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himbocoups · 2 years

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˗ˋˏ YUCK! ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only (Part One)

synopsis: how can you remain friends with benefits with someone who turns his plushies around during sex, pouts when you don't kiss him goodbye, and spends his time occupying your mind?

pairing: lsm x yn (gn afab)

genre: fluff, romance | m, smut

tags: food, character is drunk in a flashback, cursing, domesticity, fwb, sexual innuendos, university au | car sex, degradation/dumbification, dirty talk, exhibitionism, fingering, games, pet names, switch dk/reader, spitting, pnv, unprotected sex

wc: 7.62k

a/n: some grumpy x sunshine dynamics inspired by my favorite song off charli's crash album. deciding to drop this fic in 2 parts instead of one bc the length of this vs my old laptop is e***** my a**. I literally had to delete the sims 😔 kind of excited and scared bc this is my first fic on this blog so comments are deeply appreciated -nu ♡

yuck! - part two

lipglossjun's masterlist

Bare legs intertwined and arms wrapped around each other, DK brings his head closer to yours so that your noses are only a few centimeters apart. He whispers good morning and gently kisses you on the forehead. However, instead of greeting him back, you decide to ruin an otherwise sweet and heartfelt moment by reaching above your head for the closest thing you can find and slamming it onto his body.

“Stop being cheesy. You can’t ‘Good Morning’ me after sex,” you grumble, turning your body away from his.

DK’s large and deformed bumblebee plush he frequently uses as a backrest bounces off his body and plops onto the cold tiled floor where it joins a menagerie of different plushies and discarded clothing items. DK doesn’t do anything in retaliation and only snuggles into your back, wraps his arm around your side, and pulls you closer to him.

“Fuck aftercare. I’m still horny,” he mumbles into your neck while leaving warm kisses on your shoulder. He moves his right arm to your hips and massages your waist with his thumb, pressing deeply and drawing circles into your skin.

The action is enough to make you think about going another round with him, but the scattered sounds of metal doors opening and closing in the distance tell you that it’s almost time for your morning class. You reach to the side to grab your phone from his nightstand to double-check the time. There’s a text from your friend who lets you know he has your lab coat. There’s a follow-up text from him telling you to stop fucking DK so that you don’t get a grade docked for missing lab. As much as you want to laze in bed with DK, you detangle yourself from him and sit up. He whines at the lack of warmth, but you ignore him and make your way to his private bathroom where your overnight bag hangs on one of the metal door hooks.

You can still hear him whining about his horniness as your hand reaches for the toilet paper roll beside you. Not wanting him to continue complaining, you tell him very loudly that you are peeing. You hope it’s enough to get him to leave you alone. At the same time, you hope your voice doesn’t travel through the bathroom vent duct to the other dormitory restrooms.

His whining stops.

You think he’s starting his usual clean-up routine, plugging in his white shell-shaped socket air freshener – the same linen scented one he bought once and then over and over again simply because you complimented it once in passing. He would pick up all of the fallen stuffed animals he’s collected over the years, probably apologizing to them one by one for dropping them and for having sex in front of them. It’s just who he is, and you never understood how you became friends with someone like him in the first place.

You’re blunt, a no-bullshit kind of person. If Eeyore and Squidward had a baby, that baby would be you. So, usually, people like Dokyeom would piss you off. Dokyeom is the type of person who wakes up as refreshed as the type of people in those instant coffee commercials after they have had their morning cup of dark roast. He’s bright and bubbly and too kind for his own good. He’s stopped many roommate disputes simply by tearing up while listening to his “children” – as he likes to refer to them – argue in front of him. He can’t walk to class without waving at or bumping into somebody he knows. Hanging out with people like DK sucks the energy out of you, but DK's miraculously somehow your friend.

Also, part of you knows you lucked out when you became friends with benefits with a dormitory resident advisor a few months ago. It’s convenient for the both of you – because of his single bed and bath suite, you always have a place to stay if you are still on campus late at night. Both of you two never need to worry about being too loud because his room is basically soundproof. However, that luck also meant having a partner who doesn’t understand his boundaries, has an overtly positive mindset, and treats and takes care of you like you are one of his Freshman residents.

“I swear if I get a UTI…” you mumble to yourself while you lock your phone and place it on the sink counter before you wipe. You make a mental note that you still have a few minutes before you have to head to your morning class or else you would be way too late.

When you leave his bathroom, you see he’s making his bed. The resident advisor is fully dressed and happily fluffs his pillows as if you didn’t use them to stifle his moans while riding him just a few minutes ago – not because he was too loud, but because it was seven in the morning and all you wanted to do was fuck. As you predicted, his stuffed animals are all back in place, including the ones that toppled onto his floor. The air freshener is plugged into the socket with its intensity on the highest setting. His curtains are pulled open, and the calm morning breeze gently brushes against the bright green string of pearls plant sitting on his windowsill. In his trashcan under his desk is the tied and disposed of used condom tastefully covered by empty snack wrappers and dirty lint roller sheets. It’s like he lives a double life – one that only you know and one that only his residents know.

You find a small water bottle and a granola bar on your backpack that you left on his desk chair when you arrived last night. Confused, you point at the items and turn to the man sitting on his bed. There is a big dumb smile plastered on his face despite you looking at him with a blank expression.

“What’s this?” you move the water and snack onto his desk so you can swing your backpack over your shoulder. You lean over his wooden desk to double-check and fix your hair in his table mirror.

“Some snacks,” he sings while reaching over to pull a stuffed animal onto his lap. It’s the one he often hugs when he sleeps alone. “You didn’t eat this morning,” he pouts.

“What did I say about not needing to be taken care of?” You frown while grabbing the water bottle and hesitate while looking at the bar you put on his tidy desk. “I hate granola,” you grumble, but you decide to pocket the bar before leaving.

He grabs the paw of the large brown bear he’s cuddling and uses it to wave goodbye, “Study hard.”

You flip him off before closing his large metal dormitory door behind you. His keypad whirs and clicks its automatic lock into place, and you make your way to the hallway elevators.

With each navy blue carpeted step you take towards the dormitory elevator, the wrapped granola bar crinkles annoyingly in your sweats pocket. The more you’re aware of the crinkling, the louder it rings in your ear – and it’s driving you insane. You hate the awful bright green dormitory doors, the sound of the foil wrapper, and the way DK tries to take care of you when all you want is sex. Sure, you can’t say you’re not attracted to him. You’re not the type to be friends with benefits with somebody you don’t have an emotional connection with. Yet, the man doesn’t even have a car. How can he take care of you if he can’t even drive on the freeway? To you, friends with benefits is like a drive-thru – you enter, you exchange for goods, and you exit. For a man without a car, the concept of his drive-thru just seems abstruse.

