned, his stomach tightening, slipping his cock free fully and jerking it with desperation. His thumb dragging against his slit, teasing out precum as he desperately played with himself. Fuck, he didn’t really get it before, but this was fucking doing it for him. Stupid sluts he enjoyed, but fuck. Trained stupid sluts, rolling over at the snap of his fingers? No wonder Landry was having success with this shit, way more appealing than anything he’s watched before-

The feeling of something wet brushing the back of his hand made him cuss and nearly throw his phone. Blinking against the dark after staring at his phone screen for so long, it took him a moment to realise what the fuck that feeling even was.

Your big stupid eyes were staring up at him, nudging your nose against the back of his hand with a look of blind adoration.

“What ya watching?” Your tail was wagging, probably having heard the sound of an excited puppy-boy from across the room.

Whitney glanced from your big, excited eyes, your tail wagging wildly, back to the his video, titled “Puppy-boy bred full at the beach”, with the camera in the perfect POV shot, showing a fat cock drilling the poor dog-person’s asshole, before looking back at you. You didn’t seem perturbed by his staring, stupid bitch you were, in fact, your smile at him just broadened, happy at the attention. Your happy little face so close to his fat cock, throbbing still in his hand.

He slowly sat up, chucking his phone to the side, slipping into a cross legged position, cock pressing against his stomach. Whitney took hold of the base of his cock, a smirk slowly growing on his face as you remained close, tail wagging. Squeezing the base of his cock, he watched as your eyes went from looking at his face, to his erection with an innocent curiosity. He grinned and lightly tapped the head against your lips, smearing precum, and your tongue flicked out to taste it, before scrunching your cute little face up.

“Salty.” You stuck out your tongue, as if airing it out would help.

Whitney took the moment to drag his cock over it again, your rough tongue brushing over the slit in a way that almost had him grab you by your floppy ears and fuck your mouth… Well…

“Open.” Whitney demanded, and you whined, tail stilling for a moment before you opened your maw.

Perfect. A sloppy, pink hole for him to fuck until you learn to love the taste of cock. Maybe that will up your value.

In the dark of the room, with the only light being from his phone, the loudest noise was the wet slap of his cock rubbing against your drooling tongue, hitting the back of your throat, saliva swishing loudly as Whitney groaned. It wasn’t like the sluts at school. You couldn’t stop salivating, spit running down your chin as your tail continued to wag wildly. He could fucking condition you. Just the whiff of cock and you’d be a drooly, wet mess.

“Fuck. Fuck. Who's my good puppy?” He groaned, letting his mouth run without meaning to.

You whined with excitement, ears perking up at the first bit of positive reinforcement you had ever gotten from Whitney.

“Yeah, you are. My cute, stupid, cockwhore puppy.” His tone was soft and your brain registered as good, as your brain clouded and you couldn’t stop drooling. “Gonna fuck you, huh? Gonna breed your stupid puppy hole, huh?”

Your tail stopped all together, your eyes growing large and dark. Ah. Liked that word huh? Whitney yanked his cock out of your throat, drool spilling all over his floor, dripping from his erection and your tongue.

“Alright. Roll over, or something. C’mon.”

You whined and spread your legs from your seated position, sitting back on your haunches, showing off how excited you were, making a mess all over his floor. Squirming a bit, you fell onto your back, tail peeking out and wagging as you stared up at your master with unblemished love. Whitney smirked and kneeled down in front of you, leaning over for a moment to spit into your mouth before papping his slicked up cock against your hole, puffy and ready to be bred.

The sound of the front door opening had him stilling for just a moment, and his cock softened a bit. If his parents found him with his stupid dog-person like this? What-

Your hole snagged against the tip of his cock, jerking his attention back to you as you whined and desperately humped at him. Alright. Fuck. Yeah. His pooch needed seeing to. As his parents moved around downstairs, his mother bemoaning the fact he left his dishes in the sink, he put a sweating palm over your mouth, letting you lick the salt from his palm as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your hole. Whitney groaned as he slowly sunk into you, your excited huffing slipping into a pleasured whine.

“Good puppy.” Whitney hissed out between his teeth, his hips moving involuntarily as he fucked into your tight, sloppy heat. The squelching sound of his curved cock hitting deep into your hole was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever fucking heard. He’s heard sluts whining for cock, he’s fucked his fair share of whores, but jesus christ, this puppy-bitch was the best of both worlds. Loyal, dumb, like a dog, with the hole of the nastiest whore in town. Thoughts of selling you onto Landry, only seeing you fucked open on videos, slipped away, more focused on simultaneously trying to fuck deeper and deeper into you, but also keeping quiet as his parents ascended the staircase.

“I should check on Whitney.” His mother whispered to his father, who just grunted.

His panic flipped, both from his balls tightening as your heat clamped down around him, but also shock. Whitney was not going to get caught fucking his stupid fucking dog-person. With a low hiss, he hooked his arms around your thighs and picked you up, you nuzzling into his neck with a happy huff, stupid bitch. He almost had to wrestle you into bed, with you excitedly still trying to back up against his cock trapped in your hole. His mother’s voice came closer and he just barely yanked his covers up over him and you, with you still snuffling at his cheek.

The door opened and a line of light cut across his room and there was a beat of silence, with you still lovingly nuzzling into him.

“Awh. He finally let the pooch sleep on his bed.” His mother cooed. There was another beat, of her watching him, and you slowly humping at his cock, balls about to fucking burst inside his puppy-person with his mother fucking watching.

After a beat, the door closed again, and Whitney let out a guttural moan into your shoulder, a few more humps from you more than enough to send him over the edge, cum flooding your hole as his mother’s footsteps retreated to the master bedroom.

“Fucking… Hell…” Whitney raggedly breathed out as you shivered against him, beginning to lick affectionately at his chin. You were more of a person than a dog, he guessed.

A few days later, he was back at the park, with you dozing against his knee as he sat at the fountain. Whitney had struggled with selling you to Landry, with his friends around him remarking their surprise the mutt was still around and still as adoring of him as ever. With only the one who recommended him the site giving him a knowing leer and petting your ears.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully

214 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 4 months

Text

"you're with gale? Very well. He's vanilla enough for you."

