#there are vampires lurking around | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

studioghibelli · 4 months

Text

the end of the world- a joel miller x reader

summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff

note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!

Joel used to be rough.

He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.

He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.

He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.

Then, something changed.

Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

A mantra, a promise, a prayer.

Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.

Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.

Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.

Only ever him.

His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.

And then one day, he swore you off.

"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.

"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.

"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."

"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.

"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."

"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"

"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."

You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.

"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."

That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.

This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.

Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.

A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.

It was the same every day.

Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.

For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.

You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.

You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.

You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.

A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.

When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.

Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.

Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.

"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.

"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."

Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"

The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.

You blinked the memories of him away.

With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.

"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.

Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.

His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?

"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.

"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,

His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.

"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.

When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.

The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.

That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.

"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.

Why does the sun keep on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

Cause you don't love me, anymore?

As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.

You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.

Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

it ended when I lost your love.

You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.

"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.

"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"

The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.

You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.

Joel.

Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.

“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”

Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.

Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.

You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.

“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.

“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”

Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.

Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.

“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”

You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.

Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.

You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”

You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.

Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.

You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.

“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”

He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.

“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.

“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”

“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”

He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”

“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”

You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.

“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”

You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.

Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.

“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.

Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.

Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.

“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.

You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.

When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”

You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.

You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”

And kiss you he did.

His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.

You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.

“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”

“Then make it up to me.”

The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.

You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.

Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.

“Think you can cum on my cock?”

You nodded.

A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.

Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.

You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.

He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.

"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.

He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."

You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."

Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.

"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.

"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.

"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.

Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.

"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."

You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."

Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.

"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"

He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."

You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:

"I love you, too."

3K notes · View notes

talesofesther · 4 months

Text

first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story #astarion ancunin

2K notes · View notes

planetdream · 1 month

Text

AN EVENING IN THE WOODS !

CHARACTERS ! werewolf!bang chan, human!reader

GENRE ! horror/thriller but barely, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 3.3k

SYNOPSIS ! on a drunken game night, you're dared to take a little stroll through the woods after rumors of a werewolf lurking through the town.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! more thriller than horror i think. mentions of alcohol. being chased/stalked; mentions of being 'kept'. reader desc. wearing long skirt + called 'good girl'. smut [dubcon(?)—reader is basically being used. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possessiveness. [rough] sex in the woods. monsterfucking ig. large cock channie <3. pussy eating. facefucking. cumplay + creampie. belly bulge oops. dumbification(?) growling..] used the word 'beast' a lot oops. it gets weird idk

💌 ngl...i think i forgot how to write smut u guys... this is partially inspired by a brief part in house of leaves by mark z. danielewski, but like, not really at all iykyk. anyway, as u kno, i always appreciate feedback <3

There’s a big difference between vampire hunters and werewolf hunters. The creatures are different from each other in both ferocity and nature; thus, the study and hunt of them will differ based on several factors. Hunters of said creatures are expected to know what to do in situations in which they are faced with such foul beasts. You, quite frankly, are neither a vampire nor a werewolf hunter. Inexperienced to the point where you couldn’t begin to imagine what you would do if faced with anything that is such a monstrous terror, let alone a werewolf. Yet, here you are, prancing around the cold forest like a delicious piece of meat, praying that you don’t cross paths with anything—man or beast.

About a month ago, men and women alike began disappearing from town in the late hours of the night, not to be seen or heard from again. In the following weeks, numbers of missing people have only risen, leading many to believe that there might be a serial killer on the loose. That, however, was only until word got around that a town drunkard had seen what he could only describe as a ‘terrifyingly large rabid dog’. ‘It had to be about six feet tall just standing there’, he said, swearing solemnly, even vowing to quit drinking in an effort to portray his seriousness. The man wept, “It was one of them werewolves. I swear by it.”

Only from there did word travel through the town. Though, no one believed the drunk old man, laughing at his testimony—‘A werewolf? In this town? That’s impossible’—some treating it as some fable, or a game, even. Which is what leads to you, alone, in the woods tonight. A fun game of truth or dare with your friends—being a chronic truth picker, tonight (with a little liquid courage) you decide that you want nothing but to humor your associates, you chose dare—turns into you blindly making your way into the dark forest with nothing but a lamp, pocket knife, and a few neon stickers to help you make your way back; and that’s only if you’re not murdered.

By the looks of it, the surrounding forest is empty. The only sounds come from the rustling of tree leaves mingling together due to the wind, the sounds of birds squawking in the far distance, and the snapping and crunching of twigs and leaves beneath your shoes. You trek your way through the trees and dirt extremely unnerved. Nothing has happened at all, and although you’re thankfully still alive and breathing, making your way through the clutter of trees and dead wood, you cannot help but be a bit frightened about the dreariness and uncertainty of the situation.

It’s a cold night, predicted to snow a bit; temperature dropping lower and lower with each hour that falls. The sun had set a while ago and the purple-orange hue leftover has now faded from blue into black. And while the stars are beginning to show themselves—pristine and beautiful—the dark sky only adds to the dreariness of your walk through the forest. The sudden additional silence is eerie, nature has stilled completely. Although the echo of stillness is inexplicable, unusual; it comforts you—knowing that you would hear your assailant coming, should you come close to being attacked.

When looking at your watch, you find that you’ve only been in the forest for fifteen of the required thirty minutes—it’s very possible that you can go the distance, turning on your heels and deciding to make your fifteen minute walk back to the edge of the dark forest; and most importantly, to safety. After all, your friends must be worried about you by now; maybe even surprised that you’ve really stuck to the dare. In a matter of minutes, this will be all over and you will be resting at home.

You had to have been walking in one straight direction, right? Maybe because it’s dark, and you, admittedly, have drunk quite a bit, but the placemarkers you remember sticking to the trees along your path are nowhere to be found. The light of your lamp shines against tree after tree, but they remain in their natural state, unchanged. Your eyes widen, heartbeat increasing as you look at the leftover placemarkers you hold in your hand, only six remaining of your original twenty—so you know you’ve used them.

You stop in your tracks, not willing to venture any further than you already have. Mind racing, scanning and assessing all the possible things you can do, slowly slipping into a panic. You could scream as loud as you can, vocally expressing your need for rescue; but how likely is it that you’ll be heard, especially given how deep into this unchanging landscape you are. Perhaps you can continue walking ahead, only praying that you make your way out unharmed—after all, safety should have been just a fifteen minute walk ahead.

As you lift your foot a few centimeters off of the ground to make your first step, through the darkness of the forest and out of your peripherals, you swear you see a large shadow for just a split second—lurched over and next to a thick tree to your right. A chill runs down your spine and you shudder as you realize the presence of this creature; intimidating and dominant. Taking no chances, feet hitting the ground hard as you sprint through the woods, doing your best to escape this nightmare; real or otherwise.

The action of running when you feel like you’re being chased, versus running because you are being chased, are quite similar. It’s all instinct, a gut feeling that you jump on, increased heart rate; it’s choosing to flee rather than to fight. The difference, in this moment, you realize, is the definite risk of getting caught. The consequences could prove to be unsatisfactory, at the very least, if you were to be caught by whatever it is that may be following after you. Although, looking behind, there’s nothing in sight—no sign of disaster nor danger. You continue along, albeit a lot slower than before, attempting to catch your breath a bit. Walking off trail just a bit to slow down and assess your next course of action.

The snapping of a twig within your vicinity has you darting from the temporary hiding place. However, the predator is right on your trail, persisting in its hunt for flesh. You weave your way through the woods, brain firing off about escaping quickly without harm. The chase does not last long, though. One misstep taking you down, tumbling. Briefly, in your panic, you appear to meet eyes with the foul beast. Fear lodged in your throat, dry and brittle—crumbling into tiny little pieces that pester your insides like a million tiny beetles finding a dark, cavernous home. Stomach clenching, seizing as you cower in submission to your terror. Hands buried into the freshly fallen snow—previous footsteps already blanketed over and long gone. Never have you thought you would give up so easily; unsure if you’ve got it within you to fight back in the absolute worst case.

Body stuck in place, paralyzed with fear once you hear the snow behind you crunch, a sign that the creature is inching closer to you. It’s like your life flashes before your eyes once you feel the snout of the creature pressed against the back of your neck, heat blowing against the back of your neck, followed by a short, deep snarl emitting from within the beast. The large presence behind you is undeniable. The way the creature towers over you is horrifying—a domineering and overbearing sense of power, exuding pride and strength in the form of body heat. It circles you, though you are too terrified to look towards it, despite the daring growl it emits. Heart racing, nearly about to jump out of your chest and run away itself. The creature begins to circle around you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see its feet—huge black paws. Oh great! You’ll be eaten alive.

But then the feet of the beast turns into man, and slowly you raise your face to get a good look at its true face. He starts off as a blur initially, but the longer you look at him, the more recognizable he becomes. A face you’ve always seen lurking around town. Though despite the area being rather small, you’ve never formally interacted—only stared at each other from a distance then kept it moving. Tonight, however, you finally decided to walk up to him at the local bar whilst with friends, only for him to walk away without a word. ‘Oh, him? Yeah, Chan is just like that.’

“Mmm. What’s that smell?” Chan asks while humming. Arms caging you in against the tree as he presses his nose against your neck, right near a particularly sweet spot. “Smells heavenly. So sweet and delicious.”

He continues to sniff you out, planting a small kiss to your neck before traveling lower, nose now pressed to the fabric of your clothing. Face pressed in between the valley of your breast, Chan takes a long, deep inhale. His eyes are closed as he pulls back, slightly smirking with clear contentment. Chan takes the material of your shirt pinched between his fingertips before tearing the shirt down the middle, groaning at your now exposed chest. His hands cup your tits, thumbs teasing at your nipples, as he runs his nose down the valley, before swiping back up with his tongue.

Chan isn’t done, nose still pressed against your skin as he sinks down to his knees. Rough hands cupping your ass, squeezing, as he stops—nose pressed against your mound, breathing you in while trying to pull you closer, finally finding the source of that sweet, heavenly scent. He’s breathing heavily to the point that you can feel his hot breath against your skin through the thin material of your skirt; snarling as he takes in your scent. And he’s mumbling something down there—pussy hungry words about how fucking delectable you smell. Perfect to devour.

Contrary to the petrifying circumstance, the rush of adrenaline you get in the moment is euphoric and exhilarating. Chan’s touch is hot against you, almost scorching, and leaves you wanting—no, needing more of him.

He hikes up the long length of your skirt with ease, throwing your leg over his shoulder to force your hips towards his face, diving face first into your cunt. Tongue lapping up hungrily at your wetness, moaning and groaning without a care in the world as he gets the first taste of his meal. Plump lips sucking your clit, vibrating when he moans, causing you to shake and squirm, but Chan has a strong grip against you. He’s messy as he eats you—occasionally breaking free, not for air, but to spit against your cunt—as the lower half of his face is covered in your nectar; which he hopes never washes off, absolutely frenzied by your scent, cock hard and leaking cum, jumping at the thought of finally getting to fuck his cock into this sweet little cunt.

While Chan is usually a patient man, having no problem in waiting—stalking his prey and then teasing them for hours upon hours on end—he finds himself struck with need. A particular need to feast. To fuck and destroy his prey. Days and days of stalking you, taunting you from afar, and you played right into his palm—obviously fated to be found afraid and lost, deep in his territory. It is at this point he thinks to keep you. Perhaps hide you away somewhere cold and dark where only he’d be able to find you. Keeping you bound to him until he gets sick of you—or until you cease to exist. Aching to fuck you over and over and over again until it becomes too difficult for you to even think about moving a muscle, succumbing fully to his torturous pleasure. He stops himself from thinking too far ahead all too soon, clearly entranced by the sweetness of your cunt.

Chan springs to his feet; cock heavy, hard and curving to the right, tip swelling red with need and dripping with precum. Your eyes are glued to his cock as you watch him massage his right hand over it; even in his big palms his cock is huge. The excitement to take him spreads from the pit of your stomach and up your chest, visualizing into the form of goosebumps all over your arms. He just laughs at the look on your face; how equally intrigued and dismayed you appear. A perfect little lamb stalked and caught by the big bad wolf, unable to flee due to their own fascination despite their fright.

Chan leans in, his lips against yours briefly. A hand curling into your hair to bring you down to your knees, you follow suit. His hand stays tangled in your hair, pulling harshly against your scalp. With his other hand, Chan strokes his cock, running his thumb over the tip; then pulling your head towards his tip. Eagerly, your tongue slips from your mouth, ready to taste everything he’s giving you. You swirl your tongue around him, but Chan has other plans, slowly sliding his cock into your mouth; helping you savor the slightly salty taste of his seed. Fixing your mouth open as wide as it can go, with both hands now tangled into your hair, he thrusts his cock in and out of your mouth, slowly increasing the speed of his thrust.

“You just take it like a good girl, huh?” You don’t say anything, but that dazed look in your eye and the moan that escapes from deep in your throat tells Chan all he needs to know.

“Perfect little mouth, but I bet that pussy is even better.” Chan frees his cock from your mouth with a trail of spit. His hand around his cock once again, the slick sound like music to your ears. Though, it’s at this point that the cold air is starting to get to you—the snow is light but still continuous—yet you power through it for just another taste of Chan.

“Want you so bad,” You bite your lip, looking into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed together. You stand and stretch to turn your back to him, looking over your shoulder as you wiggle your backside towards him like a bitch in heat. Chan smirks at you, a small laugh erupting from him at the sight of your shamelessness.

In the heat of the moment, Chan licks the palm of his hand before bringing it down to rub at your cunt from behind. He doesn’t say anything, but you can hear a long, deep snarl come from within his chest. The closer he gets to you, the louder the growl echoes, and the more he warms you with his body heat—caging you in against the tree. You grind into his hand, greedily taking anything he gives you. While Chan is steadily becoming just as impatient as you, he always spares time to play with his food; teasing the tip of his cock against your slit. Chan slowly slides into your cunt—a rough hand clenching onto your hip, nails digging into your skin; not nearly enough to keep him from losing his cool as your wetness encases his cock, wet and tight.

You’re barely taking half of his dick before the stretch of it nearly becomes too much—but he’s one step ahead of you; arm snakes across your belly and down to your cunt, two wet fingers ready to play with your clit. Chan works his fingers against your clit slowly winding you up, all while planting a quick kiss against your shoulder; tongue drooling out to lick a long wet stripe against your neck. It’s only once he receives a moan from you in response that he starts thrusting into you slowly; the thrusts of his hips syncing with the movement of his fingers.

It isn’t long before you’re taking more and more of his cock, being stuffed and stretched deliciously. Cunt leaking and begging for more of him. Chan lets out these harsh growls and grunts that contrast with the pitch of your moans. His nails dig into your hips, using a minimal amount of strength to pull your hips back against him, making you meet his thrusts. His hips smack against your ass roughly, cock stretching you further, but your cunt swallows every inch perfectly. That’s only until he slides out of you, wordless, yet, still letting out a snarl. He pushes you onto the ground, hands and knees crashing into the new layers of snow. You yelp out in response, but Chan can only laugh at you.

“Just letting me push you around like this? I think I should keep you,” He follows you, kneeling onto the ground, cock in hand. Laying a quick smack at your ass, he hums. “How would you feel about being my little plaything, huh?”