Even more annoying is DK’s stupid laminated smiling face stapled onto his large classroom bulletin board. DK’s face stares you down front and center while you wait for the elevator to stop on your floor. Below his face are hand-cut expensive cardstock letters shaped in a wavy curve spelling out A Baa-ginner’s Guide to Sleep. Under the title are several large sheep with sleeping facts glued to their centers that leap across a fence in a green pasture. You doubt anybody really pays attention to his bulletin board, but you quickly read through the facts on each sheep to pass the time while you wait for the elevator to arrive on your floor.

On the right side of the bulletin board is a tiny suggestion box nailed to the wall with a washable marker attached to the side of the box. You decide to uncap the black marker and quickly draw facial hair on DK’s face. You think he wouldn’t mind the hair – it’s nothing compared to the number of phallic pictures he had to erase on the whiteboard on his door the first month of school. If anything, he could wipe it off whenever he wanted. You cap the marker and look at his fresh goatee. The corner of your lips turns upwards and then quickly falls back to its resting position.

Your phone in your other pocket coincidentally buzzes when the elevator dings. You pull out your phone while stepping into the empty elevator and press the elevator button for the first floor. You see it’s a text from DK. He sent you a selfie of him and the same brown bear plush he was cuddling earlier. He wants you to know he’s still horny, but he misses you. A lot.

You sigh and unhook your backpack from your shoulder so you can access the front pocket of your backpack. The elevator stops at the floor below you, and you make your way to the side to let other students onto the elevator.

The weather is finally nice outside after a week of consistent fog and overcast skies, so you thought it would be a great idea to study together under the sun. However, about half an hour into studying, Jun is about twenty chapters into a webcomic on his phone, Chan is busy flicking stray ants off the thin bedsheet, and you are about to resort to using ideas from your 2014 costume party Pinterest board you archived into the depths of hell a few years ago.

“It’s giving either pick me or middle school boy whose entire personality is him being a class clown,” Chan says while laying back down on the makeshift picnic blanket you made from an old yellow bedsheet you pulled from your closet. He crosses his arms under his head for support.

Jun grabs the laptop from Chan’s lap and clicks through the options you’ve opened in your different tabs. He squints his eyes at the screen and winces at every single one while he drags his finger across your touchpad, wishing he never saw your options. He shakes his head and pushes your laptop back to you, immediately going back to scrolling on his phone.

You take back your laptop from Jun and frown while clicking on your different open tabs to peruse your options again. You thought it would be funny if you wore the themed costume you were currently going for, but your friends think it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever come up with – and you’ve come up with a ton of stupid ideas in the past. But you couldn’t see how this simple costume gives off a “pick me” vibe.

“I just think it’d be funny,” you grumble while closing your current tabs to look for more options.

You’ve noticed that you’ve been hanging out with DK more than usual. Sometimes it wasn’t even to hook up with him. You would stay at his place to study for midterms, and the two of you would often end up having dinner or breakfast together. You’ve been in the dorms for so long that his residents often mistake you for another resident. But it’s true, DK is only a friend – albeit one who’s starting to grow on you – but he’s only a friend. What’s the use in trying to find a costume that he would laugh at anyway?

“What did I tell you? You can’t just be friends with benefits with somebody like DK. People like him want long relationships. They like holding hands while walking. They like sending goodnight texts with a cute moving sticker from a sticker pack they paid for attached to it. They consider taking you home to their parents as a date,” Chan quickly sits up to try to see your laptop screen, but immediately lays back down when his vision gets blurry. He uses it as an excuse to skip the gym today.

“You, on the other hand,” Chan turns to his side so he can see you more clearly, “just want his dick in you.”

The other friend tries to stifle his laughter after hearing the word “dick.” You groan and push Chan’s chest, causing him to fall flat on his back again. Although you have to admit, you don’t disagree with him. Getting dicked down by your friend after meeting up with him to try new dessert places he found on Instagram is an amazing experience. You could taste the remnants of his frozen yogurt flavor on his tongue while he kisses you after eating you out. Visiting new places and hooking up afterward? It’s like an extended BOGO deal that doesn’t seem to have an expiry date.

“You say that like wanting dick is a bad thing,” the other friend, Jun, who swapped his phone for your backpack, opens the front pocket to look for something fun to play with or eat that would better interest him.

He pulls out the granola bar you shoved in your backpack that sat untouched since DK gave it to you. He quickly reads the label to look at the flavor and decides to pocket the bar.

“No,” you tell him when you hear the familiar crinkle of the foil wrapper. You reach over to snatch your backpack and your granola bar back from your friend. “It’s mine,” you emphasized.

“You don’t even like those,” Jun grumbles while leaning his elbow on his knee. He huffs very loudly, making it very obvious he is sad he wasn’t able to take the snack for himself.

You roll your eyes and launch the granola bar straight at his chest. It hits him with a hollow-sounding thunk and lands on his lap. Bullseye.

“Jesus,” Chan exclaims, now sitting up. He points at the poor boy who is rubbing the sore spot on his chest with a smile on his face, “What’s with you and chests?”

You shrug, your face void of any expression. You were more of an arm person.

“But going back to Yn and DK, I honestly don’t see anything wrong with them. They’re just friends who hook up,” Jun, who is completely fine, tears the corner of the foil wrapper and pulls it downwards. He moves the remaining end that covers the sticky bar to the side, revealing the snack that lost its original shape after being tumbled and bumped in your backpack. “My last friends with benefits hated my guts. We had absolutely nothing in common too. I literally had to fuck in silence because if we talked, we would only fight. But it only lasted a while because they were only visiting the area, but damn, I definitely wouldn’t do it again.”

He takes a bite of his granola bar.

“Hate fucking can make you grow stress acne,” he casually adds while his mouth is full.

The two of you turn to him in surprise, never knowing about his revelation despite years of being friends. Jun shrugs, unbothered by your expressions, and continues to snack.

“What? I like getting my dick sucked,” he nonchalantly tells the two of you. A tiny piece of oat flies out of his mouth and onto the blanket. You flick it away before the ants can get to it, but Jun doesn’t seem to notice and continues to talk, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Crumbs fall out of his mouth while he speaks with his mouth full. Only after he finishes his sentence does he take time to swallow his mouthful and shove the remainder of the bar into his mouth. He swats the crumbs off the blanket and his clothes and crumples the wrapper, looking around for the nearest trashcan.

His eyes land on a group of people moving carts and setting up for an event in the distance. He could recognize the outfits anywhere from the navy blue polo with the university crest embroidered on the left chest to the regulated sand-colored khakis every worker has to wear. He’s seen someone wear that uniform more often than he would have liked. Every time he complains about how ugly the polyester polos look, his friend who regularly wears the uniform only laughs at him and waves goodbye.

Why would RA’s need to wear sports wick fabric? Jun thinks to himself. Do they get sweaty from doing dormitory checks at midnight?