Lazael, I'm the one whose a freak. We're not having missionary sex, I'm pinning his knees to his chest and plowing him stupid style. I'm helping him discover thousands of kinks. I sound him every night and rim him every morning. I tell him I want to do doggy style and he looks at me with soft cow eyes and says he went to look into my eyes and I interrupt him and tell him I'll be the one hitting it from the back, not him. Gripping his balls and drilling his ass until he can't function. I'm folding gale into a full nelson and Jack hammering his prostate until he can't remember mystra's lukewarm basic bitch pussy. Man's brain has been rewired.

Lazael calls us vanilla because she thinks he's in charge. She wanders out of camp and sees gale up against a tree, covered in love bites and hickeys and being fucked with his leg over Tav's shoulder, being drilled into the nine hells, and whining for a break.

Gale is the one to send us into intergalactic weird sex, Tav is the one to plow him doggy style while gripping his soft hair and telling him to beg to cum as they grip the base of his cock. Cmon, Lazael.

Bonus points for Dark Urge nasty sex, that man would never recover.

#teehee #quincewrites #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #nsft #dark urge #bg3 #:3

167 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 7 months

Note

please inky, continue w your thought about ex-husbands and divorce.. pleaseee expand omfg your mind is so big i just wanna chomp on it 😞

ASJODDJAIJS

characters. Avery. Remy. Bailey. (Degrees of Lewdity)

yeah, so content warning, toxic behaviour, mention of sex after some wine so that's hinted to be dubcon as hell, angst, especially with mister Hay Bales. also bailey's section has a shit ton of coercion, and its implied reader is remarried.

okay, so camp "I signed, but I'm mad now" of divorced husband is very much Avery, Remy, Bailey vibes.

So, Avery didn't MEAN to sign the papers. He was just so fucking seething that he did it out of spite. Fucking throwing the papers at you and tells you to get the fuck out of his house. What I love about Avery, at any moment, he could be in either camp, ngl. Either he'd fight for his reputation, and would never even let you show him the papers, or you get him so riled up, he does it out of pure anger and wanting revenge.

Anyways, his rep does take a blow, but he doesn't care, mans is running off pure spite for the entirety of the divorce proceedings. The moment he realises he needs to pay alimony? Wishes that he could go over to you and throttle you.

But when that anger simmers down? When he's gotten his fill of booze, whore and spite?

Mans is fucking LONELY. He's still angry, but its just general anger at the situation. Look, if you were still an orphan, he'd just get a new sugar baby. Who give a shit. Yeah, it undoes the work he did on you and he doesn't look as forward to date nights as he did, but this is different. You were his spouse. His ex-spouse now, but his spouse. He bared his fucking soul to you. You two had a good fucking life. Just had a few issues he refused to look at. You two were the perfect couople in the town's eyes, how would they have reacted to you two going to counselling?

It's too late though. He swings widly between being a fucking monster of an ex, forcing you to go back to the house to "pick up some stuff" and telling the town that you cheated on him, that's why you two divorced, to sending you gifts on your anniversary and your birthday. Phones you at night, and his voice is so low and sweet, and murmuring that he misses you.

Worse than Avery? Remy.

Remy is the rich bitch town icon that Avery wishes he was. He has you sign a prenup, then you get to live his fucking wealthy ass life. He's a cold ass fucker, so when you want to work on the marriage, he snidely mentions if you don't like it, leave him. Then he's shocked-face when you do. Then to get back at you, he's the one who gets the divorce papers. To get back at him, you sign them. To get back at you, he signs them. To get back at him, you file them.

To get back at you, motherfucker makes sure you get nothing from him in the divorce.

After all the stupid ass shit he pulls, he's fucking annoyed now. You were his other half, the only person he'd ever kneel down for. So, he's a frigid little bitch of an ex husband. But he's also such a fucker.

Like, he's will be so aloof and cold with you, and then idly offer a glass of wine to share when you have to come over to sign for some stuff. Evening ends with him three fingers deep in you, stroking you the way you like it, sucking at your neck greedily.

The treatment he gives you, when its just the two of you, is like the shiny red apple he would hold up to your lips. This is what you could have. But his behaviour away from those times is the stick. This is what you get for leaving him. Trying to usher you back into the estate and spread your legs for him, and only him again.

Bailey? Bailey. Bailey gives the vibes that you two married very young. When there was a spark of hope, and with very few good things in his life, he made sure to put a ring on the one thing that did.

However, he changes over time, becoming the ruthless caretaker of the orphanage, a terrifying criminal, and a worse man. You weren't a soft spot, you were a vulnerable one. Bailey would have had to have some sort of gentleness to him if you were a soft spot. You were a weakness, an achilles heel had had to smother and keep hiddden.

And sadly, that is no way to live.

So seperation. Then divorce. Then he doesn't show up to the court appointment. He pays alimony. He doesn't blink at anything, just takes it in stride, sometimes sneering at you.

But he isn't explosive. He isn't cold. He's just Bailey.

You see him once a month, coming to deliver your half of the money each time. You doubt it's just to see you again, even when you move on with your life and he stays in the orphanage you two always used to hate, and plan to escape from. Maybe its because he enjoys the looks the bankers give you when you have to pull out a shit ton of ironed out bills, taken from his orphans' hands, and put directly into yours.

But, you're still his. Your life hasn't changed at all from when you two were together. The only difference is that he no longer spends two or three nights sleeping next to you anymore.

Because you can't say no to Bailey.

You could be wearing a wedding ring, you could be tired from staying up with your baby, you could be so far into a new, happier life, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't trust whores, paid or not, he hates clubbing, and even with the most tender of sore spots, all they need it a slow, gentle massage.

So you have to drop everything for him. He doesn't give a shit what you could be doing. Bailey has an ache that needs seeing to. Fuck it, he'd go to your house, or get a room, but wouldn't force you back to the orphanage, at least for a long time.

You let him into your body again and again, his rough thrusts no different than when you two still shared a wedding ring. He bites your shoulder, he presses your face into the pillows, and spanks your thighs with his belt.

You never dared to tell him that you won't be able to join him for this stress relievers he seems to rely on. God knows what he'd do. Not to you, you don't take a screw driver to your knee when your sore spot acts up, but everything around you? Your spouse, your job, your life?

So you let him in.

One day he does demand that you go to the orphanage again. You could fight it all you want, but you have to go. There, he fucks you in the attic, just like that time all those years ago, and you decided he was the one you wanted to give your virginity to.

It's the closest he gets to whispering that he wants you back.