His free hand kneads against your ass while he plays with his cock. “Keep you locked up with me ‘n only let you out in these woods at night, hmm? All cute ‘n naked for me to hunt down and fuck again.”

“And you can’t even hide cause I’ll always find you, pretty.” He finally slides into your cunt, still not letting you have all of him, yet. “How does that sound? Do you like it?”

His words are filthy and so are his touches but somehow he’s got you entranced. You let out a loud, cracked sob of a yes in response to his inquiries as if he bullied it out of you. “Good girl.”

Chan finally allows himself to break—hips snapping harshly into yours. Not caring if you go limp from the way he’s fucking into you, instead his hands are once again clenching your hips, grinding his hips against your ass whenever he thrusts his cock back into you. Your fists clutching onto the snow as you take his cock, unable to do much but drool and mewl for him.

He presses his chest across your back, caging you onto the cold ground. His tongue once again flat against your skin, licking every inch of what exposed skin he has access to. Still pounding into you as he chases his impending orgasm. Then he sinks his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, letting out a whine rather than the usual growl as he fucks his cum into you. It’s hot, sticky, and heavy—and it seems like it’s unending; seemingly producing more and more as he pumps his cock into you. Slowly Chan reaches a hand down to press against your lower abdomen; feeling how your belly swells with all the cum his cock is feeding your cunt.

You moan at the feeling when Chan pulls out of you with a sigh of exhaust. Cum coating his cock and spilling out of your cunt, staining your thighs. So much of his seed has spilled out and he’s no longer stuffing you with his cock, but yet you feel so full. Chan continues to incite, two thick fingers dip into your cunt to scoop up and play with the excess cum that’s dripping from your hole.

Chan pulls you back to him by your arms, caging you against his chest. He whispers to you. “What if we played a fun little game, hm?”

He grips your chin and those same two digits that were once inside of you, force into your mouth, offering you another taste of Chan’s cum. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, “Let’s say, I give you a ten second head start to run.”

Chan kisses the back of your neck and a chill runs down your spine. “The ten seconds start now.”

He frees you from his hold, and springs to his feet leaving you dumbfounded. But by the time you stand and face the direction of Chan, legs weak and cold, he’s no longer there.

It seems his fun little game has officially started.

#🌑 — vivid dreams #🌑 — vividdream.skz #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #skz smut #bang chan x reader

930 notes · View notes

fire-emblem-drabbles · 6 months

Text

Pairing: Astarion x reader

Prompt: In which you couldn't convince Astarion not to become the Vampire ascendant, but still do not allow him to do the ritual.

Description: You really did fall so hard, and so, so fast. No wonder when the ground came to meet you did it hurt just as much. But perhaps its not too late to stand back up again, if someone was willing to lend a hand.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3018

Notes: I had to save scum this so much on my file that was romancing him. And well I be thinking about him a lot lately... I litterally have no idea where these words came from btw so I hope u enjoy them!

“It’s over,” Said with such disdain, such pain and hurt, directed your way. “I’m done with this, and I’m done with you.” Venom, dripping and cold. What happened to the warmth in those eyes? To the love that once shown in them, when he looked your way? “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” He looked so broken, so hurt.

You hardly remembered what came next, beyond your own tears. Astarion simply… left. Walk away as you crumpled to the ground, in disbelief. As you begged him to say. When you told him, over and over again, that you loved him.

Karlach and Shadowheart must have dragged you out of those dungeons, otherwise you might still be there, wallowing in your pity. You don’t remember how long it had been since then. Since you had stopped Cazador from ascending, freed Astarion from his grasp… and tried to convince him not to ascend himself. Your words may have failed, but your actions didn’t; you didn’t let him use your eyes to copy his scars. You couldn’t.

All for him to walk away.

You hadn’t really been the same, since then. Where once you were the leader of your little ragtag group of adventurers, now you couldn’t find it in you to leave your tent. Well… Astarion’s tent, actually. You never had one of your own. And when the two of you got together, it just seemed natural to share.

Gale had taken over in leading everyone for day to day adventuring on your behalf. Even though you wished it, the world would not slow down because you were hurt. No kindness spared on your broken, broken heart. Yet you couldn’t stop wondering where you went wrong. Were the two of you not as close as you thought? Could you have been more convincing, hell, more intimidating, anything to have kept him by your side?

You think, right now, it’s night. Your candle’s are all stuffed out, the bustle of the streets beyond are quiet, and you can’t hear the patter and stomps of Scratch and the owlbear cub playing around camp. Your tears have all but dried, even if your sorrow remains as fresh as a new wound. No, all is silent in this moment.

You take a deep breath. Yes, it would be best to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, you would wake up and feel like a person again. One who could attend to all her duties. And maybe even get back on the path to save Baldur’s gate.

But sleep never comes for those whose hearts are so heavy. This isn’t the first night you’ve lied awake, thoughts wondering. All for the better, perhaps-- because in the heavy quiet of the cities dark night, you hear the flap of your tent open with the utmost quietness. And you, just as quiet, sit up from your laying position. Who ever has invaded your space must have dark vision, for they pause upon seeing your form and do not move an inch.

“I can see you there.” Your voice comes out, gravelly and rough. You don’t sense your in danger, though, even as your heart beats and pounds in your chest. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a camp full of adventurers, with an owlbear lurking around no less. Still, with some trepidation, you cast the cantrip for light, and watch as your messy tent (and new guest) are bathed in cool, blue light.

“Oh,” Is all you think to say. You can’t really trust your eyes, so you rub the days of built up sleep and sorrow from them. No, you can’t even speak his name as you stare upon him. But you dare not look away. Even if it was a dream, it was him. It was him.

“...You’re a mess.” His words are soft, quiet. He seems to relax a little when he sees you make no movement.

“...I suppose I am.” You clear your throat a little after speaking, if only because a new lump seems to be forming now that you look to him. “How… how can I help you, Astarion?”

“Gods…” He heaves a heavy sigh, looking over your pitiful form. “I’ve hurt you this much, and you still think to help me? Are you stupid?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Perhaps.” You nod softly. “Stupid enough to fall in love with you, after all.” You can only smile weakly at him.

“I came here too…” He frowns, looking away from you for a moment. “Well it doesn’t matter why I came back. You clearly need some sense knocked back into you.” With that, he moves in closer to you. Surprised, you move in a little in order to accommodate him. You try to ignore the beating of your heart, ignore the hope that rises within you like a phoenix from its ashes.

“What… are you going to do?” You turn to him, nestled into your side like he might have been not too long ago.

“Talk, as terrible as that sounds.” He keeps his gaze down, looking at the messed up bedding.

“Talk?” You repeat. “I thought you… didn’t want to see me again.”

“Well, that was then. This is now.” Astarion looks to you. To the bags built up under your eyes. Your cheeks, still rosy and sensitive with just how many tears you’ve shed (for him, no less). Your hair is unkempt and as gross as you are, all he can see is someone that loves him… “I… said and did some terrible things during that ritual. Things that… looking back, I may not have done were I in the right head space.” He swallows hard. “I was… scared. And the promise of power, the smell of blood… it was all so intoxicating, I forgot myself there for a moment.”

The two of you sit in the silence a moment, festering in it. Words dance on the tip of your tongue but Astarion isn’t done speaking. He, too, needs a moment to compose himself. “But… you never forgot who I was.” He looks to you, something soft, something sad, something gentle written into the contours of his face. Even as he turns to you, he struggles to meet your eyes-- shining, glimmering, with something sweet and promising and loving in them. Something that he doesn’t deserve; not after the actions he took that day.

“You did everything in your power to convince me what I was doing was wrong, but all I could see then was the security that power could bring me.” He closes his eyes, taking a sharp intake of air though his nose. “I was so blinded, I could not see that with you by my side, I was the happiest I’ve ever been these past 200 years…” As he opens his eyes, he looks down to his folded hands, then over to yours. You realize that even if he is so close… Astarion hesitates to touch you. Maybe he felt as if he wasn’t allowed to do so any more, or perhaps felt he was no longer worthy… Whatever the reason, it breaks your heart just a little bit more.

“I… see.” It’s a lot to soak up. That in the moment, you couldn’t reach him but in the days sense Astarion has realized… maybe this was for the better.

“You saved me from becoming the very man I lived in fear of, and all I gave you in return was heartbreak.” He seeks your eyes, his own wide and wet and you realize he’s crying now. Tears flood your eyes as well, because he was right; you cared for him so much, though, it almost didn’t seem to matter. Almost. “How can I ever expect you to forgive me?” With that, he breaks, closing his eyes roughly and crying out, sobbing into his own hands.

All you can do in that moment is cry with him. Two, love sick idiots broken and hurt but not beyond mending-- not yet.

“It’s okay,” You find yourself struggling to say the words, even as you usher him into your arms and hold him. He does not hesitate to hold you in turn, to cry unto you as you into him. “We’ll be okay, I promise, I promise.” Your words come out as prayer as you hold him close. “Just don’t leave again, please!”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Astarion seems to compose himself more quickly than you do, but he does not let go, even as you know your tears stain his shirt. “I’ve got you and I won’t leave you ever again.” He rubs his hand along your back slowly, doing his best to try and comfort you in the same way you have for him in the past. It’s a long moment before you feel yourself begin to breathe normally again, before your tears once again dry and you find yourself staring into his red eyes once more.

“I love you,” Your words are softer than a whisper, said with a trembling smile.

“I love you too.” Astarion responds in kind, resting his forehead against yours. You two stay content a moment before he speaks again. “But you’re disgusting-- let me take care of you.” He pulls away from you and your left no room to argue. You merely blink, owlishly, as he pulls back. He moves to stand but you grab his hand.

“Where are you going?” You hold on to him with both hands now, and he has to pause to take the sudden fear on your face. Astarion had planned to leave to return with a little wash bin and rag but seeing you so distraught makes him pause. Of course, the last time he walked away from you he didn’t return…

“We’re going to get you cleaned up.” With a bit of a struggle, Astarion gets you to rise to your feet next to him. “Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.” He adds. You nod slowly, still a little on edge from the panic that just flooded your system but nonetheless, trusting Astarion.

So, with the difficulty that comes with only having one hand, Astarion pins open the flaps of the tent (your light cantrip soon goes out as well, but the inside is illuminated but the torchlight of your camp). Some of the stale air you had been living in gets to escape, and you’re able to take a fresh breath of air you hadn’t realized you needed.

Astarion gathers his wash bin, and the rag, and with you in tow, rummages through that the travelers chest you seem to toss anything and everything into. But, avoiding unmatched boots and careful not to prick himself on all the arrows that are in there (and trying not to think about how they were likely dumped in there after he left), he finds what he was looking for-- some soap. And though the water is cold, and the night is cool, at least with a little bit of soap and his careful hand, it’s not all bad.

“You need to wash these clothes too,” Astarion huffs. “I know you have other things, so let’s get you into something cleaner.” You’re guided back into your shared tent (which is already starting to smell better, but the scented water is helping as well) while Astarion rifles though your clothing. Here together again, you finally let go of his hand but stay close to him.

“Thank you…” You pause, watching him pick out something comfortable and warm. “I can take care of myself, though.” You add, taking the clothing from him.

“I’m sure you can-- but I want to take care of you.” He doesn’t let go of your clothing as you try and take it. “So, let me.” His gaze flicks up to your eyes and you’re surprised to see him look so stubborn.

“Oh,” You let go of the clothing, surprised. “I… That would be nice.” You say it quietly, still too caught up in him being here, being real and touching you, loving you.

“Now, out of the nasty clothing, if you would.” He persists, grabbing the hem of your current shirt. He pauses before lifting it though, looking to your face. “That is, if you’re okay with me…” he trails, unsure.

“It’s you, so it’s okay.” You assure him. You raise your hands so he can take off the offending, stinky shirt, and toss it aside. Next, he removes your pants, tossing them the same direction.

“This might be a little cold,” Astarion tells you, but it doesn’t stop the flinch (nor the shiver) as the cool rag touches your skin. Still, his touch is delicate and careful.

He first wipes your face (part of it, still covered in blood and dirt from that same battle). He dips and wrings out the rag, before continuing his work. Your chest, your arms, legs-- all of you, gently washed and cared for. You realize this is the first time he’s been so intimate with you in a non sexual way. It’s… nice. To see his brow furrowed in concentration, have his hands upon you just hold you. It’s not like the two of you went entirely without touching one another in that time, but to have him initiating it, warms you.

“Now, back in your clothing before you catch a cold.” You nod at him and smile, sliding on the familiar pants and shirt with comfort and ease.

“I already feel a lot better, thank you.” He smiles softly, but sits you back down.

“Just let me attend to this rats nest, and we can be done.” Astarion reaches for his comb, and sits beside you. “Lean back so I can wet your hair,” He guides you down, with your head over the basin, and cups his hand to gather water before wetting your hair.

You let his work quietly, until your hair is wet and he can begin working out the knots starting at the ends. When the comb runs freely to your hair, he grabs the soap and carefully massages it into your scalp, scratching here in there. You let out a sigh in content, and Astarion can’t help but smile softly.

He was still shocked that you even talked to him-- let alone let him touch you. But the two of you needed this. To hold and be held, to love and let go. He truly was a fool to ever think he could be without you. But he was lucky, then, that you were fool enough to let him back in.

With your hair washed, combed, and dried and the water dumped and wash bin put aside, Astarion let you sit back up and look at him. “So… what happens next?” You ask softly.

“Well… I’m not sure.” He admits. “I didn’t think you would forgive me so… I hadn’t really thought much beyond that.”

“I suppose we get our rest, then.” You heave a heavy sigh. “I know I’ve taken enough time off from adventuring… And you have some friends who deserve an explanation as well.”

“More talking?” Astarion groans softly, but makes no move to leave your side as you lie down and tug him with you. “But… you are right.”

“You’ll be okay.” You give him a good, full body squeeze. “Everyone here cares for you. They’ll be willing to hear you out.”

“Perhaps only with you by my side.” He lets out a little chuckle. “But… that’s not such a bad thing.” He readjusts in your grasp, snuggling close and turning towards you. “Rest well, darling.” He kisses the top of your head, and smiles down at your sleepy expression.

“I will, now that you’re here…” It didn’t take long for sleep to find you, wound up in Astarion’s arms. You hadn’t slept so well in days, and who was he to wake you when you looked so peaceful…? It seemed like time passed so quickly with you in his arms, and before long he could hear the sounds of everyone else waking in camp.

Astarion couldn’t help but grow anxious as footsteps grew closer to the tent. “Solider, you in there?” Karlach’s voice called out. “I know you haven’t been very hungry lately, but I brought you some breakfast…” Unable to do anything to stop her, Astarion watched as Karlach pokes her head into the tent. With the morning light, they could only stare at one another a moment.

“Shh, just let them sleep a while longer…” Astarion turned from Karlach, and brushed some stray hairs from your face. “When they’re ready to wake up, I’ll… I’ll be ready to.” He turns from you, back to Karlach, a look of surprise and glee on her face.

“Right! Right… I’ll be quiet!” She gives him a little thumbs up and quickly retreats from the tent. But… Astarion can hear Karlach, even if she is all the way across camp. First, she tells Jaheira, then Minsc, and Minthara and Lae’zel overhear… Then Wyll, Shaodowheart and Halsin of course overhear and then Gale finds out, and now the whole camp is aware that he’s back here even if they are being remarkable polite about it….