You notice Jun silently frowning at something in the distance instead of getting up to throw away his trash. You turn your body to look at who he’s frowning at, and you see a bunch of students setting up for some university event later in the afternoon. Your eyes land on a familiar silhouette who carries a clipboard in his left hand while pointing at different places to tell his coworkers where to place the different banners and tables. You know it’s him from the crisp khaki pants he refuses to stain to the way he carries himself – the bounce in his step and the way his open hand always falls onto the shoulder of the person next to him to use as support while he’s laughing.

He’s the same person who’s too kind for his own good. You think about the time you went shopping at the mall with him and how he couldn’t bring himself to decline the offer of getting a free scrub from the skincare kiosk. You had to stare down the man into applying the product on the back of DK’s arm, but even then, DK spent the next week rubbing medical-grade hydrocortisone cream on his rash without complaining. DK still wonders about where the man is every time he visits the mall to this day. On the other hand, you would never admit to secretly taking matters into your own hand by writing angrily worded reviews on their Google page under Chan’s abandoned elementary school email he uses to sign up for free trials.

“You’re drooling for a man in khakis,” Chan suddenly disrupts your thoughts. “Check yourself.”

You blink your eyes and look around you. Jun is already long gone, Jun's trash tossed in a trashcan. Now, he’s leaning against a tree while chatting up a poor girl who wanted to read her novel in peace. The funny thing is, he seems to be doing pretty well.

Chan, who doesn’t want both you and Jun to go to the party with a date, excuses himself so he could leave to annoy and embarrass Jun. He thinks if he has to go to the party alone, then he’s dragging one of you down with him. In this case, it’s Jun.

Your mind wanders back to the costume party. You can’t do a couple’s costume because one, you and DK are not a couple; and two, DK always shows up as a slutty fireman. It was his thing. He would show up to parties already a little tipsy from pregaming. He would hug a liter bottle of chase in one arm and have a coiled prop hose hanging from his shoulder on the opposite side. His firefighter costume would hang from his waist while DK walks around dapping up his friends in a white sleeveless cotton tank with streaks of grey ash. And the drunker he gets, the more lopsided his firefighter helmet sits on his head, eventually falling off when he crashes on the couch.

To Jun, dressing up as a firefighter is probably one of the sluttiest things DK could ever do. The first is respecting women. You’re number six on Jun’s list.

Someone comes up behind you from where you’re sitting and holds a cold water bottle in front of your face. He turns it upside down and quickly flicks it upright so the water inside the bottle whirls around in a whirlpool.

“Water tornado,” DK laughs while twisting open the white cap and handing the plastic bottle to you.

His lame party trick makes you snort. Instead of complaining about already having your own iced water, you gladly accept his water. You put the cap back on and put it on top of your backpack knowing very well that his booth would be selling refreshments for triple its wholesale value.

He sits next to you on the bedsheet that’s slightly damp from touching the grass. He stretches his legs across the blanket and makes himself comfortable by laying on his back. He asks you where Chan and Jun are, and you point at the two of them pushing each other in front of the girl. You stare at them in defeat.

“Poor girl,” he tsks.

He moves his head onto your lap and you hover your hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. He quietly stares at you while you use your other hand to open your university login page on your laptop, not really paying attention to him.

Just then, someone calls for DK from the event area. DK immediately sits up but accidentally slams his forehead into your palm. You let out a soft laugh, and he playfully glares at you.

How dumb.

“Just saying ‘hi’ to a friend,” he yells back.

A friend.

“Give me a kiss before I leave?”

“No,” you frown at him while looking away. You were trying to get him to go back to work. It also wasn’t like you called him over. Albeit there is a part of you that is the tiniest bit of upset after hearing DK call you his friend so easily. How dumb of you.

He pouts but gently squeezes your shoulder before he jogs back to where he was setting up.

In the distance, Jun and Chan sigh while they pull out their phones to transfer money into the hammock girl’s bank account. Hammock girl bet that he wouldn’t kiss you even if nobody was near the two of you. She was right. Although, the three of them could agree that a shoulder squeeze is just sad.

He giggles when he sees your face contort in disgust after he holds the body wash under your nose, squeezing it gently so you can smell the scent. He takes it back and flips the cap closed before putting it back on the store shelf. He takes the bottle from your hand when it’s your turn to pass him your pick, but he quickly passes it back to you after he smells the scent. He shakes his head “no.”

“You don’t like this one?” you cap the bottle and place it back where it belongs. You thought the scent was fine with you.

“It’s too sweet,” DK reads the label on another product, “I feel like it would attract ants.” He shudders at the idea of a line of ants trailing in his bathroom but continues to swing his shopping basket by his side while he browses the bath products aisle.

You don’t know how DK managed to convince you to drive him to the retail store and help him with his next bulletin board design. You think it’s because he knows you drew the mustache on his face, but he suggested you shop with him for a body wash that you would also prefer using because you’ve been staying over at his place more often. You were going to decline his suggestion, but you remembered you were almost out of trash bags and condoms for your place. Because there were only so many times you could visit the health center free condom bowl without becoming one of their regulars, you agreed to his request.

Yet here you are, trailing closely behind DK under the bright fluorescent store lights where the first bottle on mostly every shelf is just a little crooked. The two of you have spent the last few minutes trying to find a scent that works for both of you. To be honest, you couldn’t care less about the fragrance he chooses, but he insists on finding the perfect one – stressing the “t” in “perfect” to the point where it came out of his mouth in a clicking sound. You were more or less focused on how his bicep bulges the heavier his basket gets – practically drooling when his rolled shirt sleeve pushes up just a little whenever his arm automatically flexes every time he adds an item to his basket. You hope he thinks you’re staying quiet because your nose is congested from smelling all of the products and not because you’ve been staring at his arms the entire time.

He taps you on your shoulder when you’re skimming the ingredient list of a 3-in-1, and you look over to see him smiling widely at you as he holds a slim opaque bottle in his hand.

When you smell the body wash he holds under your nose, you give him a tiny nod in agreement. He immediately caps the bottle, drops it in his basket, and heads toward his next destination. The bottle rolls over in the red basket, and you briefly see the scent name while you trail behind its future owner. Its scent fits the man humming in front of you perfectly, and you can’t deny that you’re quite fond of it yourself. You decide to grab one for your place before catching up to him.

About half an hour later, you’re still staring at his arms while he reaches up the grab the hood of your car trunk to slam it shut after helping load the shopping bags. He seems to notice you staring as he wastes time by looking into his tote bag, pretending to look for something.

You hate him, that little minx. Of course, he knows you’re staring at him. He knows exactly how you’re feeling. He didn’t purposely press against you while reaching up for items on higher shelves for nothing. The t-shirt he’s wearing? It’s a size too small, but by god do you think it fits so tightly and so well around his body.