#nsft #dol #quincewrites #avery the businessperson #remy the farmer #bailey the caretaker #degrees of lewdity #ask

294 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 8 months

Text

I tolerate her. I liked you.

characters. Enver Gortash. Astarion. (Baldur's Gate 3)

cw. Dark Urge reader, with a intimate history with Gortash. Astarion being bitchy. Not explicitly nsfw, just dirty talk and dirty thoughts. Clingy and Jealous Astarion. Lots of talk of blood. 3k words.

“I tolerate Orin. I liked you.”

The words hung in the air, Gortash’s smirk curling in the silence that followed. You cocked your head at him, slowly letting the statement sink in. There was something else there. His gaze was simmering, dark, as if daring you to ask what exactly he meant by that, right in front of the audience hall filled with chattering nobles, in front of your companions who had just learned that you were one of the three that had started all of this… In front of the one person who had taken your bloodied hands in their own and kissed your knuckles and washed the red from your skin.

You wondered if your Bhaalspawn kin ever tasted the fear you seemed to wallow in these days. Fear of turning, fear of dying, fear of being exposed to be the disgusting creature you thought yourself to be. As for right now? Fear that Gortash would run his tongue over his teeth again and go into detail about how much he had enjoyed your company. So, like a coward, you instead fell back on prying into his thoughts.

Carefully, with just a little Guidance, you crept into his mind, making sure not to alert the dark eyed Chosen of your actions. As per usual, the stream of consciousness came quickly, running like a stream past you, only able to catch a few strands of thought.

Orin is too uncontrollable. This one never let me down. Oh, yes, how I liked you. Liked you so. I wonder if they taste as they did before, with blood on their tongue. Nothing that a little bit of wine helps to sweeten. The first taste is always the most memorable. You didn’t have the time of day for me at first, did you? The chosen of Bhaal, his favorite spawn, but I changed that. Now, if that glaring little shit would go find a shit house to glare at, I could invite you back to those chambers we enjoyed so much, to properly celebrate my new Dukedom. Not even the Sharess' Caress’s whores were able to scratch that itch you started-

You quickly slipped back out, almost embarrassed with how the bastard saw you. Who you used to be… Maybe someone you still were.

“I’ll think about it.” You finally managed.

Gortash snide smile glinting in the bright candlelight.

“I look forward to our reacquaintance.” He murmured, voice dropping low, husky and suggestive.

Yep. No way any of your companions would ever overlook that. You didn’t even look at any of them as you turned on your heel and walked back out, as Duke Ravengard began to anoint Gortash as Duke, shame prickling the back of your neck. Though, whether it was from the dawning horror that your friends’ tadpoles were lodged in their heads because of you, or because… Someone’s darkened red eyes were trained on your skin, their footsteps following quick and close behind you.

Well, hopefully Mizora shares some truly abhorrent news downstairs to distract everyone from your own little reveal. Karlach had been beside herself when Gortash dropped the news, Wyll had been befuddled, but focused on his father, standing by with a blank look in his intelligent eyes. But Astarion? Not a word.

Silence was bad. Astarion was never quiet. Between quips and jabs, with the occasional double entendre laced compliment, your undead lover loved to hear his own voice and run his mouth. Not to say he wasn’t quiet at times. When absorbed in his books, when staring with a frown at a mirror, when quietly gazing at you across the campfire, red eyes glinting with the reflection of the flames.

However, this silence was none of those. This was the silence before he had snuck up to bite you for the first time. Before he had drawn his dagger to your throat. Before he was aiming to strike true.

“Nice to know that you always had a taste for the finer things in life.” He drawled, leaning back on his hay bale, making it look as comfy as a chaise longue. Delicately picking at his cuff, sprawled out as if he was tempting you.

“... Seems so.” You muttered, adjusting your bedroll again, to make sure none of the pieces of straw would dig into your skin.

“Seems so.” Astarion repeated after you, tongue curling as he mocked your blase statement. “Maybe we should swing by a nice furniture shop, see if you’d fuck a particularly fancy bureau next.”

“Astario-”

“No, no.” The elf gave a long suffering sigh, as if your… “Ex” appearing was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. “You have a type, darling. Dangerous. Excellently dressed. Though, I do say that I have the better hair by a mile, and that’s being polite.”

You couldn’t help but smile. When you two first met, his bitchiness made it impossible to please him, but since then it had become extremely endearing. At least now you knew you were saddled with him for life, and it was more entertaining to listen to him aggravate people.

The elf drank in your smile lazily before stretching out.

“Interesting couple of days. You nearly kill me, then you proclaim that you're Bhaal’s favorite child.” He mulled over, tapping his chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Then worst of all, you drag me to meet your lover. I’ve had fun being a homewrecker before, but the other partner never really knew it was me who lured them out of the marriage bed and into the grave.”

“Astarion! I-”

“Now, darling.” He tutted. His smile was sharp, glinting, but there was something strangely fragile in his eyes. “You’re usually so good at letting me talk all I want.”

There was a beat of silence between you two, with him looking up at you with his charlatan’s smile and glassy eyes.

“Pretty sure your Gortash guessed I was the other man. Lovers of that sort do usually have a rather snide look when they find you out.” Astarion rolled onto his back with a languished sigh. “... Do you call him Gortash? Isn’t his first name Enver? That’s rather an ugly name to moan out.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what? Call him Enver? Or maybe Envie? Sounds rather like Envy, and I doubt that he’s one prone to jealousy-”

“Astarion, I don’t know him.” You finally snapped, giving up entirely on your patience for his bitchy shenanigans. “I have snippets of memories. He’s implied something was between us, but that’s between two people I hardly know anymore. Anyway, shouldn’t you be more worried about, I don’t know, everything else going on?”

“But I’m having so much fun playing the jealous lover. Don’t I get to play this out, to stamp my foot and demand you to never talk to him again? Shadow your every move and such?” He sighed through his nose, but something in his facade was slowly ebbing away. “... His offer is a good one.”

“His offer? To rejoin him in fucking up the entirety of Baldur’s Gate? C’mon.”

Astarion pondered your sentence before sitting up properly, easily slipping into a cross legged position.

“It would be easier. Wouldn’t have to fuss around with Raphael and the Gith. Get to go back to a comfy life of being the favorite child, with a Duke for a bed warmer and an Elder Brain to boss around.”

“Well, I’ve proven that I don’t like to do the easy thing.” You glanced at him, knowing how hard he had fought at first to keep you both as something casual, at most fuck buddies.

His pale lips quirked.

“Touche.”

Silence fell again, but this time you waited patiently, knowing that Astarion always needed a moment to slip into the sincerity that came when he actually wanted to talk to you about something important to him.