Still, it brings a smile on his face. To know they were so excited to see him again (maybe even if it was only to see you happy again) was a comforting thought. To be among friends… That was something truly special indeed.

“Astarion…?” You wake slowly, eyes barely open as you look to him, hold him a little tighter.

“I’m here,” Astarion assures you, giving you a squeeze in return.

“Good…” You close your eyes and cuddle back into him, letting out a small yawn. “Let’s stay alone for just a little longer yet.”

“That can be arranged.” He can’t help but smile, and relax into you. Everyone else could wait a little longer yet-- you deserved what ever you wanted in this moment. And if that happened to be him, well, Astarion was in no place to say no.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg3 x reader #just... thinking about how alone and afriad he would feel after that #made me kind of insane

1K notes · View notes

deunmiu-dessie · 1 month

Text

ⅵ▬ ⁽ 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₄˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, cringey, NSFW, explicit content, teratophilia, vampire/human, unprotected sex, creampie, whiny vampire, overstimulation, spit kink, sloppy kisses, aphrodisiac, blood, dubcon, reader is lowkey at fault but not at the same time. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : ya'll this is so rushed, m'sorry-- i rlly just wanted to get this out, probably won't be as good as the others but enjoy.

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: home for winter break, you find yourself with the house to yourself, right?

꒰subby male!vampire ₊⊹ dom afab!reader꒱

“ Thanks, Jaime, I’ll see you later. ”

𝒜fter bidding farewell to your best friend, you stand there, gazing at the car as it swiftly disappears into the night. With your trusty suitcase in tow, you make your way up the dimly lit driveway, carefully sifting through your bag in search of the elusive house key. A sense of relief washed over you as your fingers finally closed around the icy touch of the silver key. Clutching it firmly, you navigate the treacherous icy surface, mindful of each step to avoid any slips or falls.

Finally making it to the porch stairs, you exerted all your strength to hoist your suitcase up the steps, narrowly avoiding a couple of near-slips along the way. With a sigh of relief, you conquered the last stair, feeling a surge of triumph as you stepped onto the snow-free porch. With ease, you maneuvered your luggage towards the door, unfurling your hand to use the key. It takes a few attempts, but you eventually manage to insert it into the lock and turn the doorknob.

As you enter the house, darkness envelopes you, with not a single light illuminating the space. However, the comforting warmth enveloping the space indicated that your mother had considerately left the heating on for your arrival. Leaving your suitcase by the entrance, you closed the door and secured it with a lock.

As you flick the switch, the overhead ceiling light floods the living room with its warm glow, casting away the shadows that had shrouded the space. Eagerly, you venture further into the house, calling out for your siblings who were supposed to be there to welcome you home. However, the silence that greets you is deafening, and the absence of any movement from the game room basement or upstairs is disconcerting.

With a sigh, you kick off your shoes and settle down, making yourself comfortable in the unfamiliar solitude. Unlike your siblings, who seem to constantly rely on your mother's support without contributing much themselves, you have always been driven and focused on your education. Your hard work paid off, as you graduated high school with an impressive GPA and secured a spot in your dream college. Now, during winter break, you find yourself back in the comfort of your childhood home, enjoying a well-deserved respite from your academic endeavors.

The urge to change overwhelms you, especially with the discomfort of your clothes clinging too tightly and irritating your skin. With each step towards the staircase, you flick on every light switch within reach, flooding the house with light. You silently prayed that none of your siblings had invaded your personal space while you were away, either napping or snacking.

The creaky ascent up the stairs quickened your heartbeat, the loud squeaks echoing through the otherwise quiet house. A sense of unease washed over you, unsure of who might be lurking around. Finally reaching the top, you let out a sigh of relief upon seeing your room to the left.

Astonishingly, the room appears exactly as you had left it, save for a few garments strewn about, most likely belonging to your sister. Other than that, everything seems to be in order. Closing the door behind you, you proceed to delve into your drawers, hastily extracting an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

In a swift motion, you discard your jeans and let out a grunt as you struggle to remove the turtleneck that has somehow become entangled around your head. Finally freeing yourself from its clutches, you toss it aside with a frustrated huff, swiftly replacing it with the shorts and shirt you had chosen.

A sudden pang of pain and the rumbling noise emanating from your stomach causes you to grimace, prompting you to clutch your abdomen tightly; evidently, you were famished. Your plans of drifting off to sleep were quickly dashed as you reached for your phone and descended the stairs.

Unsure of the fridge's contents, you toyed with the idea of ordering food through DoorDash. Fortunately, to your relief and your wallet's delight, a couple of chicken breasts and broccoli were found in the freezer. Taking the frozen items, you hesitated at the thought of waiting for them to thaw. Without delay, you knelt down and retrieved a silver mixing bowl from the nearest cabinet.

You get up with a groan, muttering to yourself that you’re getting old. As you twist the faucet handle, you wait for the water to run hot, capable of scalding your skin upon contact. Placing a bowl beneath the gushing stream, you watch as it gradually fills up, before finally turning off the flow and submerging the chicken and broccoli within its liquid confines. Although it would require some time, it was certainly preferable to enduring hours of waiting for the ingredients to thaw.

Finding yourself in the living room, you idly scroll through the vast expanse of social media, feeling an overwhelming sense of boredom engulfing your very being. Your attention is not truly captivated by the screen of your phone; instead, your mind wanders aimlessly, causing your vision to blur as a whirlwind of thoughts race through the corridors of your consciousness. Your mind is practically blank, lost in a daze.

A sudden sound from the basement catches your attention, causing your ears to twitch and tingle. You snap back to reality, leaping off the couch in a heartbeat. The recent reports of vampires breaching human borders and the rising death toll flood your mind.

The Creatures of the Night, or maybe even Leeches, as they were sometimes referred to- didn't bother you all that much. They were just a tad different from the general population and usually didn't target humans— except for the rare cases highlighted in the news. You had never encountered one personally, but you weren't about to form an opinion based on how the media depicted them as monstrous beings.

Before you know it, your internal monologue has whisked you away from the sounds in the basement, the thought completely vanishing from your mind. You slowly make your way back to the kitchen, dragging your feet with each step. To your surprise, the chicken is already thawed when you inspect it, bringing a smile to your face as you remove it from the now lukewarm water.

While you may not be a master chef, you can still whip up a decent bowl of cereal or a tasty peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The concept of cooking has always been a bit intimidating for you, but the Air Fryer in front of you is a game-changer.

You carefully line the inside with foil, place your seasoned chicken inside, add a dollop of butter, and close the lid before hitting start. As the chicken cooks, you decide to skip heating up your broccoli for now. A sudden chill makes you shiver, causing you to furrow your brows as the cool breeze brushes against your exposed legs.

A sudden blast of icy wind makes you shudder and you instinctively turn around in search of its source. Your heart skips a beat as you catch sight of the slightly ajar back door, allowing delicate flakes of snow to sneak their way inside the cozy home. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your racing thoughts, considering the possibility that your mischievous siblings might be behind this chilling surprise, as they often are.

You list off their names, telling them that you’re not in the mood for whatever game they’re playing, and then add that if they want something to eat, then come to the kitchen. However, to your dismay, there is no sign of movement or even a faint giggle, which sends a wave of unease coursing through your veins. The absence of their usual inability to keep quiet when plotting a prank fills you with a sense of foreboding.

As you stand there, your body tenses up, your muscles rigid and your palms sweaty. Reacting swiftly, you reach for a knife from the drawer, gripping it tightly until your knuckles ache. With cautious steps, you make your way towards the basement stairs, carefully descending the first four steps and finally reaching the landing where you promptly shut the door.

The frigid cold that once assaulted your skin is now left behind, but before you can proceed any further, an unsettling wetness seeps into your sock – warm and thick. Instantly, you freeze in place, pressing yourself against the wall for support, and slowly lift your foot to investigate. A wave of revulsion washes over you as you discover a bloodstain on your lilac-colored sock. Overcome with disgust, you swiftly remove the tainted sock and discard it.

As you descend the basement stairs, your eyes fixate on the blood trail that stretches all the way down, staining the carpeted flooring. A lump forms in your throat, causing you to swallow heavily, as you carefully navigate your way down, avoiding the blood.

The basement is not completely devoid of light, thanks to the LED lights left on by one of your siblings, but the crimson hue they emit adds an unsettling aura to the eerie atmosphere. The knife in your hand feels slippery, the perspiration on your palm evident against the black handle. Swiftly switching hands, you finally step onto the carpeted surface. In front of you lies a disheveled basement, with clothes strewn haphazardly and gaming consoles still powered on, emitting warm air.

No one is there, you can’t see anyone. Your mind drifts away, causing your eyes to lose focus and your senses to become more acute. Suddenly, a sound breaks the silence - the sound of labored breathing and faint, barely audible whimpers. Your attention is immediately drawn to a dark object on the floor, which you had mistaken for a bean bag chair.

Against your better judgment, you begin to cautiously approach the injured person. They’re obviously injured, and badly so. Without even realizing it, you release your tight hold on your weapon. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the carpeted floor and start crawling towards them.

The person appears disoriented, with their head swaying from side to side and their hand resting loosely on their injury. You carefully set your knife aside and move closer until you can hear their breathing clearly without any difficulty. Your hands automatically reach out towards their face, softly resting on their cheeks.

As you carefully tilt their head upwards, you find yourself staring at a pair of wispy lashes, set in a devilishly attractive face with pale skin. The sight of fangs delicately touching his full bottom lip doesn't escape your notice. Fear is not your immediate reaction, though there's a hint of it lingering in the background, it doesn't overpower your growing fascination with the scene unfolding before you.

With your left still hand resting on his cheek, your other hand moves down his body, and you suddenly gasp as you feel the presence of a large stake piercing through his stomach. How could you have missed such a significant detail earlier? Nevertheless, you choose not to dwell on it any further.

After careful consideration, it became evident that his current predicament could be attributed to a group known as the Hunters. These individuals, predominantly middle-aged men, harbored an irrational aversion towards coexisting with Vampires. Their actions were nothing short of despicable, as they embarked on a merciless killing spree, sparing no one, not even innocent children; they were sick bastards.

Despite your firm pat on his cheek, he stays incoherent, lost in a world of pain, you're sure. Although filled with trepidation, you understand that it's necessary to remove the stake, it isn’t doing him any good to keep it inside. With a surge of determination, you grasp the wooden object and swiftly extract it, allowing it to drop onto the floor, quickly placing your free hand against his wound. Tenderly, you caress his cheek with your thumb, providing solace as he emits a loud groan and breathes heavily. "It's alright, shh."

The sensation of his blood gushing past your fingers sends a chilling shiver down your spine, as it saturates the carpet beneath you without any signs of slowing either. A momentary wave of panic washes over you, prompting you to swiftly retract your hand and grasp the knife nearby. Trembling with fear, you bring the blade up to your neck, carefully making a shallow incision, the slippery blade adding to your unease.

Despite the struggle, you manage to pull his body closer to yours, your right hand, stained with blood, finding the back of his head and guiding it towards the column of your neck. It takes a moment, but eventually, he stirs, his lips parting and his tongue darting out to taste the crimson liquid trickling down your shoulder.

A shiver runs through your entire being, and you attempt to calm yourself. The warmth of his tongue against your skin is a soothing sensation as it leisurely glides over you, diligently lapping up the spilled blood. Your body tenses as his fangs graze your flesh before finally piercing it, yet surprisingly, there is no pain, only a mild discomfort that quickly dissipates.

You jolt when he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you closer to his body, his face nuzzled against your neck. You find yourself gripping his hair, fingers intertwined in his tresses. Time seems to stretch on endlessly as he continues to drink from you, leaving you feeling lightheaded. When you manage to break free from his hold, he surprisingly allows you to step back, though he keeps a firm grasp on your slumped body.

As you gaze at him you notice your blood adorns his lips like a peculiar shade of lipstick, and the sight of his tongue darting out to taste it causes the bite mark to throb, sending delightful tingles coursing through your entire body. Despite the gentleness with which he holds you, his verdant eyes are filled with unadulterated horror and fear.

You steal a quick glance at his wound, only to find that the bleeding has ceased completely, suggesting that the injury is already healing itself. Swiftly, he rises from the floor, effortlessly lifting you in his arms and laying you on the basement couch.

Your body quivers and becomes drenched in sweat, gradually sinking into the softness of the couch. What kind of bizarre scenario is unfolding here? You want to reassure this stranger that you're okay, even though he almost drank you dry. Perhaps it's the genuine concern and remorse in his eyes, but as soon as you hear his voice, you find yourself forgiving him effortlessly. His voice is gentle, and sweet. As the LED lights gradually fade from your vision, so does the presence of the vampire intruder.

You awaken to find yourself disoriented, unsure of how much time has passed. As you regain some form of consciousness, you notice the vampire boy beside you, his green eyes bright and attentive. His cheeks and eyes are red from crying and rubbing the tears away, you notice. His lashes are wet as well, his lips pouty and his knees tucked underneath himself. The red glow of the LEDs cast an eerie light on the scene, illuminating his features as you turn to face him, watching as he perks up.

“ You’re awake! ”

You remain silent, feeling the stiffness in your neck and the overwhelming urge to return to sleep. However, he prevents that from happening by placing his hand on your thigh, gently prodding you to wake up. Reluctantly, you open your eyes, questioning why you are so composed in such a strange scenario. As you reach up to touch your neck, you recoil at the two, very deep holes left in your skin.

Blushing furiously, the vampire boy fidgeted with his fingers, his eyes avoiding direct contact with yours. "M'sorry, didn't mean to-- really." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. After a brief pause, he mustered the courage to meet your steady, stoic, and sleepy stare, his ears now tinged with a rosy hue. "I-I can make it go away if you want? My saliva has healing properties, b-but it's also, um--." The boy's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words, too flustered to realize that you had tuned out his words completely.

Upon returning his attention to you, he offers yet another apology, his voice cute and soft. Feeling too weary to reply and not particularly inclined to elaborate on the injury to your loved ones, you emit a grunt of agreement towards his proposition. Although this turn of events was somewhat underwhelming compared to your initial expectations, you chose not to voice any grievances.

"My name is Elias, by the way," he reveals abruptly, his bottom lip finding refuge in his mouth as a sign of his nervousness. With wide green eyes, he hastily scans your face, his heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets his, seemingly uninterested. This lack of enthusiasm from you triggers a swarm of butterflies in his stomach, creating a whirlwind of emotions within him. You emit a soft hum and tilt your head slightly. He looks worried for a moment, but then, he leans in, resting his head in the curve of your neck, his warm tongue gliding smoothly across your skin like silk.

The sensation of your skin repairing itself is undeniably peculiar, and it's not something you'd willingly want to go through again. He pulls away slowly, swallowing nervously. "H-how do you feel?" Your eyes meet his, and a faint smile graces your lips, though it appears drowsy and unsteady, it still manages to make his cheeks blush. "I feel fine." The sound of your voice causes his breath to catch, it's both gentle and resolute, igniting a warmth that spreads through his chest.

A searing heat rises from underneath your skin, causing a scorching sensation to travel from your calves to your thighs, you can't help but furrow your eyebrows in response. The calmness that enveloped your heart mere moments ago is now replaced by a thunderous pounding, almost reaching a level of pain, within your ribcage.