Between stressing about midterms and working on top of taking classes with a full-time course load, your sex drive has been out of sync with how it used to be. You and DK haven’t had proper sex in a while, and you’ve been caught thinking about sex during geology lab (out of all places). Jun was pretty sure you were harder than all of the rocks on the lab table. If one more sex scenario came into your mind, you were pretty sure a diamond would fall out of you the next time you open your legs.

DK knows how to push your buttons and rile you up – subtly and in multiplicities. But in your favorite retail store? Where you go to de-stress and bask in the free air conditioning? The same one that welcomes you with the scent of fresh buttery popcorn when you walk through its large revolving doors? Leave it to DK to ruin the one good thing you had going for you, but if you’re going to fuck DK in your car, then you are going to make him pay for it in the process.

When you shut your car door, the hanging pine tree shaped air freshener clacks with the acrylic figurine keychain Chan brought back for you when he visited Japan during the winter. DK is sitting in the middle seat in the backseat of your manual, already visibly hard and palming himself. He grabs your hand while you move towards him to straddle his lap. Your knees sink into the cushions on the sides of his thighs, and you grind yourself on his arousal, feeling him grow harder and harder under you – days of pent up stress immediately leaving your body. He places his hands on your hips, guiding your movements, groaning when you find your pace – feeling the pool of arousal between your legs leak onto his crotch.

You grab his chin, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. He looks back at you with his big dark eyes, and your head dips so your lips can meet his. Your lips are hard and impatient as yours collides against his over and over – mouths working in tandem as he matches your pace and fervor as you continue to grind against him, digging your hips deeper into him when your back arches. You can’t help but smile against his lips and he moans in response, against your mouth. You fill the tiny opening by taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging and running your tongue against his lip.

However, he pulls back to catch his breath. His hands have traveled to your ass, and he asks you in the most innocent tone while kneading them between his fingers, “But what about the cars waiting for us?”

You roll your eyes and verbally scoff at him. You point his chin upwards so he’s looking up at you. He gulps while you stare at him, your eyes burning holes into his eyes. He knows you’re mad. But his dick twitches in excitement just thinking about how you’re going to punish him.

“Don’t play dumb with me fucking slut,” the way you jeer at him sends shivers down his spine. He looks up at you with glassy eyes, staying silent while you continue to berate him. “What? Purposely riling me up and then playing innocent when you think about a car waiting for us?”

He continues to stay silent while his breathing gets harder. He can feel his pre-cum leaking out of his dick, wanting desperately for you to sink down on him.

You tilt his chin to the side so you can whisper in his ear, “I’m going to make them watch you fall apart under me until they forget why they’re waiting for us in the first place. You understand?”

He nods his head quickly, thinking about how hot you look at that moment. You reach down to stroke his arousal with your other hand still secured around his chin. He whimpers at the feeling of your hand around him, eager to do anything you tell him to.

“What was the theme that you came up with for your bulletin board?” you pout at him, faking innocence. Of course you knew his theme. It’s all he’s been talking about since you picked him up from school. The concept is a little abstract, but you don’t push him because it’s not your board in the first place. You remove your hand from his chin and slowly trace it down his chest while looking at him with playful eyes.

“S-Simon says,” he hiccups as you unbutton his pants. He bites his lip when you reach his hard-on.

You see he’s red, hard, and throbbing in the palm of your hand. There’s enough pre-cum to drip down the sides of your fingers. You languidly stroke him, relieving some of the tension built up in his stomach. He hisses in response, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest.

“Simon says to tell me what you’re thinking.”

DK draws in an unsteady breath and groans while you continue stroking him up and down, slowly adding speed. “I’ve been so horny,” he breathes. “I think about you at night. How you’ll kneel in front of me, naked, and in between my legs. How you’ll slowly kiss up my thighs, leaving wet kisses the way I like them while spreading my thighs apart because you always treat me s-so well no matter how b-bad I’ve been,” he babbles while gripping onto your shoulders, anything that he can grip onto his vicinity.

You rub your thumb over his smooth head while he spreads his thighs a little wider in his seat. You feel your core begin to throb when you hear him shamelessly groan, the sound alone stimulating you further. However, you try to keep your composure while he’s literally in the palm of your hand.

“And…” he trails off for a bit, turning his head and not meeting your eyes. You see the tips of his ears glow bright red as he tries to avoid your stare. “I had wet dreams about you spitting in my mouth,” he mumbles while trying to hide from you despite the fact that you’re still sitting on his lap.

The mere thought of spitting into Dokyeom’s mouth continues to feed the flame burning inside of you, so you decide to continue your game with him.

“What was that hmm?” you dip your head so that you’re hovering right above his lips. He has nowhere to turn except to face you. And when he does, you can tell his eyes are frantically darting between your eyes and your lips. You’re close enough to him to feel his breath on your lips, how his breath hitches as you continue to build his high. “What did you want me to do to you?”

He quickly shakes his head and looks up at you as if to tell you he’s being a good boy by playing the game by the rules. You didn’t say “Simon Says” before your last question. You smile and nod at him while slowly pulling your shorts and panties down, placing yourself on top of his dick. He whimpers upon contact.

You trace him along the inside of your soaked folds, and he immediately bucks under your lap. He’s sweating and very close to becoming overstimulated at this point, but he’s surprisingly enjoying it.

“Simon Says to tell you what you want Simon to do to you,” you taunt him calmly. You align him at your entrance while keeping eye contact with him.

“Please...” he mewls, so desperate that he can’t even properly tell you what he wants. It’s frustrating, and he’s frustrated. He throws a mini fit by huffing after pleading.

“Please what?” you kiss along his jawline while he tries rutting up into you. “Did my dumb slut forget how to speak?”

You frown at his action and lift yourself higher so he can’t reach you. You cock an eyebrow at him, trying to get him to tell you want he wants you to do to him. Because, fuck, even you were getting desperate at this point (even though it is mostly your fault for prolonging it for so long).

He finally fesses, “P-Please fuck me so hard that your car ah–”

So caught up with everything, you forget about his size, and loudly moan while you bottom out on him, immediately clinging onto him while you bury your face in his neck. He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, but he lets out a choked scream as he feels you take all of him so well and so quickly. He feels so tight, so full in you. It reminds you about how much you needed him in you these past few days. He curses under his breath, automatically pulling you into him. He kisses you with so much ardor, running his tongue around yours, that you temporarily forget that you’re only friends.

His large hands find their way to your ass again, sizing you up and guiding it up and down over and over again, making you bounce up and down on him. He groans out loud while he drowns in the feeling of him stretching you open and you clenching tightly around him, hearing the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs. You feel so good around him, a lot tighter than usual that he has to stop himself from coming immediately. His lips temporarily leave yours with a thin line of saliva still webbed between your mouths when he breaks your kiss. You take the chance to tell him to open his mouth wide, and he quickly obeys. You grab a fistful of his hair and pull it backward. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and you spit on his extended tongue, watching the transparent liquid slowly slide down his tongue. He swallows it and sticks his tongue out again, begging for more.