“I… I don’t like setting rules.” Well, that was obvious. Astarion thought that every boundary he wanted to put down would drive a wedge between you two. You barely managed to convince him you were okay with waiting to have sex, just for him to feel comfortable again. “... But….”

You waited, fingers skating over his ivory knuckles as he formed the words.

“.. Even if you start up your alliance with Gortash again, I… No starting up any dalliances you might have had. I don’t care if I have to share you, but I do get a say in who I share you with.”

Astarion’s eyes hardened, fragility dissolving into something heated and dark. You two were already seated close enough, but his lithe fingers gripped your chin and pulled you closer to him, his lips parted enough to reveal his pearly fangs in the fire light.

“And I will not share you with him. Anyone else might get the chance to think you have an equal relationship with them, like the one we have. But they’d be wrong. We belong to each other first and foremost. But he never gets to even get to hope to touch you like that again. Clear?”

You didn’t even have a moment to reply, not with his cool lips quickly pressing against yours, breathless despite not needing air. One of his teeth nicked your bottom lip as he hungrily pulled you closer, tongue dragging over the cut. If it had happened even just the day before, you’d have laughed and asked if he was already parched again, but this was different. This was not a moment that could be broken with a light hearted joke.

Astarion was making sure you understood in full, that you might have been with Gortash once upon a time, but that period was well and truly over.

… At least, it was for you and Astarion. That time in your life tied up with a box and thrown into the fire, with the two of you sharing a few more kisses before the night was over. But Gortash sat in his chambers, idly rubbing his knuckle over his stubbled chin. It had been quite a day.

Not many men got to be gifted the Dukedom of Baldur’s Gate, be threatened by an unhinged Changeling in his own room and see her long lost kin striding into his audience hall a few hours later. A smile flickered on his lips. You looked good. Even with your brain filled with holes, and unable to recall the brilliant plans you two had created, you were just as magnificent as the last time he ever saw you.

His dalliance with The Dark Urge, Bhaal’s favorite spawn, had surprised even him. He didn’t care for Orin’s messy dedication to her father, the way she was always just a word away from sinking her dagger into his chest, so why had he been so taken with her superior bloodkin? The one the cult actually adored and followed, the one who soaked the streets in blood and flayed anyone the God of Murder casted his bloodied gaze upon? Orin was beautiful… If you enjoyed the beauty of the vampiric quality. But even her looks never had him in the same breathless chokehold your eyes did.

He remembered that one look from you had his heart beating faster, with saliva pooling on his tongue. Even before the two of you were formally acquainted. The first moment he saw you, surrounded by the cultists of your father, to him you were majestic. Hells, you weren’t in any sort of garb that demanded worship, just the clothes you usually wore in the evening he later realized. But it didn't matter. The way you held yourself, with your eyes cold and collected, even when he could smell the blood on your skin. You were a master of your craft, of your art. While other Bhaal worshippers would dedicate themselves to him with fits of fury and love, smearing themselves with the hot blood of their victims, you were methodical.

You were perfect. No wonder you were his chosen. Not an amateur like Orin.

Gortash’s fingers idly skimmed over the map of the Sword Coast on his desk, swirling his goblet of wine, the red inching closer and closer to the rim with every motion. It was the same brand that you had shared with him before Orin had taken your place.

After you deigned to let him taste your body again, he had poured two chalices, hoping to dull your senses and keep you away from the ruins you lived in, under the city. You had just given a half smile at him and sipped upon the dark red liquid, your form still lovely and bare. He could still recall your last words with each other, your tongue stained red with the wine.

“It seems we’re on a precipice.” You hummed, flicking the dagger planted into the map of Elturel. “Tomorrow I journey to Thorm and then it shall all be in motion. Properly. No more waiting.”

“Have I ever complimented you on your pillow talk?” Gortash chuckled, skimming over the other bottles of wine lining his bureau, trying to find one that you’d enjoy enough to stay longer.

You didn’t say anything, just a throaty chuckle he basked in. He had come a long way for being a whipping boy for Raphael in the House of Hope. Now he was here, just a few weeks out from getting everything he could have ever wanted. Gortash remembers the nights he used to sleep with a knife under his pillow, even when Karlach had been stationed outside of his door. No longer would he feel the cold blade under the fabric by his cheek, for now he slept with the warm body of a weapon far greater next to him. If only you would stop leaving his side to be with the fanatics that swarmed you with adoration and pleas to watch you work.

“The reason you came crawling to me in the first place was for the Absolute’s Plan. Nothing gets you excited more than the prospect of your future power, does it?” The way your teeth glinted as you looked at him in the flickering candlelight had his breath stilling in his throat. Excitement pooled in his stomach and he made his way back over to you, even as you rolled your eyes and finished your wine.

“You know me so well.” He murmured, dragging his roughened palm across your stomach before pressing a kiss against your neck, inching his lips up to your jaw.

You hummed at the feeling, but unlike a few hours before, you didn’t relax into his wandering hands.

“This was a pleasant distraction. However, I must go do the rites for my Father before I leave.”

Would he have let you leave if he had known Orin would attempt to destroy all that you were? He didn’t know about that. Gortash would have to see. He was interested in learning about this new form of yours, memory riddled with holes. Were you just as ruthless as you once had been? Would you tear Orin limb from limb as you should, for even daring to try and take your place?

The side of his mouth tilted in a crooked smirk, taking a sip from his goblet, letting the flavor soak into his tongue before he swallowed.

Gortash saw a chance for something new, now that you were finally back in Baldur’s Gate. You weren’t one of the Chosen, not anymore. You would have to reclaim your power… And he was more than happy to offer himself up for your bloodied hands, to… Help you get your life back.

Be a crutch that you would stumble without. You’d never be as you once were, at least in the upcoming execution of the plan, unable to earn back the position of an untouchable. But he could bring you back up, as his very own weapon this time.

The Dark Urge that infested your being, Bhaal’s very own Chosen child, he’d have it. He’d have you. The blade he kept close to his body, with the blade that kissed his skin and threatened to split it open, but it never did.

Gortash hummed at the thought, before wetting his thumb and forefinger with his tongue, reaching out to extinguish the candle by his bedside and returned to the bed, one of the pillow’s still faintly smelling like you.

Down by the Elfsong Tavern, in the rented rooms Astarion was once so pleased about, the vampire spawn lay awake, feeling your breath against his collarbones from where you lay sleeping next to him. Once, it would be the norm that he was awake at night, only to doze during the day, but that hadn’t been the case for weeks now, not since he had the tadpole squirm in between his eyeball and the lid.