Elias gazes anxiously as your skin becomes shiny with sweat, your lips parting to release warm, shallow breaths. Your face is flushed with warmth and a twitch starts in your eyebrows. The blonde sniffles and dabs at your forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, frowning softly. "M'sorry, I-I told you that this would happen." His tone carries a hint of accusation, but your sharp, unfocused stare prompts him to apologize softly. "Didn't want this to happen, sorry." You brush his hand from your face and let out a shuddering breath, your breast tender and achy. "Shh, you're so loud. What the hell is happening?"

The vampire with blonde hair appears momentarily perplexed, but then his attractive green eyes gradually widen, displaying a look of regret. "My saliva can heal people, but it also acts as a... s-stimulant," Elias swallows thickly as you sit up slowly, your shirt becoming sheer from the copious amount of sweat you're drenched in. ".. an aphrodisiac."

"Why didn't you say anything?" You rasp, allowing your head to rest heavily on the couch cushions. Elias pouts, tears stinging his eyes. "I did! It's your fault for not listening!" Tilting your head, your face contorts with anger, causing Elias to tightly squeeze his thighs together. "Huh? My fault?" Your words taper off slowly before you let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

Leaning in, you grasp his cheeks firmly, pulling him closer until your breaths intermingle, feeling a shiver run through you as he places his hands on your thighs for support, his cheeks flushed with color. "Regardless, you'll help me, won't you?"

Before he can question what you mean, he lets out a yelp when you pounce on him, lips pressing against his in haste. He lets out a soft whimper, gripping onto your shirt tightly, surrendering to your dominance. Elias savors the flavor of your kiss, finding it both sweet and familiar. You are completely in charge of this encounter, dominating him with your mouth effortlessly. Your tongue sliding against his own in a violent dance, your saliva is as sweet as your blood and pools down his cheeks. You are absolutely captivating.

With a gentle pull, you withdraw, your eyes hooded and your lips swollen, causing a flush to spread across his face. He lies there, surrendering to your touch, as your hands caress his body. A breathy, hiccuping moan escapes his lips when you firmly grasp him through his pants, while your mouth explores his neck, kissing and sucking on his pale skin. It seems effortless for you to mark him as your own.

"W-wait, you're not thinki-" In a moment of hesitation, he halts his words, captivated by the sight of you retreating, gracefully slipping the oversized shirt over your head— breast spilling out from the cotton. The vampire lies there, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his face adorned with a cute expression. Unable to resist, you lean down and kiss him silly again. You love the way he eagerly searches for your lips, moaning into your mouth and clenching his eyes shut.

Lost in the fog of your drugged state, you clumsily distance yourself from him, regaining your balance and enticingly sliding your shorts down your legs, with your panties obediently following suit. The vampire stares at you with pure awe in his eyes, begging for you to do something to him.

By now, he’s slightly sat up, looking up at you with expecting eyes. You nonchalantly approach him, barely able to contain your laughter as he attempts to guide you onto his lap. You proceed until you reach his craned neck. You confidently straddle his face, sensually lowering your dripping cunt onto his parted lips.

You run your fingers through his tousled blonde locks, gazing deeply into his eyes. With a condescending tilt of your head, you tighten your hold. "You'll behave for me, won't you? You can manage that, especially after what you did to me." Elias whimpers against your pussy at your accusation and nods eagerly with wide, teary eyes and flushed ears. Your pleased smile makes his cock throb within his pants and he instinctively squeezes his thighs together once more.

The vampire eagerly laps at your pussy, moaning at how good you taste on his tongue, his free hand gliding up your legs to settle on your hips softly. He adores the way your fingers entwine in his hair, gripping tightly, as your hips sway and gyrate against his mouth. You’re using him like he’s a toy, seemingly unconcerned about the possibility of causing him pain ( which you aren’t. )

The intoxicating sound of your moans fills the air, a tantalizing melody that captivates him completely. They aren't high-pitched or forced, but a velvety resonance, deep and alluring. The occasional hitch in your breath and the graceful tilt of your head let him know that he’s doing good.

As he takes your puffy clit into his mouth, a fang gently scrapes over your, the potent aphrodisiac intensifying the already heightened sensitivity. Elias whines as you cum, his mouth and chin drenched in your release. With quivering thighs you press against his tongue, grinding against it with increasing urgency, while a soft mewl escapes your lips, your pussy fluttering against his eager mouth.

With shaky legs you wiggle off of him, straddling his waist and claiming his lips in a sloppy kiss, groaning at the sweet, musky taste of your arousal on his tongue. Elias' cock throbs. It's thick and hard in his pants, and he needily rubs his bulge against your pulsating cunt, with desperate whimpers.

He’s moaning at the sound of your voice, it's mocking and patronizing. He looks up at you through bleary, pussy drunk eyes, drooling over himself. You giggle at this and wipe it away with your thumb, smearing it across his lips. His tongue eagerly darts out to kitten lick your finger. “Such a good boy, d'you like eating my pussy?” The vampire is nodding fervently, cock twitching in his pants when you snicker, brushing your lips against his teasingly. “I want to hear you say it, say you liked eating my pussy.”

He doesn't hold back, eager to please you. “I loved eating your pussy s'much. You taste s'good.” His cheeks flush at his explicit words, but the dark pleasure that resides in your eyes makes up for it. “Good job, was that so hard puppy?” Elias' cock jumps at the sound of your praise and he shakes his head, biting his lip, "Mhm mhn." He jolts, startled as you undo his jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly.

Your eyes stay glued to his as you drool onto your hand, hand slipping down his boxers. He's stiff, pulsating in your warm, slick grasp. He's long and thick but you think nothing of it. Your hand moves deliberately, rolling down his shaft in a slow, fisting motion, his green eyes blurry and locked on yours. Your thumb caresses his sensitive tip, gathering the glistening droplets of precum and using it as lube. Elias whines and bucks his hips, eyebrows furrowing and chest heaving.

You grin at his fucked out face and speed up, focusing your hand on his sensitive, leaky tip. "Does it feel good?" He’s nodding quickly, leaning forward to kiss you sweetly, sucking shyly on your tongue. He almost cums in your hand when you pull away, tongue lolling out.

With fervent kisses and fervid praises, you leave a trail of marks upon his body. His cock throbs with a delicious ache, his orgasm building slowly as you unknowingly edge him, tears prick his eyes as you swipe across his overly sensitive tip again. His moans are like symphonies, whining and begging for you to make him cum.

“ N-no more, I can’t, please, let me c-cum, please. I’ll do anything, just p-please.” His words stumble out, his hips jerking involuntarily. You pause for a second, then give in, planting a tender kiss on his lips. You press him down against the velvety carpet, positioning your sloppy pussy over his cock, and swaying your hips, sliding him through your swollen folds, his mushroom tip catching on your clenching hole.

Smiling at his tortured face, you slowly sink onto his cock, your thighs shaking as he stretches you out in the most delicious way. Elias buries his face into the carpet, a deep groan leaving his lips. Your gummy, slick walls squeeze him in a vice grip, reluctantly yielding to his thickness. "Mmph--!! You're too tight, wait, s'too much."

Ignoring his prattling you bring your hands up to rest against his stomach, lifting from his cock before dropping back down to take the rest of him inside of you. An overwhelming tingling causes your pussy to flutter around him, your cheeks flushing and a whine escaping your lips. "You're so big...you feel s'good." You halfheartedly snicker when he twitches inside of you at the praise.

Without waiting, you start a bruising pace, bouncing on his cock and grinding your engorged clit into his pelvis. His cock bullies your cervix, his hot and slick precum coating your womb. He whimpers, hands gripping the fat of your hips, you look absolutely stunning. Your breasts sway temptingly in front of his face and he can't help but draw a stiffened nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling, careful of his fangs against your skin.

Your hips are moving quicker now, your moans getting louder as you shower him with sweet words and adorable nicknames, pushing him closer to the edge. When you stop right on his sensitive tip and grind, he’s seeing stars. He’s cumming hard and long, thick, copious amounts of cum flooding your womb in hot spurts. He unlatches from your nipple, his head gently thumping against the carpet softly and back arching, his hips bucking and griding deftly into your spongey nerves, your pussy creaming around him. "M-mhmn! Cumming, m'cumming!" He whimpers, grip tightening on your waist.

Elias whines softly as you continue to bounce on his overly sensitive cock, his thick cum dripping onto his thighs. He tosses his head back and cries out, your cunt squeezing his member affectionately. “Such a good boy, you did so well.” The praise makes him flush and your lips slant over his in a kiss, your back bowing as your thighs shake, convulsing around him as you cum. You pull away, chest heaving.

"Are y-." He pauses as your eyes flutter closed and you collapse against him. Catching his breath, he let himself lay there, holding you close, the aphrodisiac must’ve worn off. His eyes start to slip shut after a few minutes but he tenses when he hears footsteps from upstairs.

"Honey! We're back!"

813 notes · View notes

yaksha-lover · 3 months

Text

cw: yandere diasomnia x reader, vampire au, horror-esque, blood drinking, captivity, reader is not having a good time and none of them care, minor gore, darker than my usual stuff, so please read at your own discretion!!!

It’s always, always cold in the house.

No matter how many blankets you try to crawl under, the chill never seems to leave you, lurking just to the point of discomfort.

You’ve asked Malleus about it before (he tries to pretend, at least, that he cares about what you want), but he’d only insisted that vampires need the temperature to remain colder. The fact that he’d cooed the words, having you slotted against his chest for warmth, makes it hard to believe him.

Regardless of the truth, the rest of the household would never dare disagree with him.

Sebek is particularly vehement about his distaste for you. Or he had been, until Lilia insisted he have a taste of your blood. Before, he’d pester you, on and on, about your ungratefulness. Like you should be thankful to be forced to stay and be their little human blood bag. He’d turn up his nose at you, insisting that he didn’t know why the others, especially Malleus, took an interest in someone as pathetic as you.

After he’d tasted you, Sebek no longer complained about your lack of specialness. How could he, when he seemed so fixated on getting more of your blood? He still grumbled that you didn’t appreciate Malleus, but any real exasperation was gone. Why argue with you, when he could be sinking his teeth in instead? For how much he insisted he didn’t care for you, Sebek was perhaps even needier than Malleus. He always insisted on sharing a kiss before he took your blood; said he was ‘traditional,’ like that.

Silver was, by far, the kindest, and that only made things worse. It was hard to hate him, with how he took care of you, cleaning you up after a particularly relentless day of having your blood taken. He seemed to be the only one aware that humans had needs, thus he was the one to prepare all your meals and rub salve into the bite marks and bruises that littered your body.

He would also be the one to ask the others to give you time to recover, to let your body heal in between bites. They, of course, listened to Silver, despite the fact that you’d been saying the same thing for weeks before. It didn’t matter; if push came to shove, he would do what his family asked, regardless of what it meant for you.

Perhaps he didn’t partake in the same hedonistic activities as them, but he wasn’t any less complicit in keeping you trapped in the house. You suspected he took a certain kind of pleasure in caring for you, which made it a little less than the noble act you had once believed it to be.

Lilia was, perhaps, the worst of all.

Malleus was driven by his loneliness, Sebek by his desperation, and Silver by his need to care for something small and pitiful. Although they rarely squabbled, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say they didn’t particularly enjoy sharing you with each other.

Sometimes, Silver would keep you tucked away in his own bedroom, at the insistence that you needed time to rest from the vampiric attention of Malleus and Sebek.

Malleus, himself, often dismissed Silver and Sebek with an offhanded remark about needing ‘alone time’ with you; they never argued as he’d steal you away to spend hours in his own private chambers.

Sebek, although he denied it, quite enjoyed the days where everyone else had business to attend to and he was left behind to ‘care’ for you; it was nice to be able to keep you tucked away in his arms after he was done having his fill of your blood, instead of having you be taken away at Silver’s insistent need to nurse you back to health. It surprised you, the first time, when Sebek himself had returned with treats and supplies to clean your wound. He put on such an act of disregard when everyone else was around, but he took care of you if Silver wasn’t there.

You had to walk on a tightrope of sorts with Malleus, in order to avoid upsetting him, but he was also pitiable in a way. You understood what he wanted from you. The same could be said for Sebek and Silver. Though you still hated them for it, you did understand them in a way. They were driven by their feelings; of love, of affection, and of loneliness.

You’d been the first human they got to stay, even if it wasn’t by choice.

Lilia ensured that. He wasn’t driven by his feelings, at least not toward you. No, he pushed you into the younger vampires’ arms, like a sacrificial lamb of sorts. He knew what it meant, what they were doing to you. For him, you guessed, it was worth anything, including your freedom, to see them happy.

For Malleus, drinking your blood meant sharing a close act of intimacy in whatever relationship he thought you shared.

For Sebek, drinking your blood meant satiating a temptation, in both senses, which endlessly gnawed at him; like a wolf who finally catches a rabbit.

The only time Lilia ever bit you was in punishment.

He was much more in control of himself than even a mature vampire like Malleus; blood lust never overtook him, even when you knew he hadn’t drank in a few days.

His interest in you seemed purely adjacent to those of his kin; you were simply a means to an end for him, rather than any sort of person worth considering for your own sake. In a way, it was nice to have one person in the house who wasn’t strangely obsessed with clinging to you or taking your blood incessantly.

It wasn’t so nice when you angered him.

Lilia was normally so carefree that the first time you’d seen his stare go cold - when you tried to run away - it rooted you in place. At least when you frustrated Malleus with your lack of reciprocity, his affection for you stopped him from ever truly harming you.

Lilia had no such objections. When he was finally done toying with you, letting you think you had a chance at escaping, he’d pinned you down in the forest outside the house and bit you for the first time.

The pain of it made you realize just how gentle Malleus and Sebek truly were with you. It seared and ached, like your skin was being ripped apart and a venom was decaying your flesh from the inside. Your limbs were sore beneath Lilia’s body pinning you down, and every shift against you was like tweaking a raw nerve.

The pain had gotten too much and at some point, you’d passed out, only to awaken back at the house.

Lilia had only grinned at you, insisting you keep your little discretion between you and him.

You wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, after all.

511 notes · View notes

feyascorner · 4 months

Text

1 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Sometimes, you wonder if letting him ascend would mean he would still be here, by your side, rather than lurking the shadows of Baldur's Gate.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. very excited about this!!!! I have a lot of ideas on what to do w this plot!!! ALSO there is some material (pressuring??) in this specific chapter that may be a bit uncomfortable for some readers it's very brief, but it is there so please take care of yourself!

As dark spots blur your vision, you realize you can no longer breathe.

His hands–the slender pale fingers you’ve grown to love more than your own–wrap desperately around your throat, digging crescent-shaped indents into your skin. You’d always thought that if he were ever to realize you weren’t as precious to him as he believed you to be, your neck would be the one part of yourself he’d continued to cherish. The softness in which he brushed his fangs against the most vulnerable areas of your throat had led you to believe so.

But as you stare up at him with wide eyes meeting a murderous glare, you understand that you are wrong.

His crimson eyes gleam with an emotion you’ve seen plenty on his pretty face, but never toward a friend. Never to you. You’re going to die, you think. And it wouldn’t have seemed so bad to die at his hands if it were not for the hatred reaching his eyes.