“Aww,” you coo at him while he tugs on your shirt, a little habit of his when he’s needy but too fucked out to verbally beg. “Dumb baby. Did you forget you’re still being punished?”

You lift yourself from him so that only his tip remains in you. He tries angling his hips so he can be in you again, but you only shake your head at him while trapping his waist between your knees. At this point, he can only whine your name. Your name escapes his mouth in a high-pitched rasp, slowly removing one of his hands from your ass to knead himself. He slowly rolls his balls between his fingers, tugging and releasing the prettiest moans while you watch him slowly get off by himself.

“Fine. Go ahead,” you remove yourself from his lap when you realize what he’s doing. You sit on the seat beside him while you watch him touch himself despite your pussy aching without his touch. “I was going to ask you to choose between me spitting in my dumb whore’s mouth again or ride him to completion, but it seems like he doesn’t need me anymore.”

He pauses what he’s doing to look at you with big glossy eyes. His face is hot and flushed, and you can still smell his musky scent from where you’re sitting. You almost cave when you see him look at you, your heart fluttering a little. No matter how much you love playing with DK, you will have to admit that you have such a soft spot for him. He reaches over to tug your shirt sleeve, but you only shake him off. You can’t allow yourself to swallow your pride no matter how much you want to baby him.

You think he’s going to beg for you to forgive him, but he does the complete opposite. He takes matters into his own hands by leaning over you despite the cramped space. He spreads your legs while he leans in between them.

“What are you doing?” you gulp.

He hovers his hand over your core and looks at you. You immediately nod, and he rubs your nub with his thumb, slowly inserting his ring finger in your cunt. He hooks it at the right spot, immediately making you buck against his hand in response.

“A- Ah. Baby please,” you mewl at him, begging for him to pump his finger. When he only stares at you, enjoying watching you beg underneath him as you fuck yourself on his finger repeatedly, your pride thrown out the window.

“I’m not even moving my finger and I can feel you creaming around it,” he smirks while tapping the inside of you by hooking and unhooking his finger, causing the coil in you to snap as you wail his name while riding out your orgasm.

Now it’s his turn to cock his head in amusement while he watches you desperately cling onto his arm as you continue to come on his single finger. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and your mouth can’t help but hang open while he inserts another long finger into you while you’re trembling under his touch. He continues to rub your nub in figure eights while he slowly scissors your aching and swollen cunt, knowing you’re about to cum again based on how tightly you’re clenched around his fingers, calling out and mindlessly babbling his name over and over again like it’s the only word in your vocabulary.

He feels your juices leak onto his fingers and he pulls them out of you just before your climax hits, holding it up to the large rearview window to see them well-coated with your slick and glistening in the sun. He brings the same fingers into his mouth and licks them clean when he sees a customer walking past the car. He shoves them into your mouth before you can complain, and you close your lips around his fingers, sucking on them and running your tongue around each digit.

“I’m fine with playing Simon Says,” he sighs at you while you continue sucking on his fingers while looking into his eyes. “But if you say you want to fuck me so hard that other people will see, then fucking do it right Yn,” he sneers.

He realigns himself at your entrance, slowly pushing into you. His new angle allows him to drive himself so deep into your cunt that you wail out a choked sob. There are no agonizingly slow strokes as he repeatedly pounds into you, hard, giving you no time to adjust. He ruts himself into you like you’re his toy and grunts while allowing the nastiest words to come out of his mouth, making up for all the time you lost between studying up until that moment. He’s so deep in you that you can feel him in your throat so that you can’t even utter a word, incoherent, as the springs of your car squeak to the rhythm of him relentlessly pounding in you. You’re so cock-drunk that you don’t even notice you’ve came again, this time sopping wet and onto your leather seats. You wail while struggling to keep your lips around his fingers. But they slip out of your mouth with a trail of your saliva and latch around your throat. He’s intoxicating, and you can't seem get him out of your mind.

“Was that too much?” you ask DK while you trace a heart around a plastic stencil he borrowed from the RA from the floor below his.

The two of you are sitting on the white tiled floor of his dormitory room, tracing letters and shapes on the construction paper he picked up at the store. Pop music plays from his laptop speakers, and he has his Pinterest board pulled up on his phone. After much brainstorming and a much-needed shower, the two of you finally came up with a new bulletin theme after scrapping the last one.

“It was the first time you called me ‘baby,’” there is a certain playfulness to his voice.

He proudly holds up the four-leaf clover he made by tracing four hearts on his green construction paper for you to see.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him.

Your hand accidentally slips while tracing the figure when DK crawls over to your side to look at your progress, creating a jagged line around the stencil.

“Did that cross the line?” your voice soft yet uneasy. You’re not sure if DK enjoyed the experience in the car. Maybe it was too much, you think to yourself. Maybe, it would’ve been better if you waited until the two of you got to his dorm.

“No…” he sits down on the space next to you and hugs his knees loosely. He thinks about it for a while. “It wasn’t what I expected, but don’t think I hated it,” he confesses while looking at you.

He takes a stray pencil on the floor and fixes the uneven line of the heart that you stenciled. You lean over to pick up his finished clover to compare it to yours. You frown at your crooked stenciled heart, but DK pats your head and reassures you that it’s fine the way it looks. Still, you think you should’ve volunteered to help him type his bulletin board information instead of volunteering to help him do something artistic like stenciling.

“Thanks for helping me with my board today,” he tilts his head to his side while beaming at you. You can smell his new body wash on his skin and the ocean-scented laundry softener beads he uses for his clothes.

It’s your turn to bow your head to avoid his eyes. “I told you I’d help you today,” you mumble while tracing another heart. “And I kind of ruined your original plan.”

“Yn, it’s okay. It didn’t make sense anyway,” he leans over to quickly peck your cheek. He smiles at you and lightly pinches your nose between his thumb and index finger. “Did I ever tell you that you make me the happiest?”

Someone knocks on his door, and he immediately gets up from his spot to greet his resident. You’re left sitting cross-legged on his floor, trying not to make yourself known as the resident advisor talks to the freshman with his door open. You don’t even know why you try to hide yourself. You keep reminding yourself that you’re only his friend and that there’s no shame in being his friend.

But feeling of his lips against your skin lingers a little longer than it should. It’s just a simple peck on your cheek, but it feels like your skin is burning. And for the first time in your life, you don’t complain about his kiss.

###

part two

#seventeen smut #svt smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

3K notes · View notes

aevallare · 4 months

Text

oneiric

pairing: astarion/f!tav/shadowheart

word count: 7,854

AO3 link if preferred!

warnings: threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal fingering, strap on, MFF, dom!tav, sub!astarion, sub!shadowheart, oral sex, strap blowjob, orgasm denial, voyeurism, post-epilogue, humiliation, breath play, dirty talk, blood drinking, ear rubbing, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise kink, teasing, hair pulling, face sitting

preview:

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

enjoy!!