But it wasn’t his urge to go hunt the streets of Baldur’s Gate once more, to reacquaint himself with the habitat of his prey, that kept him up. It was his own thoughts.

Soon enough, he’d have to return to Cazador, who thought he could use him as a weapon for his own ascension. Astarion knew it wouldn’t happen. But now, his thoughts would stray from his own master, to the one that proclaimed himself as yours.

Yours. Your… Master? Your past lover? Your conspirator in arms?

In Moonrise, after Raphael’s deal, he had been full of swagger and confidence to return to his home, to face Cazador, with you by his side. Even the night where you shook him awake and told him the Urge was about to hurt him, forcing him to tie you down and sit with you till morning…. Even that night hadn’t shaken his confidence.

So why did meeting Gortash erase it?

Astarion sighed through his nose, rolling his eyes at his own string of pesky thoughts. He was being foolish. Weak. You wouldn’t abandon him for some freshly anointed Duke with hair riddled with split ends and hungry eyes.

He’d make sure of it.

#enver gortash #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #nsft #quincewrites #this is so self indulgent because gortash said that fucking line and thats it all my thoughts were gone

330 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 7 months

Text

anyway, thinking about a special type of obsessive avery. he has a new colleague at work, and they're so fucking perfect. they're smart, they're dedicated, they're exactly his type.

he feels himself slipping in his tight control. what he wants to do is different from what he will allow himself to do. currently? he's schmoozing with you, making you laugh on breaks, inviting you out to lunch. he's doing it properly. Avery can't rush this, how would it look if he just suddenly asked you out after such a short time of knowing you?

But it's hard. He loves catching a bit of your scent when he leans in to peer over your shoulder at your computer screen. The way you smile at him over your cup when he brings you something warm to drink from the coffee shop across the way. Fuck, even getting to feel the touch of your hand when you hand him something for the upcoming meeting. All of it.

Avery feels desire tinging his finger tips and it worries him when it makes his control slip. So he has to let it out in some ways...

So he gets a new phone. Saves your number, exhaling shakily with each digit put in.

He waits. Waits, waits and waits. Then when he can't take it anymore...

Avery sends you things. Disgusting things. Opening up with a simple greeting, before frantically typing out everything he wants to do to you. How he knows you want him just as badly. How he strokes his cock to you every night. How he wants to cum into your drink and watch you drink it. How he knows that you're a depraved slut deep down, underneath all that picture perfect suits, that professional demeanour. He knows. Avery can tell you're no better than the orphans he'd pay to whine and hump as his cock.

He loves seeing you the next day. The way you look a bit haggard, a bit worried. But he knows better. Avery knows you were playing with yourself with every message he sent.

So with a smile, he hands you your usual warm drink and watch you slowly drink it down, his cock stirring in his trousers as you lick your lips clean.

#anyway #how you guys doing #my first class starts in two days :3 #dol #degrees of lewdity #quincewrites #avery the businessperson #nsft

225 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 8 months

Text

so it turns out that every thought i've ever had about gale is true, and i am always right <3

characters. gale (baldur's gate 3)

content warning. Nsfw. gale gets baby fever and makes it everyone's problem. gender neutral reader, but they have the means to get preggers, either through due to race shenanigans or through other means, ahem. mention of mpreg, horny gale, implied baby trapping later on featuring angst. (2.6k words)

BALDUR'S GATE 3 SPOILERS

so basically, we'll start with the wholesome side. after the entire fucking hell hole of a time with the city of baldur's gate going to hell, Gale insists on bringing you back to live with him in Waterdeep. You need to see the place he showed you with the Weave after all. And meet his mother. Very important.

Gale is already showing off a few grey strands, but it isn't until a few more join his hair does he get smacked with the most intense baby fever known to man. To be honest, he never really thought about it (a lie, he thought about it a few times, but more to that later) but this is the first time he struggles to get through the day without dedicating many of his intricate thoughts to, say, the nursery, if Tara would do well with an infant in the house, how you would look, stomach swollen and in his shirt to sleep. Things like that. Not to mention the highly enjoyable activities that would lead to the conception, and how vigorous you two would be in the undertaking.

To go on a lengthy tangent, but Gale undertaking extra research the moment baby fever hits him? Amazing.

(I am so sorry, but im gonna alter lore here, @undead-merman and I have talked extensively about different breeding techniques of DnD races, I'm SO sorry.)

But Gale cracking open a book on tieflings, and finding out that all Tiefling sexes are able to get pregnant, since the Devils pass this ability down. Taking a moment, mug of warm tea halfway through his lips when he reads over that the only thing required for the non-females of the Tiefling race is a well known ritual and hey presto, deviled babies on the way. Goes home, and just zones out, Tara on his knee as you accept that your love is probably in his little thinky mode and get him some dinner.

Or how, while Driders can't breed, Lolth-blessed Drows are highly fertile, especially since the Underdark is quite the dangerous place, and its it would not do well if you lost your only child to an exploding mushroom. Seladrine drow have repoerted lower fertilties, but a member of the Society of Brilliance has recently reported that a simple tincture would kick up their fertility back to the rates of their red eyes cousins. That, and they have eerily similiar breeding techniques to spiders. However, if you refrain from eating him after sex, it should be good.

Wood elves have larger broodes than High Elves, and more likely to get triplets and twins. High Elves, however, seem quite unaffected by pregnancy, and seem to breeze through it. Both have seasonal mating rituals though, with Wood Elves prefering to have their children in the summer and autumn and High Elves prefering the winter and spring.

Not to mention, if you yourself can't naturally carry children. Doesn't lessen the baby fever at all. In fact, he gets his little intense glints in his eyes and spends time pouring over books. Wizards have been going into stranger and stranger things over the centuries, so obviously there's some books about pregnancy and how to stimulate the conditions to carry a child. Hopefully Elminster doesn't catch him while he's off guard. Nothing would ease the fluster Gale would find himself in if he was asked what he was researching and instead of saying anything like, "The Crown of Karsus" or "The Book of Thay", he'd instinctively reply that he's looking to get his partner pregnant.

Elminster wouldn't blink though. Old ass.

Anyway, that's all to say, he'd love reading up on the different races breeding techniques. Then comes the euphoria of fatherhood, but before that?