You’re not sure who–maybe Karlach or Wyll–but someone tears him away from you. Your chest dares to tighten from the loss of contact, yet you desperately grasp at the air, hands flying to the tender flesh of your neck while Shadowheart rushes to your side in an instant with her eyes narrowed dangerously at the very man who’d made the dark blemishes.

They’re yelling. Everyone is. At you, out of panic, or at Astarion, you’re not sure, but you just stare at the vampire spawn who’s now unwillingly locked into a life cast into the shadows of the city. He doesn’t look at anyone else, either.

He says something and a few more muffled voices spit back before he throws the dagger you’d given him to the ground, turning to leave. Your hearing clears just in time to hear his parting words.

“I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

A pair of hands shake you awake, and you quickly remember the poor consequences to your back of falling asleep on the empty, narrow street beside the Elfsong tavern. You look up wearily, eyes in a daze as Shadowheart sighs irritably, brows furrowed in a way that tells you to ready yourself for a scolding. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just surprised you haven’t gotten robbed during the night yet.”

You force yourself onto your feet, leaning against the walls as you rub at the crust forming under your eyes. “I have nothing of value anyway. They’re better off stealing from some other poor bard who actually bothers to write songs.”

She raises a brow at this, scanning over your appearance. “Where is your lyre?”

“Sold it,” you shrug, dusting off the muck garnered at the sides of your pants. “Wasn’t much use to me anymore. Better off adding to the funds to rebuild the city, don’t you think?”

Shadowheart frowns, and it makes you look away shamefully. Thankfully, she quickly shakes her head and then paces past you. “Speaking of which, are you in any condition to help today? Gale’s promptly exhausted trying to cast mage hand at least a dozen times yesterday to rebuild the Blushing Mermaid. That foolish wizard nearly passed out by noon.”

“‘Course,” you offer a pathetic smile. “We’re nearly finished with the Baldur’s Mouth. I’ll catch up with you once I check on everyone there.”

“Very well,” she says. She purses her lips after a slight pause. “You should stop falling asleep on the street. Especially since there’s been quite a few murders recently around the city,” she checks to see if you haven’t dazed off, “I expect you to come home tonight–We’re making stew.”

“I will. Don’t think my back can stand much more of this anyway.”

Her shoulders relax the slightest bit, and she finally manages to catch your darting eyes. “Is it the nightmares again? They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

Your throat goes dry, and you can feel your knees grasping at its remaining strength as you search your mind for a way to respond. You’re tempted to lie through your gritted teeth, knowing she’s fully aware regardless of what pathetic answer you offer her, but you opt to seal your mouth shut, shrugging.

The flash of disappointment in her eyes is enough to make you feel the knots tighten in your stomach. With a curt note, she turns to walk away, glancing back for one last time. “Don’t give him the privilege of occupying a part of your mind for so long. He doesn’t deserve even the dirty filth you have all over yourself.”

For the first time after he nearly killed you and you defeated the Elder Brain four months ago, you think she might be right about him.

Intimacy is not something you like to indulge in after your last lover nearly strangled you to death. Though after the pitiful look your companions gave you when you arrived back at camp and the aching truth in Shadowheart’s words, you find yourself feeling bolder than the last time you dared to call Lae’zel’s cooking inedible (which it was, quite frankly).

He’s handsome. A reasonably tall elf with pale blue eyes glinting with attraction as he stares at you across the tavern. Sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and long hair brushed back and away from his face. You only notice everything else after the silvery shade of his hair–not entirely white, but fairly close, or as close as you could get to it while still being blond. You were sure he was approaching you for your title–the famed hero of Baldur’s Gate–rather than for pure physical attraction, but you weren’t in any position to nitpick at the moment.

You just wanted to feel skin other than the unsettling feeling of your own.

“Seems to have taken a liking to you,” Shadowheart sips at her drink.

Lae’zel glances at you. “He’s tolerable to the eye. Not quite attractive by githyanki standards, but tolerable.”

You stifle a smile at their attempts to urge you forward and put down your drink. “You sure you two won’t be lonely without me?...Or kill each other.”

“You can leave them to me,” Gale smiles, pacing toward your table with his drink. “I’m sure a Hold cast or two would settle them down.”

Lae’zel snatches the cup from his hand. “You act as if you aren’t fresh out of cast slots, wizard.”

Shadowheart shakes her head, nudging you forward. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be long. Certainly won’t be overnight,” you assure her. “I can’t miss the stew, anyway.”

She smiles, and Lae’zel scoffs in the other direction. “Hurry, he looks almost demented waiting for your graces.”

You snort and offer a clumsy glance to the elf across the tavern before striding out the door.

Behind the tavern, he’s quick to press a desperate kiss to your lips, lacking the usual tenderness you experienced with Astarion. Or had it been tender at all? Even now, you’re unsure what parts of him had been to manipulate you and what parts of him had been his raw feelings. At the time, you’d embraced either with open arms–you’d embraced him.

The elf bites at your lip, which snaps you back into the waking world. And while you curse yourself for comparing the moment to him, you find that it’s impossible as you observe that this elf is slightly shorter than he’d been. And instead of his hands wandering to your hip or waist, they graze your behind, pushing you into him in a way that feels nearly suffocating.

And most glaringly, his lips are warm. Not the cold, yet soft lips of an undead being.

You’re grateful that he keeps his eyes closed because you can simply stare at his pale hair, longing for something you vowed to forget.

It doesn’t feel right. Not at all, and you hate yourself for it.

You shove him away, face falling as you realize you want to wipe his touch away from your mouth like it’s filth, and you do. Understandably, he appears puzzled, brows furrowing as you push yourself away from the wall, shaking your head. “Sorry, I don’t think I can do this.”

But as you try to walk away, his fingers close around your wrist like a death grip, sending shivers up your spine as you find that you hate the feeling of his skin. You hate the feel of your own skin, too. Why, you’re not sure, but he leans close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks and yank you out of your daze. “What’s gotten into you? I didn’t do jack shit.”

“I just can’t do this,” you hiss, tugging at your hand. You could just knock him out, but the hero of Baldur’s Gate punching people as they pleased wouldn’t look too good on your end. “Let go.”

“Well, you have to give me at least an explanation,” he snaps, grip tightening. It hurts. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been sending me looks all night.”

His words seem to snap the remaining patience inside you because you elbow his stomach, shoving him backward onto his ass before pressing your dagger that seemed to appear from thin air into his neck. You haven’t had to use the knife in a while, considering how your biggest recent foe was the stinginess of patrons when it came time to pay their tabs at the tavern. Though it belongs to you, it feels foreign in your hands because, for a time, it had a different owner.

One who used this very blade against you. The same one who taught you how to elbow someone hard enough to make them reel.

“P-Please, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You’d forgotten he was there. “Just let me go, please; I won’t bother you again.”

You drop your head, sighing loudly as you sheathe your dagger once more. You think you must really be losing your mind—threatening to slice open a civilian’s throat despite the significant power imbalance between the two of you. You’re sure the greatest threat he’s faced in his life is from petty theft or something along those lines while you—well, you’re you. It’d be equivalent to a full grown owlbear attacking a goblin with a half broken club.

So, as much as you want to make him bleed just a bit, you opt to step away. “Do that again to anyone—not just me, and I won’t be so forgiving next time. Understand?”

The tremble in his irises tells you enough. You sigh again, turning to leave.

You curse your luck. Of course you would have to attract the foulest person in the tavern on a night where nothing seemed to be going correctly. Or rather, the past four months that haven’t been going as you anticipated.

Getting rid of the tadpole meant you should’ve been free from the chains of someone else—and it had, but at the cost of losing something else. And that ‘something else’ was one you weren’t sure you were ever ready to sacrifice. It should have made you happy to see the Elder Brain fall, and to rid of the squirming feeling in your skull, but all you could remember was the churning in your stomach as you realized the last string tying you to him had been snapped.

You’d gone to every tavern, every bar, playing a tune at each one until the skin at your fingers split open, because he knew you’d be there. He’d known what your lyre meant to you. Yet among the sea of faces, not once had you seen the one you wanted.

As you walk around the corner, you wrap your arms around yourself. Though Summer’s quickly approaching, there’s still a chill in the air this late at night. You pull out your dagger once more, lifting it to the sky to examine its hilt against the moonlight, which glistens with what was once your pride and love. Now, it just looks dull, and faint.

You back feels too light, now lacking the lyre. You suppose you’ll have less of a hassle moving around now, since you don’t have to worry about the strings snapping, but it doesn’t soothe you. Still, you’d sold it for good reason.

An instrument is nothing without a player who can use it, after all.

So you turn your attention back to your dagger, the last crumb he’s left for you to hold dearly to your heart, and then to the trash can perched beside a nearby wall.

You’ve tried a million times before, and you’re not sure what makes you think you’ll be successive this time, but you swallow hard in determination to rid of the thing entirely. But just as you’re about to take your first step toward it, you hear a loud, halting screech muffled instantly.

It’s from the direction you came from.

You’re breaking into a silent sprint, the weapon in your hand ready to be used. You stop before you turn the corner, readying yourself for the worst. A murder? There’ve been more than a few occurring around the city, but you’d thought the Flaming Fist were investigating that already…You can hear your blood rushing in your head, but a crunch of bone and the silence that follows afterward is all you can focus on as your grip on the hilt tightens desperately.

Cautiously, you peer at the moonlit alleyway, poised to attack.

You nearly drop the blade.

Draped in the moonlight with his face hidden by a hood, he nearly glows, though you’re not sure if it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. His fangs are buried viciously into the man’s neck, whose legs and arms lie limply at his side while the life in his eyes slips away as if it were never there. And while you don’t dare to breathe, you stare with wide eyes, drinking in his appearance as if it would be the last. A part of you thinks it may be.

But as quickly as your heart begins to race, it calms. A drop of your stomach tells you it’s not him. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or how you know, but you can just tell.

The man finally drops the now lifeless body onto the ground with a thud, wiping at his mouth with the back of his dark sleeve. He turns, and you finally see one of Astarion’s brothers–the one who’d been at the flophouse, confirming your suspicions. Regardless, your guard stays up. “I thought you guys left for the Underdark.”

He snaps his head toward your voice, eyes wide. He looks a lot better than you’d last truly seen his face after Astarion nearly burned him against the sunlight in the flophouse. What had been his name, you try to recall? Pallet? Peter? It doesn’t matter, much. “You were at the flophouse.”

He cringes at the memory but nods. “Petras. You’re the one who stopped Astarion from killing us all, aren’t you?”

Your throat goes dry at that. You’d never thought about it in such a–vulgar way, and it makes your stomach churn, but he doesn’t give you time to respond.

“Dalyria, Leon, and I have decided to stay for the sake of the spawn hiding in the city sewers,” he explains curtly. “My other siblings are in the Underdark with most of the spawn, as you expect them to be.”

You stare at the corpse on the ground, expression twitching as you meet his eyes. “Why’d you kill him?”

He licks his lips, stained with the man’s blood. “I didn’t. Someone did the work for me. I just didn’t let his precious blood go to waste.” He pauses. “I’d put a few rats on betting that it’s Astarion.”

Your eyes go wide, your armed hands dropping to your side. “Astarion? He was here?”

You’d been here mere moments ago. Had he seen you? Was he watching you?

“Maybe. Judging from how quickly he ran away from the scene when he saw me, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Shoving your dagger into its rightful place on your back, you immediately turn to search for your former companion. He couldn’t have gone far. You’d been talking to the dead man mere minutes ago, and if the death occurred between now and then, he couldn’t have possibly gone more than a few buildings away–

“I never got to thank you.”

Petras looks at you anxiously, and as much as you’d like to cut the conversation short, the way he shifts nervously can’t help but keep you in place.

“There’s no need,” you reply, stopping to shake your head. You hadn’t done it for him or any of his siblings, for that matter, anyway. Not even for Astarion. Your choice to stop had been for yourself, to keep him by your side. Your brows furrow at the selfishness draping your thoughts—that you were willing to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls for the sake of protecting the one you loved. It was a lapse of judgement. Naivety. “It’s just how things turned out.”

He tilts his head but doesn’t push it any further. “Have you seen him recently? Astarion?”

“...No. He left after we—I killed Cazador.”

His eyes flicker with disappointment, and you wonder if he’s forgiven Astarion for what he tried to do in Cazador’s dungeon. “He’s always been good at hiding. Seems some things never change.”

You nod numbly. “I’ll let you know if I do see him.”

Though you doubt you ever will. Not after how things ended. But if there’s a slight chance, even the smallest of hopes, that you can bring closure to the sleepless nights you spend on the streets, staring up at a sky that no longer brightens the way it used to, you’re willing to wait until you’re shriveled up and old, while he remains beautiful.

“I don’t think he wants to see you right now.”

The painful clench in your heart doesn’t go ignored. “Have you spoken with him?”

“Once,” he says. “But it seems he doesn’t want to speak with us anymore either. You see, our conversation didn’t quite end in a happy family reunion. We did manage to ask him a few things—like asking if he was to be staying with you.”

“And?” You’re afraid to hear the answer, but your voice is far too hopeful.

Petras gives you a look of pity, and you understand.

You understand that no matter how long you wait or how long you search for him, Astarion will not be seen when he does not want to be.

“I don’t think he wants to see you right now.”

For the rest of the night, you weep. You weep in the comforts of nobody but your own arms and nobody to hear you but the moon above.

Baldur’s Gate is by no means a city that sleeps. The past four months have been a restless cycle of rebuilding the city, and while you’ve done your part, no matter how much you do, it never seems enough.

“Oh, welcome, dear. Your friends have been a wonderful help for my house as of late,” the lady of the Highberry’s Home, Cora Highberry, ushers you into her house, still missing a roof and half the windows but appearing in better shape than most other structures in the city. She offers you a wine glass. “Do you have a preference?”

“Anything’s fine,” you smile, but just as you reach for the glass, it’s snatched away by a familiar wizard’s hand.

Gale extends Cora a gentle nod and that charming grin of his as he hands her back the wine. “While we greatly appreciate your hospitality, I’m afraid my friend here is in no condition to drink as of now.”

The playful roll of your eyes makes Cora laugh. “Ah, of course. But do know I’m so grateful for all your help. I didn’t imagine we would be building the home back for the orphans so quickly!”

“It’s the least we could do,” Gale beams. “Now then, my dear friend and I will continue working on the second floor, so just give us a holler if you need us.”

He whisks you away toward the stairs before you can wave goodbye to the woman. While you’d expect him to initiate conversation, he doesn’t say anything until you arrive upstairs, where you’re mostly alone beside the few other volunteers in the other room. You tilt your head when he finally paces past you toward one of the broken windows. “Gale Dekarios keeping his mouth shut for more than a few moments? The city truly must be falling apart.”

He cracks a smile at this, dusting off a few glass shards from the windowsill. “I’m glad to see you still have your sense of charm.”

“When have I ever lacked my charm?”

He doesn’t lift his head, pulling out his spellbook and flipping through a few pages while you survey the state of the room. “You didn’t return last night.”

You tense.

“It would be wise to be grateful Karlach’s still in Avernus with Wyll, because I’m certain she would’ve given you quite the scolding for daring to miss my world-famous Wizard’s Stew,” he says lightly, his tone morphing into something more serious when he shifts his gaze in your direction. “We’re worried about you, you know. Especially Shadowheart, even if that woman doesn’t know what gentle means in every possible level of hell.”