-----

Auri’s no fool. She has no right to the intricacies and full truths of what Astarion went through in the centuries before the tadpole, when he was a spawn rather than an adventurer and when Auri was a jester rather than the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. People recognize them, now, in the street. “The hero and her lover!” they call out when Auri and Astarion walk by, though his vampirism is luckily still a secret.

Auri chafes whenever she hears it. He spent so long being nothing but a possession, and he’s her equal in every way and then some. Most days, Auri thinks she’s the one who should be treated as lesser.

Neither of them should, really. They’ve both done a lot of healing in the years since the Elder Brain.

“Does it bother you? That people only think of you as an extension of me?” Auri had asked once.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “What use is there in being bothered by people who I could kill before they blinked?”

It’s a marvelously succinct way to put her fear to rest and a testament to how much he’s healed since the day that they met on the beach so long ago, but Auri’s never been very good at letting things go.

So she gives him power in every way that she knows how, even in things that don’t really matter. He chooses what tasks they take on and where they bed down for the evening. He decides if they walk or if they hitch a ride with a carriage passing through.

And in bed, he takes control. And Auri’s never wanted for anything. And gods if they aren’t happy. She loves him and he loves her and that’s everything she could ever want and then some.

They don’t have a home, really, but that’s just fine. There’s always a room for them at the Elfsong in between travels, and in one such interim period, as Auri dozes, Astarion comes through the door and says, “Shadowheart sent us a letter.”

“Mm?” Auri’s voice is groggy. “What’s it say?”

Astarion sighs. “Among all kinds of nonsense about the menagerie of beasts that she’s acquired, she misses you desperately and me a little and we should come spend a tenday with her if her friendship ever meant anything to us.”

Auri blinks. When was the last time she saw Shadowheart? She can scarcely remember.

“Naturally,” Astarion continues, “I will write back to tell her that her friendship has not in fact ever meant anything to us–”

Auri purses her lips and rips the letter from his hands.

------------------

It’s almost dawn when they arrive, but Shadowheart’s expecting them. She sits at a small table in front of the door with a drink in hand, and when she finally sees them, she stands and waves. Auri’s vision in the dark is terrible, but when Shadowheart wraps her in an embrace, it’s like coming home. She welcomes them both in though she stops short of hugging Astarion, and when they step into her cottage, she’s easy to see in the candlelight.

The years have been kind to her. Her body’s turned soft in a beautiful way and there are wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips that only come from smiling a bit too much.

And she looks happier than Auri ever remembers her being before.

“You must be exhausted,” she says. “We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest.”

So they rest. And the next day, they talk. And things are exactly as they used to be in the way they always are with good friends who’ve gone through the hells together.

Auri helps in Shadowheart’s garden. Astarion hunts. And they relax.

There’s only one problem.

Shadowheart’s cottage isn’t small, exactly, but there’s little space for privacy. Any intimate moment she and Astarion might try to share carries the risk of Shadowheart’s intrusion.

“I can think of worse people to happen upon us in the act,” Astarion says on the third night of their stay. Auri’s face warms and if anyone’s attuned to the flow of blood in her body, it’s Astarion.

“Stop it,” Auri whispers, his lips brushing against the spot where he always feeds, and Astarion smiles.

She can almost hear how sharp his smirk is, even in the dark.

“Would you like her to find us?” he asks, notably making no move to touch her. “Would you like to fuck her? To watch me fuck her?”

It’s all Auri can do not to rub herself against his thigh between her legs, to seek whatever mediocre release that might bring. Astarion kisses her neck. He’s not even going to drink from her.

“Sleep well, lover,” he says, smug, self-satisfied, and says nothing else at all though he can smell the slickness between her legs and the racing of her heart.

------------------

It’s the wine that starts things, though maybe that’s reductive. Auri hasn’t stopped thinking about what Astarion said for the last two days (and she hasn’t had any kind of sex in six days).

And none of them are shy. Maybe that's the problem.

“The last person I brought home was fun enough,” Shadowheart says, swirling the drink in her glass. “The problem is that I'm finding I have less and less patience these days for partners to pick up what I like, and I'm not really interested in a long-term relationship either.”

Astarion tilts his head to the side, considering her. “Surely your needs can't be so difficult to meet. It sounds like you've had bad lovers.”

Auri blinks. “W– what?”

“Don't get me wrong, darling; I'm more than satisfied to tie you up and take very good care of you, but–”

Auri's cheeks flush red. Shadowheart stares at both of them intently.

“I'll get you both more wine,” she says, and she takes their glasses from them, and Auri and Astarion are alone.

“Is that something that you–” Auri swallows hard. “Is that something that you want?”

“Is that such a surprise?” Astarion cocks an eyebrow. “My body's mine, but I like to use it to please yours. I'd venture you like the same.”

Heat creeps up Auri's neck. Astarion's grin is wicked.

“Have you wanted to take charge all this time?” His voice is low, conspiratorial. Auri crosses her legs self-consciously, though it doesn't really matter. He can no doubt smell her all the same. “Then how about a bet?”

Auri's mouth goes dry. She can hear Shadowheart in the next room over.

“A bet?” she repeats.

“A bet,” he confirms. “I could tell how entertained you were by the idea of her joining us. If that's something that you want, get her into our bed. If you succeed, I'll let you do whatever you want with me.”

Every muscle in Auri's body is wound unfathomably tight. Astarion drank before they slept yesterday, but Auri remains unsated. And she makes a decision.

She’s no great seductor, but she’s no blushing virgin either.

“Well?” Astarion starts, voice smug. “No time like the present, is there?”

Auri eyes him in her peripheral vision. “A bit rich of the immortal to say to his mortal partner.”

“If it helps, I want you to succeed just as much as you’d like to watch her squirm on your fingers.”

The blush that rises to her cheeks is violent. “Astarion–”

He chuckles. “You’re welcome to tell me I’m wrong.”

But he isn’t wrong and he knows that he isn’t, so Auri scowls. Shadowheart returns with the wine. Auri has trouble finding her voice for the rest of the night.

------------------

Auri’s not scared to proposition Shadowheart, exactly. Given everything they’ve all been through together, sex isn’t actually intimidating at all. But Auri fears making her uncomfortable.

She’s saved the pain, though. The next day when she steps into Shadowheart’s flower patch with the intention of broaching the subject, Shadowheart beats her to the punch.

“You two aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are, by the way.”

Auri’s jaw drops. “Pardon?”

“I heard you talking last night. You two aren’t half as quiet as you think you are.”

When Auri flushes, Shadowheart laughs. “I’m flattered, really, though I have to admit that I can’t imagine you…” She trails off before picking up the sentence again. “I can’t imagine you taking control that way.”

Auri’s embarrassment at being overheard gives way to irritation. “Seriously?”

Shadowheart shrugs. “It’s not personal. You’re just quick to let others take the lead if they want it.”