Slowly bringing up the subject, laying out all the plans oh-so meticulously. Any rituals? Planned in advance. Preparations? Set out. Only can have children at a certain time of year? He's got the calender out and has marked the dates where it would be ideal to do nothing but stay inside and... Well, fuck. Gale's baby fever is so bad at this point too. Instinctively goes out to touch your stomach, or tell you a fun fact you might not even know about how your people breed. No, Gale, you won't bite his head off after sex, stop bringing it up.

He suspends all appointments, regular meetings, even his own research. Gale is always more of a relaxed lover, worshipful even, but now he firmly takes charge. Has scheduled food and drink breaks, but those usually tend to end quickly. How could he resist? Fuck, shortly before the first time you two fuck, he was entranced by the sweat roll down your skin as you fought. Yet he's supposed to be a gentleman now? With you naked, greedily drinking down your cup of water, cum slipping from between your thighs, sweat gleaming like magic against your very skin? Gods help him. He whispers soft words to you each time you tighten around his cock and cum too. How you're the only one for him, how he loves you, how he can't wait to see you carry his child, even how you're the reason he gets to live properly, not as a student of the weave, but as a man.

Then, it happens.

He's always delighted by his child, no matter what. They'll always be at least half human, but the traits they carry over from you? Adorable.

His child snoozing, with little tusks peeking out from their mouth? He worries about the blanket getting snagged in them. Little horns, just barely nubs? He runs a thumb over their soft texture, knowing that with time, they'll harden. Little pointy ears and eyes that are so big and soft? Gently tickles them and laughs softly as they kick. Oh so small, they barely fill his forearm? Mans too worried to ever put them down, wears a sling to always carry them around. Scales? Mans gets weirdly paranoid about scale rot that occurs in dragonborns and dragon blooded sorcerers, and stays up reading about it, but it all vanishes when his kid makes a soft chittering noise when he gently massages the ointment into their scales to prevent dryness.

Gale insisting on being the one to feed them in the night. Spends his mornings, no longer pouring over books, but sitting shirtless at the table, trying to convince your child to eat just a bit more. His home is no longer messy with papers strewn across every surface, but toys. There used to be silence inbetween each note of the piano, but now there's your laughter as he gets misty eyed each time your kid hiccups. Pretty sure that the only person he lets near his kid in their early years would be Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira or Halsin. Not that Karlach gets to visit a lot but she still has to wear heavy gloves before ever holding them. Astarion agrees with Gale and stands way back, wrinkling his nose. The nicest thing Lazael says is that Gale's spawn is less wrinkly than the last time she saw it... Also Halsin's baby rights nearly get taken away when he suggests going into bear form and letting them sit on his back. Minsc is accidentally the best, with Boo at his side to tell him to hold the baby correctly. Shadowheart is not the best with your kid, but she tries, even as you have to correct the way she holds them each time. Wyll is uncle of the year easily and you'd say Jaheira is the grandmother of the century... If you didn't think she'd tell you off for saying that. Gale feverently hopes The Emperor never comes to visit for the love of everything magical, but don't worry. He'd never. Scratch is the best guard dog, snoozing by your baby's crib every night. You cried when Gale told you that the owlbear cub was very much an adult now, and should go free. Then you laughed when you saw him standing in the garden, looking a bit lost after you tried to urge him to go back to the wilds. Doesn't mean Gale lets you take the baby near him.

Sidenote, Gale officially takes back anything snide he ever said to you about your magic if you were a sorcerer, since now he has to deal with your child practically coughing up magic at this rate. Oh, his hubris.

To get less wholesome, what if his baby fever hits when you two are travelling in the first place? Every day a fight against the Absolute, every night a blessing that everyone got through it without dying. He doesn't know what triggered it.

Maybe its seeing the Tiefling children band together. Maybe it was just seeing a family in passing, the mother round with child and the father with his hand at her back. Maybe it was the paralazyed dwarf who cried out for his children as he ran from Auntie Ethel's basement.

He's a man living on borrowed time. For once, it's not just the Orb endangering his life. Each day could be his last.

Gale always had a thought he might have children in his future. But his future is black, endless as the maw that swallows every essence of the weave he feeds it.

Most cruel of all, he's meet the person he'd have loved to settle down with. Introduce you to Tara, meet his Mother, Elminster, everyone important in his life, because he wanted you ingrained into each second of every day.

Life is cruel. Mystra is cruel. Something he'd never think before this adventure, but now he knows it. This was her final act of spite. Letting him find the one, only to put a time limit on it.

The thought starts with accepting that he'll die. You may insist that you'll find another way, but the notion as settled on his soul, heavy and foul like the vials of acid those goblins won't stop throwing at him. Then the whispers at the back of his mind start. Not influenced by the Dream Visitor, nor the Absolute. His own deep worries. You were... Well... You. He knew the others had intentions on you, at least at the time of the first major win for the group, the Tiefling party.

Astarion had purred to you, slyly coming closer and cocking his head to make sure you noticed his silver curls in the firelight. Shadowheart had poured you a cup of wine, her dark eyes drinking you in. Wyll had gifted you his winning smile, stepping closer. Karlach had been loud and open about how fucking you would be definitely on her to do list for that night if you wanted. Lazael was... Basically salivating. Hell, even Halsin's smile turned toothy and sharp as you spoke to him. Fuck, even some of the Tieflings might have tried to shoot their shot. Ikaron, Alfira, Rolan, Guex, Gods knows who else.

You were just... That wonderful. But that word weighted heavily on his tongue now. What happened... When he died? How long would you remember him? How long would you mourn him?

Expecting you to never take another lover was... Insanity, even to his bleeding heart. You have your entire long life ahead of you. He would be a brilliant, bright mark on your life, of love, of lust, of truely connecting with each other. But so brilliant that you never kissed another person?

Gale knew he should be taking the higher road. To bow his head and acquiesce that you would move on, but be happy in the fact that what you two had would be real, would be pure.

He managed a single night.

He just couldn't. Maybe it was his hubris, the one that tarnished his relationship with Mystra, now rearing its head when it came to you. How long would the others wait till seeking you out? To comfort, to hold you close? Before taking the plunge.

You would forget him. Even as you snoozed against him, he lay, idly rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. You'd forget him. He knew it. The group would remember his sacrifice and raise a glass, but he couldn't bear the thought that one of their lips would curve into a smile against the rim of their mug, knowing that in the end, they had gotten you?

In the coming days, it happened too quickly. His soft thoughts about having a family with you in another life, collided with his fear that he would never linger against in your mind after a period of time.