He’s silently asking you for an explanation, and your heart breaks at how gently he prods at your walls, giving you an opportunity to slip away again. But with how his eyes plead at you, you can’t imagine that would be possible anyway. Slowly, you perch yourself on the windowsill, looking down at the bustling crowd working together to rebuild the Highberry’s porch. They’re laughing—some face red with wine, while others scold them for it. You see a bard playing a tune you haven’t heard before, but it’s effective in lifting the mood regardless, and you finally glance at Gale.

“I met one of Astarion’s brothers yesterday.”

His face is grim. “I didn’t realize they were still in the city.”

“Me neither,” you sigh. “Some of them stayed. From what I could tell, they're mostly in the sewers, but they’re definitely here.”

“Did he seem…hostile?”

“No. He just asked me about Astarion.” You leave out the part about the dead body.

Gale’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything, only silently urging you to continue. And you do.

“He doesn’t want to see me. Not ever, I think.”

There it is. The same gaze everyone seems to give you lately: pity.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you hop off the windowsill, pacing across to the other side of the room. “If he doesn’t want to see me, I won’t. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I won’t. I’m tired of waiting for him, Gale. I’m tired of waiting for someone who won’t ever come.”

And despite the puffiness of your eyes last night, and despite the way your eyes gloss over even now, you offer him a crooked smile. “I want to focus on the city now, for better or worse.”

Gale appears the happiest he’s been since returning a few months ago with the news that Mystra has healed him of his orb. “You thought well, dear friend. You should know how glad we are to have you back. We could certainly use more hands in the kitchen, as well, considering—well, you know how the rest of our companions are with cooking.”

Just as you open your mouth, there’s an ear-shattering scream from downstairs. The two of you meet wide eyes briefly before hurrying downstairs.

Only a few feet from the patio of the Highberry home, there’s a crowd gathering with hushed whispers and the weeping of a woman. And when you manage to push through the mountain of people, you finally see the corpse.

Cora Highberry sobs over what remains of her bloody husband, who, without a doubt, has the markings of two fangs punctured through his throat.

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #angst #bg3 x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers

876 notes · View notes

c-nstantine · 6 months

Text

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Description: Vampire!Bruce Wayne fucks his maid

Warnings:Blood, Vampirism, Maid Costume, Cunnilingus

Word Count: 1.4k

Y/N knew the job was a little sketchy but who could say no to this kind of money, especially in Gotham? When she saw the advertisement put out by the housekeeper of the old Wayne Manor, she figured why not? Being paid $19 an hour for simply cleaning up the house was almost too good to be true. However, sometimes you gotta get it how you live it.

There were three rules that the housekeeper, Mr. Alfred, instilled upon Y/N during her acceptance of the job. The first of which is that she must leave before the sun sets every day. The second was that if the door was locked, leave it be. Finally, she must wear an oddly sexualized maid uniform. Y/N did question the last one but Mr. Alfred swore that it was the way it had always been.

Y/N had been working at Wayne Manor for about two weeks and nothing odd had happened. Of course, occasionally there would be an odd creak here and there but Y/N wrote that off as the house is old. She did feel like she was being watched but that was just the amount of paintings that were trapped in the home. One time she asked Alfred whatever happened to the Wayne family, and he responded with "Sometimes it feels like old Master Wayne still lurks around,".

That was an odd statement to Y/N but she continued her work nonetheless. She found herself in the library of the manor and there was something so serene about it. She began to dust book after book until she was sure that there was dust stuck in her fluffed-out afro, which made her regret wearing her out today. For some reason, she felt more tired than usual and thought about taking a nap. Mr. Alfred had already left for the evening and there were plenty hours of daylight left. A little nap wouldn't hurt.

"What are you doing here?" A deep voice said, startling Y/N from her nap. A tall pale man stood over her. He had eyes as blue as lightning that touched the ground and his black hair was messy.

"Who are you?" Y/N responded standing up next to the man. In the two weeks that she had been working, she had yet to see another person other than Alfred. She also had to pull the already short skirt down because it left nothing to be desired. Of course, this only caused her cleavage to spill out even more.

"I asked first," The man said looking her up and down. Y/N felt self-conscious under his gaze but the man was simply drinking her. His eyes trailed everything that the damn uniform didn't hide.

"I'm the maid that Mr. Alfred hired," She said wrapping her arms around herself. Once again she forced her cleavage to be more prominent.

"So, he does have good taste after all," The brooding man licked his lips at the sight of the woman by the fireplace light.

"Huh? Who are you?" She asked once more stepping back away from the man before her.

"Bruce Wayne," He said, stepping to her once again. He cared not for her personal space, after all, it was she who was in his home.

"The Waynes all died. Everyone in Gotham knows that," Y/N stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Then how am I standing right in front of you," Bruce pestered the younger woman. He could see the gears turning in her head.

"Are you a ghost?" In Y/N's defense, that was the most reasonable thing to assume with a creepy old house involved.

"No, I'm something better than a ghost. You smell nice," He leaned in next to her and sniffed just above her neck. Y/N found herself not being able to move.

"Excuse me?" This man was giving her whiplash. At first, he had seemed angry that she had been in his house after hours but now he seemed attracted to her.

"You smell nice. Virgin?" He asked, stepping closer to her once more. Y/N could no longer step back and was leaning against a shelf of the books that she had just cleaned.

"I guess it doesn't matter, you won't be after tonight," He spoke once more after Y/N didn't respond to the question.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice wavered. She was scared but something about him felt safe. She didn't like it.

"Do you want me to pretend that I can't smell you from here?" He whispered carefully. Y/N wanted to pretend that this entire situation wasn't turning her on. She squeezed her thighs together in hopes of something changing. Nor did she begin to question how this man could smell her arousal.

"Oh, sweet girl. Clenching those thick thighs doesn't hide the arousal," Bruce taunted and he forced his knee between her thighs to spread her legs. Y/N was almost a little too compliant with her actions but she wanted to see where this would go. Her skirt rose and just barely covered her panties.

"What do you want from me?" She asked as Bruce pressed himself against her. He didn't have the aura of someone trying to hurt her but rather please her.

"It's not what I want but what I can give you. I'll give you pleasure, but you'll have to do something for me later," Bruce was a bit ambiguous on the terms of the deal but that was his job in a way.

"Pleasure?" Y/N asked almost with a moan. If she didn't have any self-respect, she would've been riding that man's knee then and there.

"I will relieve that little ache between your legs. Just say 'yes'," He began to kiss down her chest and paused as he waited for her confirmation.

"Yes," Y/N sighed and the creature picked her up and bent her over the couch's arm that she was previously napping on.

"Good girl," He said as he yanked off her panties. There was a distinct ripping of the cotton fabric and Y/N whined. He simply hushed her while looking at his feast.

Y/N's stomach was pressed against the chair's arm as Bruce's tongue played with her clit. His tongue felt sharper than what she imagined and she swore she saw a fang earlier. Those notions were dropped from her mind when he spread her pussy lips to dive deeper inside of her. He continued to lick and prod while her pussy gripped nothing. He was having fun with this, she thought to herself. Bringing her to the first orgasm of the night, with nothing but his tongue.

"If your pussy tastes divine, I can't wait to see what your blood tastes like," Bruce said, giving a heavy smack to her ass. Y/N was too fucked out from her first orgasm to even comprehend the words that fell from his lips. She heard the dropping of his belt to the floor and the soft steps of him stepping out of his dress pants and underwear.

"I'll go slow for you since it is your first time. I make no guarantees for the future," Bruce said lining up his cock with her entrance. Just the head had gone in and Y/N was already moaning like a bitch in heat. Bruce simply chuckled. Her pussy was sucking him in but he remained strong and continued his strokes at a slow pace. That was until Y/N tried to push herself away from him.

"Good girls don't run from dick," He said while grabbing her hips. He held her in her place on the couch as he began to ram into her. Since she wanted to run, she would take all that he gave her. The echoes of skin slapping began to fill the library. Y/N never really thought about how she would lose her virginity but in a library by firelight sounded nice enough. Y/N's knees buckle and Bruce smirked as he continued to ram into her pussy. Y/N's moans were almost pornographic and the stimulation from his balls hitting her clit was what finally put her over the edge. Her eyes crossed for a second.

"Now, it's my turn," Bruce whispered. He sat Y/N up and she stood on shaky legs. Bruce pushed her afro out of the way and sniffed her neck. He bared his fangs and with a hiss, his teeth broke her skin and drank her blood. Y/N soon passed out and Bruce carried her up to his bed and left her there until she awoke, a new.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #batman x reader #bruce wayne x black reader #bruce wayne x black!batmom #batman x black reader #batman x black!reader

940 notes · View notes

scarletwidowsbaby · 4 months

Text

Little Pet

Summary: Something nefarious this way comes. Will you run before it's too late?

Pairings: Vampire!Nat x Hunter!Fem!Reader x Heretic!Wanda

Genre: Dark and slightly smutty but no sexy times.

Warnings: Sexual suggestions, blood, fangs, lingerie, dark magic. Minors dni, this is not for you.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while but I gave it a bit of a touch-up. Hope you enjoy!

It was only dusk and you were already regretting taking the job.

You had been hired by the local innkeeper to investigate the mystery around the abandoned manor on the backside of the forest’s mountain. Many adventurers had come in search of the manor, yet none had returned.

The fact that he was paying you three thousand coin per adventurer that you found was… possibly also the deciding factor.

As you stepped onto the surprisingly well-kept lawn of the place, your hunter instincts went off. Something nefarious was here, lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting. You pulled out your sword as you entered through the giant double oak doors.

Immediately, your blade began to burn hotter than a thousand suns, forcing you to drop it. Thankfully, you had your fireproof gloves on from your latest encounter with a feral dragon, and weren’t burnt.

“So sorry, dear.” A voice echoed in the grand pitch-black entryway, high ceiling above decorated with paintings akin to the skills of the Sistine Chapel.

Not even God could save you now.

“Come closer, dear. Let me see you in the light.”

You noticed a speck of moonlight from a small window to the high right, almost casting a spotlight on the tiles in front of you. You cautiously stepped forward into it, unsure why, yet the voice’s chuckle was… unnerving.

“Why, look at you. A female hunter? Shall we call you Huntress?”

Your gaze steeled - there were more of them - before you felt a sharpness on your neck, a blur passing behind you.

“Oh my. How… sweet.”

You put your hand on your neck, your glove in the light showing a thin line of your blood.

“Vampires.” You muttered beneath your breath.

“Oh, not just vampires.” A new voice said, a clear glee entwined in her thick accent. “I do wish you would figure it out already.”

Suddenly, your body was lifted by an invisible force. You couldn’t move, save your eyes, and you were whisked through the house before you came to a throne room. You were practically thrown to the ground in front of it, a pair of sleek boots in your gaze.

“It’s so wonderful to see another human try their luck here, isn’t it love?” The person, woman, in front of you chuckled darkly.

“Let her lift her head, my dear. I want to see the life in this one’s eyes before I take it away.”

The invisible force acting on your body released your head and you immediately lifted it, coming up to see two women. The one on the throne held a classic lop-sided smirk, her ginger-red hair flowing down her shoulders in simple waves. The other, standing beside the throne, was very clearly something else, with her brown locks tied back in neat braids done by a professional.

“A… here… tic…” You strained the devious hybrid species’ name through your lips.

“There we go. She figured it out!” She snarkily laughed, her eyes glowing as crimson as the bloodstains on her sleeves.

“You are clearly a very skilled huntress. What is your name, sugarcube?” The seated vampire asked, her eyes set on yours.

“Y/N.” Your name was pulled from your lungs by the heretic.

“My my… No wonder Wanda liked the feeling from your sword… you are known for such giant feats of destruction in our world, Y/N the Huntress.”

You guessed that Wanda was the heretic, given the grin that came onto her face. “Now now, love, I think you should introduce yourself. Give this huntress a good fright, yes?”

You looked back at the throned woman, noticing a familiarity to a few wanted posters on the borders of the Darklands. “No…”

“Yes…” She grinned, nodding her head as her sharp nails came to grip your cheek. “I am Natasha Romanova, Countess of the Mstiteli Clan. And you, dear huntress… are now mine.”

She pulled you up by your neck and made a neat slit across your skin, sinking her fangs into your vein whilst Wanda ripped your armour from your body with her magic. Wanda grabbed your wrist and pulled up your sleeve, making a neat slit perpendicular to your arm and delved into it.

Tingling sensations spread from both areas, sending shivers down your spine. It was fast, and ruthless, as they didn’t stop even to let you breathe. You were trapped in the cycle of stuttered breaths, euphoria, and the effects of blood loss.

When you rose, your body felt exactly how it was - weak, drained of energy, of blood. You felt your ankle had been chained, the cold metal stinging on your skin though it contrasted vastly with the softness of the bed beneath you.

“Oh, now that’s a hangover headache for the ages.” You winced, lifting your hand to your head to simultaneously relieve the ache and brush a few strands out of your face.

“Is that what humans feel like when they’re blood is consumed? Intoxicated?” You jerked your head up - bad idea - to see Countess Natasha lying next to you in nothing but a black nightrobe and dark red lingerie. She gingerly brushed her fingers over your neck, which had small gauze patches on either side.

“You.” You growled before instinctively reaching for your sword, only to feel another hand there.

“You were right to melt her armour and sword, my love - she is such a feisty one.” Wanda giggled, her own nightrobe and lingerie adorned on her body.

Wanda flicked some magic to your hands and they obeyed, pulling up until the wisps of red tied your wrists to the bed frame. “Though you can think of hurting us, now you can’t.” She grinned deviously.

“Now, sugarcube… what to do with you…” Natasha teased before she carefully began to peel off your gauze patches.

“Hey! That hurts!” You huffed before Wanda ripped the one near her fangs off with a sharp tug.

“OW!”

They both chuckled and cooed at you like you were some soft malleable thing.

“Calm down, detka. You’re such an impatient little thing.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I’m not your ‘baby’.” You huffed, rolling your eyes before she quickly gripped your jaw.

“Do that again and I’ll take away the pleasure from being fed on.” She whispered darkly into your ear, pressing her thumb and finger into your neck to pinch your airways.

You paused, relinquishing, and she pulled away. “Good. Now, for ground rules: This coven is a respected coven. You are the only human we’ve ever taken in that won’t be turned, no matter how sexy you’d be as a vampire.”

“You see, baby girl… We own you now.” Wanda summarised, putting a small bit of ointment on your healing bite wounds.

“Nobody owns me.” You retorted.

“That ends today. Well, I should say tonight.” Natasha chuckled, tracing the outline of your face.

“Yes, it does. So, we will explain the hierarchy to you: Natasha is Countess, so she will often be busy with coven affairs and our coven’s safety. Then, it’s me, considering I am her wife-”

“Wife?!” You exclaimed before Natasha’s finger pushed down on your sternum, her supernatural strength keeping you down in the bed.

“Yes, my adoring, lovely, brilliant chef of a Sokovian wife. Now listen and be respectful.” The countess warned you.