Silence falls between them and Auri lets it hang in the air for a moment before shrugging because that’s the kind of stupid thing that Astarion would do. “Alright,” she says. “Your loss.”

And it works. Of course it does.

“I didn’t say no, did I?”

------------------

Shadowheart’s always enjoyed sex, though partners have grown more subpar as she’s gotten older. It’s not their fault, probably; she’s just gotten more particular.

And this is risky, probably, letting Astarion and Auri invite her to bed. Auri’s as sensitive as they come, and Astarion’s relationship with sex is complicated, though Shadowheart doesn’t know the details.

“Come to the room you put us up in,” Auri had said. “And don’t bother having clothes on. I’m not interested in wasting time.”

So here Shadowheart is in the room that Astarion and Auri have been sharing. She grins; Auri acting like this is altogether foreign, but she’s apparently taken Shadowheart’s earlier words as a challenge. When Auri registers the smile on Shadowheart’s face, her eyes narrow.

"Here's what's going to happen," Auri says. Astarion sits in a chair in the corner, unbound but bidden sit still, bare from the waist up. When Auri steps up to her, Shadowheart doesn’t flinch, but Auri guides her downward until she’s kneeling next to him. Auri takes their faces in either hand, stroking Astarion's cheek as she stares down at Shadowheart.

To her, Auri says, "You are going to make me come. And then I'm going to fuck you."

Astarion’s lips part but he doesn't speak. Auri smiles at him. "And if you behave, maybe you'll be allowed to come after."

On her knees, Shadowheart’s at the perfect height to watch as his cock strains against his trousers. Auri dips down and takes Shadowheart's mouth with her own.

"Are you ready, then?" Auri asks when she pulls away, and in unison, Astarion and Shadowheart nod.

Auri takes Shadowheart's face between her thumb and forefinger, gripping tightly. "Today, we share. But his fangs and his cum are mine alone. Understand?"

Again, Shadowheart nods. Auri's eyes cut to Astarion. His cock and his face are both enraptured by the sight.

He nods a second time as if agreeing to something that Shadowheart isn’t quite privy to.

Auri's attention snaps back to Shadowheart. "You're going to make me come," Auri repeats. Shadowheart licks her lips. "Yes. We'll put that mouth to work, and then if you satisfy me well enough, you'll get your own.”

Shadowheart’s not grinning anymore. She’d forgotten, somehow, in these years sequestered from Baldur’s Gate, just how commanding a presence Auri can have when she tries.

She just doesn’t usually try. She’s almost always content to let Astarion take the lead.

Not today.

“Show me what you can do, then,” Auri says, an invitation if Shadowheart’s ever heard one. When she rises from her knees, she can feel Astarion’s eyes on her, roving over every curve of her body even as Auri starts to undress in front of her.

Auri raises an eyebrow, looking at Shadowheart with such distaste that it stops her in her tracks. “Did I say you could stand?”

When Auri’s intent becomes clear, the slickness between Shadowheart’s legs grows. Auri sits on the edge of the bed and tilts her head to the side, staring at Shadowheart, unimpressed.

“You can crawl to me or you can stay standing where you are. It’s your choice.”

For a brief moment, Shadowheart wonders what kind of punishment she’d incur if she didn’t comply, but Auri considers her hardly at all. Only her lower half is bare, and she stares straight through Shadowheart to find Astarion.

“How’s the view?” Auri asks, an undercurrent of nervousness in her voice that wasn’t there when she was talking to Shadowheart.

Astarion breaks the character of a perfect submissive for only a moment to say, “I don’t think you’re supposed to care, darling.”

And that’s enough for Auri’s mask to slip firmly back into place. She locks back onto Shadowheart and says, “I’m not a patient woman. Make your choice before I give your chance to him.”

Shadowheart falls to her hands and knees once more, and when she’s near enough, Auri spreads her legs. She crawls between them, as was certainly Auri’s intention all along, and she lays a hand on either of Auri’s hips as Auri fists a hand in her hair.

And very quickly, Shadowheart sees what Auri’s intentions are. When her tongue makes an experimental pass over Auri’s clit, Auri laughs. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

When Shadowheart chances a glance upward, Auri isn’t even looking down at her. She’s staring right over Shadowheart’s head at the place where she knows Astarion is sitting. She’s going to make Shadowheart work for it.

Well. She’d been honest about that, Shadowheart supposes. And if that’s the game, Shadowheart will play. She feels exposed entirely, back to Astarion and face buried between Auri’s legs, but it doesn’t matter. Letting control go–

There’s no person better to do that with than Auri.

When Shadowheart slides her tongue up the length of Auri’s slit, she finally gets a reaction. Auri exhales contentedly, and she says, “That’s more like it.”

Shadowheart wonders if Astarion can see how wet she is. The angle certainly allows for it as her lips pull at Auri’s clit, and it seems that she’s finally gotten Auri’s attention. When Auri’s head tilts back, it exposes long-scarred spots on her neck courtesy of Astarion’s fangs. For all the control she’s exerting, Auri’s wet, too. Desperately so.

Two of Shadowheart’s fingers slide in with ease. The hand in her hair tightens, and Shadowheart’s gripped by the desire to please. The soft noise that Auri makes as Shadowheart’s fingers seek the perfect spot inside her spurs her on, and this time when Shadowheart looks up, Auri’s staring right at her. “Another,” she says, her voice ragged and her neck blotchy.

When Shadowheart complies, a grin breaks out across Auri’s face. Shadowheart’s tongue flicks across her clit and her fingers don’t stop. Auri’s hips roll into her face and hand until Shadowheart’s not even doing much but teasing her clit. Auri fucks herself on Shadowheart’s hand until she’s satisfied, and when she cries out, just a bit less controlled than she has been so far, Shadowheart drags the flat of her tongue along Auri’s clit. “Fuck,” Auri hisses, her nails scraping against Shadowheart’s scalp as her hips grind against her face.

And for this brief moment, Shadowheart’s in control. Her lips find Auri’s clit once more, and the orgasm that tears through her body pushes Shadowheart’s face even further into her cunt. Her fingers fuck Auri through the orgasm, and when Shadowheart pulls her lips away for fear of the pleasure becoming pain, Auri tugs her face upward. Shadowheart’s fingers leave her, and Auri pushes her lips to Shadowheart’s. When her tongue bids Shadowheart’s mouth open, she gives no resistance, but the kiss doesn’t last long.

“That’s my good girl,” Auri says, voice still quivering, and a chill runs up Shadowheart’s spine. Auri hasn’t stood from the bed and Shadowheart’s still on her knees. She runs a finger down Shadowheart’s jawline delicately. “Astarion’s looking lonely. Could you go give him a taste of me, please? You did so well that I’ll even let you walk.”