You could have his child.

A part of him would live on. A part you'd never hate. Him and you, into one perfect child, that yes, he may never get to see, but one he'd love so fiercly that they'd always know it. That magic would always be there, even when his physical body crumbled into nothing. The others could and maybe would become intimate with you. Become your new partner. But Gale's baby would always be there, a symbol ofyour shared love, and the fact that he was your first choice. Despite everything. He was the one you wanted first.

So he whispers to you that he doesn't have much time left. Kisses away any of your insistence that you won't let him die. Holds you close as he pushes your trousers down, lips against your neck. Doesn't lead you away from camp to make love privately. No, this is for him and for you. The others would have to deal with it.

With every action, it was like he was hoping to brand your memories with nothing but him.

Branding your future.

Astarion could hold you close, skim his teeth against your neck with a drawled double entendre, but you would spend at least half your day in the sun, for the sake of your child. Lazael would bite your lips with each kiss, cunning fingers skirting under your shirt, grazing the bruises she left along your hips, but you'd never join her in the Tears, not when your child would never be accepted among her people. Shadowheart could be the one you curled up with every night, fingers intertwined and sharing slow, soft kisses, but its his soft eyes your child would have, not her dark ones he once so brazenly complimented. It doesn't matter if Karlach would spend her time with her new tentacled friend, or journeyed with Wyll throug the hells. You would not bring your child to the Mindflayers, nor Avernus. She'd visit, she'd hold you and make love to you and get your child to giggle themselves stupid, but she wouldn't be able to be with you all the time. Same for Wyll. In Avernus, with Karlach by his side, his mismatched eyes won't melt your heart. You two would have to wait years to dance again. Even as the Duke, he could lead you by the end to a soft, slow song, humming as he pressed kisses to your fingers and neck, but Wyll was the best man he knew. Every time he saw his dead friend's child, he'd feel a twinge. Just enough to sour the time spent with your baby. Halsin could fuck you senseless and cradle you afterwards all he wanted to, he could soften your heart with his effortless smile and hold you close, but he'd have to live with the fact that he came second. That you and Gale would have something that went deeper than what the Druid could offer. And your child was the perfect representation of that.

There was no proection that night. No love making while surrounded by magic and the Weave. Just you and him, getting only a partial rest as he held you close and fucked you deep.

So, imagine his delight when he got to live.

#ehehehe #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #quincewrites #nsft #im #so fucking insane #LEGITMATELY #baldurs gate 3

168 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 8 months

Text

Niki with gray streaks at his temples. Niki with crows feet lining his eyes. Niki, who got to expand his business beyond the photography, into being a man of the pictures. The prettiest pictures. Racks in more money than even his best photo shoots.

characters. Niki. (Degrees of Lewdity)

cw. older niki being a pervert. legit wrote this while watching pearl and then x and had a flash of inspiration. nothing too bad, just niki being an older pervert, filming, its... hinted that its coerced but there's no words spoken. body worship. its HINTED niki is into musk lmao. anyway, this is for all yall very patient dol lads while i've been having a lil brain melt over miguel and then bg3 :3

Niki who still has his white stick balancing on the bow of his bottom lip, tongue stroking the end as he squints at one of his scuffed lenses. Sometimes he’s surrounded by people whose names he doesn’t care to know, shooting some boring scene that gets the old timer’s panties wet and peckers to stiffen. That’s for the crowd that likes the vanilla stuff. “Vanilla” he ruminates, watching the two women in animal masks ride that poor sod’s entire body. Yeah. This is the shit that gets sold at the checkout line in the grocery store. He prefers his other work. The type where he’s no longer surrounded by people fiddling with equipment and lousy actors rehearsing their lines. The type that brings him back to his younger years of filming in the quiet barn.

His muses came and went. None of them lasted much longer than two months. Except his little assistant. Fuck, he never had one before, when all he needed was his camera and his own sharp eyes. Except he fucking pulled something in his back and had to lie on Harper’s examining table, listening to the doctor chastise him on not taking care of himself, his own blond hair flecked with grey too.

So, he had you. Lift the heavier equipment, hand out shit so he didn’t have to. Then, when it was just the two of you? You stayed quiet when he needed it. Filled the silence when he needed it. Helped him… When he needed it.

When the actors and actresses bored him, when the hopeful bright eyed thing getting paid to get fucked in the ass struggled to hold his attention, Niki goes looking for something real. The club, recording as people groped each other breathlessly. To the park, to catch the odd streaker.

Then there’s something special. Stuff he doesn’t let himself indulge in too much. But when he had a block, where all of his shots look stilted and wrong, when nothing is coming together like it should do, he can’t help it. He needs something real, nothing like the acted out sex, or the lapdances, or anything. Nothing for an audience, but something just for him.

Even he didn’t know how it started.

Sharing a room for a good price, with you quietly cooking at the stove while Niki huffed and grumbled, looking at the extensive amount of filming he had to do the next day. He thinks you might have burned yourself. Maybe nicked yourself with a knife. Just a soft swear from under your breath had him looking up at you, his graying strands dipping into his eyes as he saw you in the way he was meant to.

The lighting was perfect. You loose tank top showing just enough skin by your ribs. The pretty way you were wholly unaware of his gaze going from disinterested, soft, to sharp, intense. An artist who finally had a muse again.

Without you noticing, Niki quietly resticks his white stick back into his mouth and gets up. Moving around behind you as you made sure the two of you ate that night. The radio whining out a tinny little song masked any sound made by his movements.

You turned around to ask your boss if he wanted something to drink with his meal but stopped short, seeing his camera up and rolling. Pointed directly at you. Making the soft whirring noises as Nikki fiddled with the equipment a bit before looking straight at you.

There were no words for you. Just his gaze, fixed on you, with the camera whirring.

It was the first time you had ever been on the other hand of the lens. You always stayed by his side during the filming, fiddling with the audio equipment or going over the notes Niki had prepared. It felt like you were bare. Being captured exactly how Niki saw you in this moment. Immortalized. Seen. Even though you still had all your clothes on, you felt bare. Because of not how he currently saw you, but you knew in what way he wanted to see you.

Niki’s expression didn’t change as you slowly raised your hands and slipped yourself free of your shirt. His eyes remained steely and glinting but behind his relaxed lips, just barely open, his teeth were biting through his lollipop stick, breaking it.