“As I was saying, I am second in the hierarchy. Then it is James, Steve, Sam and Scott - they are our ‘muscle’, even though some of them look like tanks and others not so much. After them is virtually everyone who is not an unturned child. Those we have accepted and who will be turned upon legal age.”

You listened carefully before you noticed an item in Wanda’s hand - a necklace.

“This is something you will wear at all times unless in the shower. It is imbued with Natasha and mine’s scents and blood, should you ever need to be healed.” She said, clasping it over your neck and not afraid to let her hands wander a bit down.

You turned your head away from hers, feeling some sort of spell over your body like the blood within the red stone was charged.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Natasha smirked from above you, her hair tickling your neck as it hung down. “The power of us, the Mstiteli Clan leaders, though only a single drop of blood each. The power of vampires. You could have never defeated us, Y/N. Not even with your enchanted sword.”

“I did enjoy breaking those enchantments.” Wanda added.

You closed your eyes, trying to take everything in since you were still a bit dazed. “Nobody told me that you were Mstiteli. If I had known that-”

“You wouldn’t have come. We know. But we loved chatting to that innkeeper a few nights ago. He was just divine.” Natasha licked her lips and you understood the double entendre.

“A few little drops of amber ash doesn’t hurt a fella. And without you to return and claim your prizes, we’ll keep getting willing meals right at our doorstep.” Wanda smirked.

“Such delicious, tasty meals… Speaking of, I want to have some more…”

You looked at the two warily. They stopped. What?

Natasha snickered darkly, cupping your cheek. “Oh, you really are as sweet as they come. No, what we did was a dominance show. Now, we go gently.”

Gently wasn’t the right word for her to use as she practically smashed her lips against yours, delving her tongue in to test if even your saliva was as sweet as your blood. Your hands, still chained above your head, were no match for Wanda’s power as she sank to your stomach, kissing and sucking at the exposed skin.

“So divine…” She murmured, a flick of her magic warping your reality.

“Hey! Bring my clothes back!” You yelled, mostly from embarrassment as you now wore the same nightrobe adorned on them but in crimson red… and without lingerie.

“Patience, dear. We want our filling first. We will always come before you.” Natasha said, the words burning in your mind as she locked eyes with you.

Then, she leaned in and reopened the wound with such precision of her fang she could be a surgeon. She sucked at your neck whilst keeping a firm hold of your body, her arm snaking underneath the nightrobe and around your back.

“Come up here, Wanda. You were the one who wanted us to make our marks clear and present.” She chided her wife, who you hadn’t even noticed feeding on your wrist.

“But she’s so beautiful… I want to sink my fangs into every inch of her, litter her body with my bite.” Wanda said and you could tell she was the far more possessive one.

“Neck first.” Natasha said firmly.

You felt like a blood bag. Nothing more than for something they can feed on and toy with, squish around in their hands to bring out every bit of life source.

Then, you felt that tingle again. That rush of endorphins coursing through your veins, making you whimper beneath their touch.

“Hush. Fuck, you’re delicious.” Wanda moaned against your neck, digging her fangs deeper.

You quietened down like a good little pet and let them have their fill once more, your jostles of movement stopping quickly as fatigue set in. They were both grinning as they pulled away from your neck, fangs and lips smeared with your blood.

“Wanda, go get some hot towels.” Natasha muttered, the heretic speeding away to bring a tower of hot towels.

She leaned into your ear, kissing it gently. “Now hush, little pet. Time for you to rest some more…”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #black widow x you #black widow x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff

486 notes · View notes

justporo · 5 months

Text

Point Break

Being with Astarion is - almost - perfect. And it is so easy to fall for him and into his arms. But the least thing you can try and do is offering to turn the tides. (NSFW)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Here we are yet again with something that was supposed to be like... well, not almost 2k words. But here we are. Also this is yet another instance where I inflate the smut with emotions. There are just so many... feelings to be had!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: smut Wordcount: 1,9k

Astarion was on top of you, inside of you. Your skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and the air was filled with nothing but your mutual moans and gasps and Astarion’s haughtily whispered sweet little nothings. You were staring up at him, almost unable to take your eyes off him, his perfect body and face. Your eyes and your mind would always find their way back to them, to him.

That’s how it had been ever since the vampire had invited you that one night to that clearing in the forest. Continually, you had met up in the nights, talked some, started kissing, gotten naked - and then you had lost yourself in his arms, under his touches repeatedly.

It was so easy and so good, you nearly didn't have to think about it - almost completely perfect.

Now, he had your hands pinned to the ground next to your head, his hips rolling and thrusting into you at an even pace, slowly making you descend further into the depth of your own lust and seemingly unending pleasure. He’d been your reliant guide in this from the very first moment on. With him you had spiralled down while he'd shown you truths about yourself you hadn't ever dreamt of. And this far you had always come back up again, luckily.

You held his heated gaze that sent slow shivers of blazing hot fever over and through you. Only when the pleasure became almost too much to bear you let your head fall back and your eyes roll into your skull - focusing solely on the sensation of being with Astarion. It filled every corner of your mind.

No one could ever compare to him. Every fantasy or expectation you might have had in your life was outdone by a margin. He was consummate in any kind of way imaginable: face and body looking like they were lovingly crafted by the most generous of gods, his touches and kisses each masterfully executed, second to none. He had exactly figured out what made you lose your mind, arch your back in heedless pleasure time and again. What made you moan and scream his name as if it was the last breath you were able to take and your only wish was to use it to utter his name a final time.

It was so easy to return to this - intoxicating, addicting. How could you resist?

And so you came whenever he called - no questions asked.

And yet it had slowly changed, it was more than what could be seen at a single glance. Not merely quickly disappearing ripples on an otherwise calm water surface. Things were stirring in the depths and would come up for a break at some point, you were sure of it.

Even when you weren’t with Astarion now, thoughts about him kept turning around in your mind. It had become more intense, the height your heart jumped whenever he smirked at you becoming ever higher. He was slowly invading your heart and soul, along with the body he had already laid claim upon.

But still there were these moments, when it felt off. Something lurking just at the edge of your sight, something not quite right. Because there were these bits and pieces he slowly let fall from his armour, showing some of the pain and the fear beneath. Sometimes he couldn’t hold your gaze, even though insisting elaborately that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in those moments. But you slowly recognised that as the lie it was.

It made your chest clench and ache, filling it with the wish of freeing Astarion from whatever it was that had forced him to raise up those thick castle walls all around him.

The vampire kept moving, crushing his hips into yours and you felt him hit deep inside of you. Your hands were clenching his as you were all ready to let him push you off the edge again - and again and again and again.

You could just keep going like this. Let him lure you back to him, time and again. But then - where would this lead?

You could take what it was he had to offer without ever questioning what it cost. But was this really what you wanted?

Your heart already knew the answer.

“Astarion”, you gasped near breathless. With lips parted, taking heavy breaths, you looked at him pleadingly. You softly wiggled your fingers, asking him to free your hands from his grasp.

Immediately he stopped moving.

His chest was heaving, he was buried deep inside of you. He held you, body and mind.

His mask had dropped.

Gone was the master seducer, the dark, promising gaze, the sultry demeanour. Left in its place was sudden worry and fear.

Astarion’s eyebrows were raised in question, red eyes round in the silvery moonlight casting your bodies and faces in pale, cold light. He looked so young all of a sudden.

The vampire slowly let go of your hands and lifted himself up and further away from you. Your bodies were still impossibly close but yet it felt like there were leagues between you in this moment, even when that hadn’t been your intention at all.

He swallowed heavily but he didn’t dare speak. Just in these short moments you saw how panic almost overtook him. So you moved quickly - to get your point across and break the unbearable tension.

You cupped his face softly in your hands and nudged him until at least a fraction of his tension eased and he leaned towards you. Your fingers wandered lightly over his face, over his cheekbones, his brows as you leaned your head to one side, admiring him fully, in awe of him.

His eyes were still on yours, unsure of what was about to happen.

And then you closed the distance and kissed him, hoping to convey what you might never be able to put into words. Your lips covering his with feather-light touches, merely asking, suggesting.

You kissed him slowly and lovingly, allowing him to decide if that was what he wanted or not. And when he softly answered your kiss, carefully and still hesitantly taking you up on the offer, a small gasp left your open lips. Your hands slowly but decidedly wandered further: one tangling in his luscious curls, the other softly caressing one of his pointy ears.

And Astarion answered you with a moan, wandering from his mouth to yours. Different from the others, the ones you were used to: surprised, but pleasantly. You let him deepen the kiss then.

Arching your back when need rolled over you again, you tried to close the gap between your bodies. Desperate to feel every inch of his skin on yours with no space in between. And also offering up what he might take if only he wanted to. Meanwhile you were still acutely aware of how he felt inside of you as you kept dancing on the edge.

He groaned in response and was leaning back into you now, lowering himself on one of his elbows while his free hand came to touch your face while he lowered his body almost fully onto you.

The feeling of him accepting, embracing sent a new rush through you.

You clenched your core around him, giving more. You wanted to give him everything - he needed only to reach out and take it.

This was about much more than just physical pleasure now. You desperately needed him to know that he may take from you whatever he desired. That you wanted him to indulge in you, to be the one falling for once - if that was what he wanted. The need to fully embrace him and never let go of him again burned in your chest and your whole body. You’d offer up all of yourself if that was what it took.

He was melting into your touch while his body seemed consumed by a different kind of tension now. He seemed willing and eager now to take his chances and grasp what fell into his hands.

His fingers grabbed your hair, gently pulling on the strands curled around his fingers. Meanwhile the kiss never broke. It became more heated by the second.The air was filled with your gasps and moans again - but it had changed. Waves were rising up from the depths.

And then he started to move once more.

Withdrawing from you achingly slow at first and then thrusting into you again. Rolling his hips and slamming them into you so hard, just once, made your eyes roll back almost fully into your skull. You moaned, nearly whimpered into his wide open mouth.

“What are you doing?”, he asked quickly and almost completely out of breath, only tearing his mouth from yours because he had to know.

His hips slowly kept moving though. His body already knowing what he had agreed upon while his mind was still catching up.

“Offering you everything”, you replied weakly while you let one of your hands wander down his back. Feeling the gruesome ridges there, but not lingering, dragging your fingertips over his skin, hoping to just leave trails of heat on his skin - hot and pleasant, not cruel, only painful to the point of pleasure. You lifted your legs, pressing one against his side to hold him even closer. And with the other letting your foot softly wander over the back of his calf. Both your thighs squeezing deliciously around his slender hips.

A shiver ran through him and a curt gasp left his throat.

But there wasn’t fear in his gaze anymore. His eyes were ablaze. And in a way you hadn’t seen before in him.

“Letting you pick”, you then continued while he thrust into you again and your body bowed to him, still willing to give more.

His hips kept moving, starting a much rougher and less steady rhythm - in fact his whole body was now trying to get more purchase, knees and feet burying into the ground.

Maybe you’d never see and feel him like this again. But if you could offer him this moment in time, you would happily do it.

“Take only what you want, leave the rest”, you finished and then had to let your head loll back as far as Astarion’s fingers in your hair allowed when the next of his movements brought you to the very edge of sanity.

This wasn’t the clean performance anymore the night had started with. It wasn’t perfect and immaculately exercised, trained a thousand times. But perfect wasn’t what was needed right now. It needed to be real and open.

It didn’t take either of you long before you were both finally swept away. Only a few more thrusts and your fingers sneakily wandering between your bodies while Astarion was now trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest, and you were both taken away by waves way bigger than either of you had anticipated. Pledges were made under both your heavy breaths. Hands clawed at skin and into hair, desperately trying to get closer yet. To hold onto each other while you got dragged onto the open sea.

And it was raw, rough around the edges, and deep, much deeper than you had imagined. And maybe it was unsure, unfamiliar; maybe even terrifying.

But it wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t wrong at all.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 companions

539 notes · View notes

rowretro · 3 months

Text

꧁𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐮𝐬꧂

✧warnings: violent descriptions, yandere/toxic themes, mentions of blood, and may be a little long

✧synopsis: Sunghoon was one of the most feared vampire-demon prince, way more violent, crazy and scarier than any of the Parks. However, one day his eyes land on y/n, a sweet, half human and half angel girl, who looked just too good to be true. An angel for him to ruin, the next queen when he takes the throne. His parents were all for his love, unaware that he'd do just anything just to keep her...

✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧♧✧

The next heir to the Park's throne was none other than Park Sunghoon. The well feared vampire demon prince across the world. Those who never saw him, knew him. They knew him for all those treacherous murders he did, and the torturous lengths he took when ever anyone betrayed him. Only one girl would run after him no matter how annoyed he gets, and that's Hwang Mihi.

One day, the male wanted to go hunt down a deer as it had been a while since he last went hunting. However, his eyes landed on something more captivating, the scent of her blood alluring almost any vampire or demon to walk past. The male moved the hanging plants out of his view, only to find her.

Kang Y/n, a half bred angel, her delicate movements were like those of a blossoming lotus bud, a pure, white lotus flower, that's what she reminded him of. Oh that pretty smile, those little moles that were scattered across her face and collarbone. How she reached over the water for the white lotus, completely unaware of the dangers that lurk nearby her.

The male noticed a nearby vampire, that was ready to steal the precious blood of his darling. Seeing this, Sunghoon hopped off his horse, with one swift move, he picked up a whole lotus bunch, the girl's eyes met his, she looked shock, a little scared but she seemed mesmerized.

Stunned to see someone so handsome in real life, up so close to her, his eyes have her captivated, his arm rested softly around her waist. She had been warned to run anytime a vampire or demon neared her. But she had been so caught of guard this time. When she noticed his fang, she immediately pulled away, running away, through the forest, her soft, black, silky hair hitting his face.

He stood there, smiling, the delectable smell of her hair being the only thing he felt hitting his face. He knew she was meant to be his, and he will do anything and everything in his power to get her. His parents too, saw how calm he was through the day, feeling a sense of relief wash over them, knowing the future king does have what it takes to take over their place. His parents however, had no idea about Hwang Mihi's feelings for Sunghoon and her desire to be the queen.

The following days, he had followed her everywhere, now knowing where she lived. She lived alone with her brother, Kang Taehyun. Taehyun was still a baby vampire as he had survived a vampire bite thanks to Sunghoon, therefore, he was already on his good side. Sunghoon went into the forest where he saw her run to pick berries. "Y/n... I know you're here... you do realize that you're mine and you can't run from me right?" Sunghoon shouted, as the girl softly snickerred, hiding behind a tree.

"I may be yours... but this forest is mine." the girl remarked as Sunghoon followed the voice, the girl hiding behind a different tree. "Not just this forest, this kingdom, this palace, this whole world will be yours... you just have to marry me" Sunghoon said as y/n ran again. "Got you." Sunghoon said, smiling as he back hugged her, pulling her to his chest.

He ran the side of his sword gently across her neck, making sure he didn't hurt her. "You tell me my princess... what a vampire should do is suck the blood out of something so vulnerable. But I want to make you my queen." Sunghoon said as he leaned into her ear. As she softly pulled away, her head hung low "Your majesty... we can't be seen like this-" She said as the male snickerred, spinning her to face him, as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Come on baby don't say that... look at me... you and I are meant to be, you are my everything you see darling... without you, I can't rule this kingdom." Sunghoon explained as he leaned into her face, she looked up at him, awe struck by his visuals. "Will you love me and stay loyal?..." She asked. It's something she hated, when men cheat, specifically Kings or men who have such power.