Soft, perfect nipples hardening in the cool air, perking right up under his gaze. It felt more real than anything else he filmed for a long while. All for him. His breathing kicked up as you watched him right back, quietly seeking his approving gaze as you slowly dragged a hand over your chest, pressing your fingers down into your skin. It looked so soft, so easy and malleable for his tongue to ruin it with bruises and bites. He noticed the blemishes on your skin, everything that made you imperfect, but real. Nothing fake, not like his other productions with the actors. He knew you wouldn’t force your moans for him. Niki knew he caught you unawares, so you hadn’t had time to spend the last hour shaving your pubes, or shower after a long day of hauling things for him. Authentic. Saliva pooled on his tongue.

With a little jerk of his head, he motioned at your shorts, necessary in the cloying heat. Your chest hitched with a shuddering breath and Niki’s dry lips curled into a smile at long last. Nervous. Unaware. Shy. Real.

So, your shorts pooled around your ankles, which you kicked to the side. Underwear was still on, but he could see everything, outlined perfectly. You motioned to slip those off but Niki shook his head. He made a circular motion with his finger and you flushed. A bit clumsy, almost slipping on the discarded shorts, you slowly did a charming little pirouette, leg lifted. He chuckled and then made his particular motion for you to bend over for him.

Underwear snug against your body, he made sure to zoom in to where your hole would be. Waiting.

You heard the click of the camera turning off before you heard Niki’s voice.

“That's enough. We’ll get up early tomorrow morning.”

You stood there, stock still for a moment, face too hot before scrambling for your clothes, almost mortified by what just happened. It felt like a snub. It wasn’t, but it felt like one. You expected the next day to be full of filming the cute cow-girls with tits too big for them to know what to do with, but Niki didn’t head towards the farm, instead driving out to the farmlands and hiking to the coast.

He filmed you swimming. Sunbathing. Just existing as if you weren’t being paid by the hour for this.

It wasn’t always like that. Niki still filmed other things, with his hand slowly rubbing circles into inner thigh as the camera rolled. The longer time passed in between your private shoots, the more times you caught him watching you during the shoots, eyes seeking out skin.

Your personal shoots became lewder. Niki wanting to capture every inch of skin, as you invited him in, both his attention and his camera.

Older Niki, having his personal assistant double as his muse. He’s twice their age, with gray streaking his temples. He grits his teeth when younger men chat you up. He grinds them when you can’t come around in the evening, just to pose for him. Lie there for him, naked and sinful and good. Forced to watch some of your films instead. Niki and his favorite muse.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #niki the photographer #degrees of lewdity

151 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 4 months

Text

Thinking about gale handling cock for the first time, sucking it while looking up at you with watery, soft brown eyes, cockhead tucked into his cheek. He knows how to suck clits, dragging his tongue over the sensitive lil nub, but he loses decorum with cock. Desperately needs to do good, to make you feel good, so he's doing so much. Lapping at your slit, tonguing it, before sucking at the head, his fingers slowly massaging your balls before he goes to suck at the base.

His first time sucking you off has too much spit, at least for him, but by the time you guys can afford to fuck in beds, he finds he loves tonguing at your balls, tucking them into his mouth and shutting his eyes and just sucking as you twitch and groan. Gale likes the way you leak and twitch and drool precum. He even puts his hair into a man bun to make sure it doesn't get in the way.

He is a fast learner and thinks at first he would prefer not getting his throat fucked, but the first time you push all the way in, his nose buried into your pubes, cock tucked into his throat, it does something to him.

Just kiss him sloppy style afterwards to make sure he short circuits.

#anyway #coff coff #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale x tav #bg3 #mwah #nsft #quincewrites #i love him

79 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 11 months

Text

Well I got TWO whole thoughts in my head. Someone ask about them so I can go crazy.

1. Dilfs (or dilf inflicted by I, inkuquince the 1st of their name) going to the brothel. Going anywhere. Just to get their urges out before they do something they shouldn't.

Content warning. Incest but it's mainly thought about. Implied noncon. Very bad dads. Mention of murder but it's Eden, cmon.

Characters. Leighton, Sirris, Briar, Doren, Eden.

For Leighton it isn't strange, yknow, hes seen there a lot. But this time, he asks for a very specific whore. Forbids them to speak when they try to ask what he wants. Just to call him daddy. Fucked from the back so he can enjoy the superficial similarities between them and his kid. They get paid extra when he groans out your name as he cums.

Sirris noticing that one of the students in his class looks like you. Finds it really cute. Cuter when you two befriend each other. You invite them around for a sleepover and they wander to his photography room when you're asleep. Purring that he's been such a nice teacher, works so hard for his two kids. His camera is left running as they sink down on his cock, but he makes sure it captures their body, not their face. Just so he can breathlessly massage his cock and imagine it's you.

Briar getting one of his workers to come into his office on a break. Has your underwear hanging from his finger. They know the drill. Squeal out for their daddy to fuck them as he takes them from behind, as they wear your underwear, gently tugged to the side. Bonus points if it's Briar had gotten one of his workers pregnant with you years ago, and he still knows where she lives. Refuses to employ her and doesn't let her see you. Pays her a lot to fuck off and keep her mouth shut. Pays her more to get on her hands and knees, wear your underwear and take it. She looks like you. His pretty baby. She knows what's he's thinking of. Fucks her in the ass, especially if you're amab.

Doreen feeling dirty. Was just at the beach, enjoying his time with you, even cheerfully letting you sit on his shoulders while he wades into the water, feeling your crotch against the back of his neck. You went to go get some lemonade your little friend was selling nearby when he sees them. They look kinda similar to you. Skin, ass, hair. Legs. He really likes your legs. He knows what usually happens on this beach. So do they. They smile coyly and gesture for him to come closer. He can just... Quickly relieve himself using their thighs. Be quick, eyes trained on their legs and think of you, in their place. He should feel more guilty, but he can't.

Eden knowing he's your father, but your mother ran away from him when you were young. But he knows. Kept track of you. And you're so perfect. First he'd want to take you back to his cabin, teach you everything he knows and keep you safe from the town. Blow your mother's brains out if she took you again. But you look... Just enough like his old love... He can't help it. Breaks in while you sleep, just to collect some of your underwear. Would have taken you too. He heads back home. Maybe sees a wolf person, with faint similarities to you. Might just hold that poor pup down to roughly fuck them full. Doesn't take them home though. No, that collar is for his own little cub.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #doren the english teacher #leighton the headteacher #briar the brothel owner #eden the hunter #sirris the science teacher #degrees of lewdity

244 notes · View notes