"Of course baby you're all I'll ever need. I don't want anyone else... and I don't want you to be with anyone else...." Sunghoon warned as she nodded. The two were on Sunghoon's horse, she sat in front, as he securely held her, a genuine smile on her face, seeing so much from above the horse, but nervous when she noticed the little whispers and stares.

"Mother, father, this is the future queen... my soon to be wife, Kang Y/n" Sunghoon introduced as she bowed. His mother smiled, pushing her gently beside Sunghoon "Son you have our blessings" his father confirmed. Mihi, clearly angered, stepped in the way "no way! she's not even royalty!!! how do you know she isn't a scheming witch?" Mihi asked as they stared at her in disbelief.

"She's Kang Taehyun's sister... she wouldn't hurt a soul" Sunghoon coldly said as the girl frowned at her "But I'm meant to marry you Sunghoon, that's the way it should be!" she yelled as his parents sighed, clearly embarrassed for her, she ran off weeping as y/n turned to Sunghoon feeling a twinge of guilt "I don't like her. she's just sticking around for the title as queen." He simply said as he placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

The two were in the beauty of the nature, alone, he sat on the soft grass, with y/n resting against his chest. His arm snaking around her bare waist as she snuggled into him. The sound of the waterfall being the only thing that could be heard. the girl smiled as she stared up at him. He was so calm and peaceful when around her. The feeling of his soft lips against her neck and her jaw, as they finally landed on her lips. His first kiss. Her first kiss. A sight Mihi despised... So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Breaking into the Kang household, the girl, softly dragged the dagger across y/n's neck, gripping her jaw with a smirk. "You steal my man... You get the sting. How disgusting, he fell for a half, not one obit demon nor vampire. Nothing but a weakling." She snickerred, stabbing the point of her dagger, a little, causing a droplet of the girl's blood to run. But y/n didn't flinch.

Just the smell of her blood from no matter how long away, Sunghoon knew his darling was in danger. He appeared right behind Mihi. His long fingers wrapping around her neck painfully, choking her until she coughed up blood. The death was painfully slow. That was the last anyone heard of Hwang Mihi. Sunghoon licked the small droplet of blood off of her neck as he kissed her. "your blood, your body, your heart and your everything belongs to me... cant let even a single drop stain my precious white lotus..." He mumbled by her neck.

322 notes · View notes

voidpetrova · 8 months

Text

all mine — derek hale x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, p in v sex, vampire!reader, rivalry trope, creampie, sadism, requested fic!!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: he needs recruits for his pack, you need recruits for a pack of your own. the town is big enough for only one supernatural phenomenon, but you refuse to go down without a fight.

✧.*

the night air was thick with tension as you prowled through the dimly lit streets of beacon hills. moonlight spilled onto the asphalt, casting long shadows that danced around you. you were far from the usual supernatural resident of this town. you had no pack, no allegiances, and no high-and-mighty purpose. your existence was fueled by something simpler, more primal—you relished the act of feeding on humans.

stiles and scott, your two unlikely friends, often warned you about the dangers lurking in the supernatural world, and tonight had proven their point. they were your allies in this strange town, and while you didn't exactly need their protection, you enjoyed their company. the trio had faced numerous challenges together, but tonight, you were in the spotlight. derek hale, the brooding alpha werewolf, had been pursuing you relentlessly. he saw you as a potential recruit for his pack, a means to strengthen his power. however, you had no intention of bowing to his authority or becoming a pawn in his game.

tonight, the confrontation reached its climax in a desolate alleyway. derek, muscles rippling beneath his taut skin, blocked your path. the full moon accentuated his fierce demeanor, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint as he growled, “join my pack, or face the consequences.” you sneered, your lips curving into a wicked smile. your voice dripped with the an almost seductive arrogance as you purred, “consequences? darling, you really don't know who you're dealing with, do you?”

his nostrils flared, and he lunged at you, his claws extended. in the blink of an eye, you moved, a blur of motion, easily sidestepping his attack. his fist struck the brick wall with a resounding thud, creating a shower of debris. the alpha stumbled backward, wincing in pain.

with a self-satisfied smirk, you approached him, your eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. “derek, darling, let me make something clear. i'm not joining your pack. in fact, i'm here for recruits of my own. i have no noble agenda like yours—i simply have the need to feed.”

derek's rage and frustration were evident, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak. you had compelled him, and he was left powerless to resist. as he helplessly watched you, his hatred slowly morphed into something entirely different—a fascination that burned brighter with each passing moment.

your smile widened, a predatory glint in your eyes. “so, derek, are you curious yet? i have a feeling you and i could have a lot of fun together.”

and in that alleyway, under the watchful gaze of the moon, an unexpected connection began to take root—an alliance fueled by mutual curiosity, defiance, and the allure of the supernatural world that surrounded them.

the tension between you and derek lingered in the air, palpable and charged. he remained on the ground, pinned not by physical force but by your compelling presence. you exuded an aura of enigmatic allure, a dangerous beauty that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

derek's anger, once fierce and unyielding, had transformed into an intricate web of conflicting emotions. he found himself captivated by your honesty, or perhaps it was the brazen way you embraced your darkness that intrigued him. it was a quality he rarely encountered in the supernatural world—a ruthless pragmatism that echoed his own.

his breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as your words slithered through his mind. he could feel the delicate tendrils of your compulsion wrapping around his thoughts, and he was powerless to resist. there was a raw honesty to your confession, an unapologetic embrace of your true nature that struck a chord within him. “you—you're different," he stammered, struggling to find his voice. "most vampires i've encountered are colder, more ruthless.”

your laughter, like the tinkling of glass against glass, filled the alley. “i assure you, i can be just as ruthless when necessary. but what sets me apart is my honesty. i don't pretend to be something i'm not. i revel in the darkness that courses through my veins.”

the moonlight bathed you in an ethereal glow, casting a halo of radiance around your form. it was a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to derek, a constant reminder of the beast that resided within him. serek's eyes never wavered from yours, and in that moment, he realized that he was drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. it was a dangerous attraction, one that defied logic and reason. he knew that aligning himself with you could lead to consequences he couldn't yet foresee, but he was willing to explore this uncharted territory.

with great effort, he pushed himself to his feet, his movements cautious and deliberate. “i won't join your pack,” he said, his tone resolute. “but i won't stand in your way either.”

and so, in that alleyway bathed in moonlight, a fragile truce was born. two supernatural beings, bound by their dark desires and their defiance of the norms of their respective worlds, began a dance of intrigue and temptation. the world of beacon hills had just become a little more complicated, and derek hale found himself entangled in a web of shadows, drawn by the enigmatic allure of the vampire who refused to conform to the rules of their supernatural existence.

in the days that followed that fateful night in the alley, derek found himself unable to shake the allure of your presence. he watched from the shadows as you moved through beacon hills, a graceful and deadly predator in your own right. it was a stark contrast to his own pack, where strength and dominance were measured in more traditional ways.

he observed you with a mixture of fascination and trepidation, like a moth hovering on the edge of a flame. there was a certain elegance to your brutality, a refinement in the way you dispatched your victims. it was as if you took pleasure not only in the act of feeding but also in the artistry of it all.

one evening, he watched you from a distance as you entered a dimly lit bar, the neon sign flickering above the entrance. you sat alone at the bar, a glass of crimson liquid in hand. it was a curious sight—the vampire who reveled in the darkness, seeking solace in the anonymity of a human establishment. derek couldn't help but wonder what thoughts swirled within your enigmatic mind as you sipped your drink.

as the night wore on, he approached the bar, taking a seat a few stools away from you. you acknowledged his presence with a sidelong glance, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips. the air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a palpable awareness of the connection that was slowly forming.

“you seem to have a fascination with me, derek,” you purred, your voice as smooth as silk. “or is it curiosity?” he didn't respond immediately, choosing instead to study you with those intense, cobalt eyes. “maybe it's a bit of both,” he admitted finally. “you're unlike anyone I've ever met.”

your laughter was low and sultry, sending shivers down his spine. “that's because i refuse to be confined by the rules of our kind. i embrace my nature without apology, and that terrifies some.” derek nodded in understanding. he knew all too well the weight of expectations and the burden of legacy that came with being an alpha. but here, in the presence of a vampire who was unapologetically herself, he felt a sense of liberation, a flicker of something he had long buried beneath layers of responsibility.

days turned into weeks, and your encounters with derek became more frequent. he found himself drawn to your boarding house, a place that exuded both elegance and darkness. the scent of bourbon hung in the air as you sat in solitude, contemplating the world beyond the shadows.

one evening, he joined you on the porch, the creak of the wooden floor beneath his boots breaking the silence. he held out a bottle of bourbon, a silent offering. you accepted it with a nod of appreciation, pouring a generous amount into your glass.

“sometimes,” you began, your voice soft and reflective, “i wonder if it's all worth it. this existence, the darkness that consumes us. but then, i take a sip of this,” you raised your glass, the amber liquid catching the moonlight, “and i remember why i embrace it.” derek studied you, his gaze searching for answers to questions he couldn't quite articulate. “we all have our demons,” he said finally. “our own reasons for living in the shadows.”

a knowing smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “that we do, derek. and perhaps, in each other, we've found a kindred spirit—one who understands the allure of the darkness and the beauty that can be found within it.”

and so, in the quiet moments shared on that moonlit porch, derek hale and the vampire with the seductive allure formed a bond that transcended the boundaries of their supernatural worlds. it was a connection forged in the fires of curiosity and defiance, a fragile thread that held the promise of something deeper, something neither of them had anticipated.

a few weeks into your growing connection with derek, you decided to make a memorable entrance at the local bar. you had a reputation for leaving a lasting impression, and this night would be no exception. the bar was buzzing with activity when you walked in, the dim lighting casting a seductive haze over the patrons. a tray of martinis passed by, and with a swift, graceful movement, you snatched one from it, the crystal glass glistening in your hand. all eyes turned toward you as you made your way through the crowd, exuding an air of effortless confidence.

stiles, always the first to dive headfirst into any opportunity, was the first to approach you. he leaned in intimately from behind, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “fancy a game of pool?” you turned to meet his gaze, a wicked gleam in your eyes. “why not?” you replied with a playful smile.

stiles's hand found its way to your waist, his touch possessive as he guided you toward the pool table. as you bent over to line up your shot, he leaned in even closer, his chest pressing against your back. the scent of his arousal hung in the air, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity.

meanwhile, derek watched from a distance, his jaw clenched with a mixture of frustration and jealousy. he could smell Stiles's arousal, and it gnawed at him, igniting a fierce possessiveness deep within him. unable to contain his emotions any longer, he strode forward, his movements predatory. he reached out, firmly snatching your wrist and pulling you away from the pool table and stiles's grasp. with an apologetic glance at stiles, you allowed derek to guide you through the crowded bar and out into a nearby alleyway.

the cold night air hit you both as you stood in the dimly lit alley, the sounds of the bar fading into the background. derek's eyes bore into yours, his voice low and demanding. “you don't belong to anyone, especially not him.” you met his intensity with a challenging gaze of your own. “i don't belong to anyone, derek. i told you, i make my own choices.”

his grip on your wrist tightened, his anger and frustration evident. “i won't let him touch what's mine.” the possessiveness in derek's voice sent a shiver down your spine, and a dangerous smile curled your lips. “oh, der, i'm not anyone's to claim. but perhaps,” you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, “you can convince me otherwise.”

in the alleyway, amid the tension and desire that crackled in the air, a new layer of complexity was added to your evolving connection with derek. the dynamics within the beacon hills supernatural circle had shifted, and as the night continued, the flames of intrigue and temptation burned brighter than ever.

you liked the way his breath felt on your neck. warm, but still somehow able to raise goosebumps across the surface. it was the same way his touch ignited fire, yet left coldness in its wake. he made you dizzy with his attention to detail, the way he'd leave your head spinning and vision blurry all because he knew exactly what buttons to press and when to press them. he was rough, and yet careful, like every move was calculated in an effort not to cause you unnecessary pain, and he never left any unintentional bruises. he made you feel intoxicated by the taste of his tongue—sometimes, his spearmint toothpaste and sometimes, you. he was god-like, when he had you like that, and you knew he liked the power trip—to feel superior in this one part of his life he could control.

he pressed his lips against yours, stubble prodding at your soft cheeks as his lips melted against yours. it started off slow and sensual, but only for a splot second. his right hand grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he pushed you into the wall. you struggled against his touch, but against the lust that fueled his every move, you were unable to pull your wrists out of his grip.

“you're not going anywhere,” he purred against your ear. you struggled some more, but for the first time in forever, you gave up. you gave up and succumbed to him. “just like that, that's good.” you stopped resisting, finally melting into his touch completely. he smiled against the crook of your neck, stubble littering goosebumps against his skin as he peppered kisses against your neck. you bit back a moan when the kissing turned into sucking, his teeth pulling on your soft skin, popping vessels and leaving bruises that threatened to stay for a while.

you felt weak under his touch, the hairs on your neck standing up as you felt the straps of your tank top slide down your arms. derek's rough, veiny fingers hooked each strap as he pulled them down, revealing your lacy bra as you slipped out of the top. he couldn't help but grunt at the sight of your tits bursting out of your bra, his hands involuntarily rushing to your boobs. he could only toy with them in awe, your moans bringing him pleasure. never had you been able to imagine yourself so powerless, especially not in his presence.

“what's the matter, princess?” he practically taunted, his voice thick with lust as he licked the outline of one of your breasts, the tip of his tongue tracing your nipple before engulfing it whole. “cat got your tongue?” you couldn't help but tug at his locks of black hair, a gasp passing your lips despite your best efforts to bite back your moans.

“i've had better, hale,” you retorted, a small smirk painting your lips as his piercing gaze shot upwards, meeting yours. he was all but pleased with your answer, and he proved that by tugging at your nipple with his teeth, provoking a sensation that was flooded with pain and pleasure. it was his turn to smirk.

he had you crying in a matter of seconda. he had his palm splayed over your mouth, your cute little cries muffled while he bullied his thick cock into your pussy. your nails scraped at his back, marking his broad muscles with your desperation. he was so big and mean—didn't let you move, didn't let you speak, whispering in your ear, telling you to take it. to take what's yours and be his good little bitch. he bit your neck, running his teeth along your skin, telling you all you’re good for is warming his cock. when he finally lost himself in the feeling of your fleshy cunt squeezing around his dick, he told you to pick a number. “six,” you barely managed a whisper. he forced you to count all his hard strokes in your cunt until tears started to spill onto the slope of your cheeks, until you were gritting your teeth at how deep he was fucking you, until you were finally screaming as he came, spilling his white sticky cum into the used pocket of your pussy.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and low, little strands of hair clinging to his forehead while he stared at the way his cum spilled out your pussy, dripping lewdly into your soft, moist folds. you nodded weakly, gasping as he collected the cum out of your pussy onto his finger, licking the sticky white liquid with a sadistic smile.

he knew that if you were still conscious, he must not have gone hard enough.

#tw #teen wolf #teen wolf smut #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf angst #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf x reader #derek hale #derek x reader #derek hale x reader #derek hale smut #derek hale angst #derek hale fluff #derek hale x reader smut

712 notes · View notes