Astarion's knuckles are white on the armrests of the chair when Shadowheart stands and turns. Shadowheart wouldn't be surprised if his nails have carved trails into the wood. When Shadowheart pauses, Auri says, “Go ahead. Have a seat in his lap. Kiss him, even, if you’d like. But your hands stay above the neck until I say.”

When Shadowheart does as Auri says and straddles his hips, Astarion doesn’t hesitate. One of his hands snakes behind her head to drag her in closer, and Shadowheart’s hips roll against the erection that she can feel press against her entrance even through the layers of fabric he’s still wearing. She moans as Astarion’s lips find her greedily; she’s no doubt soaked the front of his trousers thoroughly even in the little time that she’s been on top of him.

“How’s she taste, my love?” Auri asks. She sounds a bit further away than she had before, but Shadowheart can’t make herself care.

Labored, with Shadowheart’s mouth still half on his, Astarion says, “Divine.”

There’s something about his reverence that makes Shadowheart blush, his eyes half-lidded and meeting her gaze with undisguised want.

Auri hadn’t said anything about not moving her hips against Astarion’s cock through his clothes even though Shadowheart would rather have him inside her. Shadowheart puts a hand on either side of Astarion’s face and kisses him again, hard. Astarion stutters out a strangled noise like he might spend himself without ever undressing at all, and when his head jerks back, no doubt trying to wrest control of his own body back, one of his fangs catches against Shadowheart’s lip.

The soft skin there tears and Astarion’s eyes dilate instantly, fully alert. Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his cock hardens even more beneath her. He can drink from her. Shadowheart doesn’t care–

Astarion’s fingers are torn from her hair and a smaller, rougher hand takes their place, yanking Shadowheart’s head backward.

“Misbehaving when we’ve barely started?” Auri asks. This position exposes Shadowheart’s neck to Astarion entirely, and his fangs are bared as he stares at the spot where Shadowheart can feel her pulse pounding. “I told you his fangs were mine.”

“It was an accident–” Shadowheart stammers out, but her train of thought stops dead when something hard presses against her cunt.

Auri’s mouth is at her ear and the hand not pulling at Shadowheart’s hair tugs at her hip. “Oh, it was an accident. I understand.” Auri’s voice is low and dangerous, and when Shadowheart’s eyes dart to the side to glimpse what seeks to bury itself inside her, she almost shudders. Auri’s strapped a cock to herself that has Shadowheart’s mouth watering. It’s a fraction from filling her, and–

“Accidents happen,” Auri continues. Her breath is warm and wet against Shadowheart’s cheek and her teeth nip at her earlobe. “So I’ll forgive you just this once as long as you make sure he knows how good it feels to have me fuck you.”

When Shadowheart looks back down at Astarion as she asks, his lips are parted, and Shadowheart’s too caught up. When Auri pushes into her with a single, decisive thrust, her body jerks forward and she cries out.

Shadowheart only notices the drop of blood that drips from her lip at the motion because Astarion’s eyes lock on it instantly. When it falls into his mouth, Astarion’s eyes flash and his hips instinctively buck upward, seeking any kind of pleasure for himself, but Auri’s having none of it. Her grip on Shadowheart’s hair releases so both of her hands can fall to her thighs, nudging her upward so her knees are on the chair.

Her body’s out of reach of Astarion’s for any kind of meaningful contact, and that’s exactly what Auri wanted. Astarion exhales a laugh, a smile of disbelief on his face, and Shadowheart can see him come to the conclusion that she had roughly two positions ago.

Auri had taken their slights against her ability to be dominant very personally.

But Shadowheart doesn’t get time to ruminate on it. She’d complained about not being able to surrender control with any partner meaningfully, but she’s falling apart at Auri’s touch. Her breasts are in Astarion’s face and they ache to be played with, but he’s not going to disobey Auri’s command not to touch below the neck. Auri’s hips meet the curve of Shadowheart’s ass time and time again; Shadowheart wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dripping onto Astarion’s lap.

As if Auri’s in her head, one of her hands drops between Shadowheart’s legs. Her thrusts have grown shallower, seeking the spot that will make Shadowheart’s vision go black and her mind go blank. Auri finds it with ease; the slightest pressure on her clit will send Shadowheart over the edge.

But it never comes.

Auri drags her hand through the slickness that’s pooled between Shadowheart’s thighs but she avoids the place that Shadowheart wants her to touch the most. Her fingers leave a wet trail along Shadowheart’s ass until Auri finds what she’s looking for.

Shadowheart gasps as she’s penetrated twice, Auri’s cock in her cunt and finger in her ass. She buries her face in the crook of Astarion’s neck, but Auri doesn’t stop.

“Come for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

And Shadowheart shatters. She’s never been loud, but this climax pulls profanity from her mouth. She doesn’t scream, but it’s close. Her mouth is wide against the flesh of Astarion’s neck; she could bite him if she wanted. Her breasts are flush with his chest and his entire body’s rigid as she heaves against him, Auri’s cock still inside her. As the orgasm passes and she regains control of her body, she pushes herself back up, and as she does, Auri pulls her cock and finger out from inside her.

Shadowheart shudders at the loss and Astarion breathes in deeply through his nose. Auri kisses her tenderly on the cheek, a light brush of lips against skin that’s entirely at odds with the role she’s played thus far but very much like the Auri that Shadowheart’s known for years.

“Why don’t you take a moment on the bed for me?” Auri asks. “You look like you need to catch your breath.”

Astarion looks at her with unbridled hunger, but Shadowheart does as Auri bids. Somehow, desire still thrums in her stomach, but she has no doubt that she won’t be left wanting. She lies down on the bed, turned to face Auri and Astarion, and Auri asks him, “Is this what you wanted when you said that you wanted me to succeed in getting her into bed with us?”

The lust in his eyes wars with the smirk he wears. “You know that it is. You never disappoint, darling.”

Auri chuckles. “You’re only saying that because you want to get off.”

“I can mean it and have ulterior motives at the same time.” His words are stilted, his veneer of restraint slipping by the moment as he stares at the length between Auri’s legs. “Can I?” he asks, pupils blown wide without even being touched. Auri’s cock is still slick with Shadowheart, and Astarion stares at it intensely.

“Eyes on me, my love. You've been so good so far. Don't ruin it.” When Auri tilts his chin upward until their gazes meet, her nails scrape along his jawline. “Can you what?”

When Astarion runs his tongue over his fangs, Shadowheart shudders even from her place on the bed.

Astarion’s voice is always composed, a weapon just as much as his daggers are. Here, though, half-naked and staring up at Auri in submission, he sounds different. There’s desperation that makes the muscles in Shadowheart’s stomach clench when he asks, “Can I suck your cock?”

“I suppose you have been good, accident notwithstanding,” Auri says, and that’s invitation enough for Astarion to leave the chair where he sits to kneel in front of her. Shadowheart inhales sharply. When Astarion’s lips part, Shadowheart sees just the briefest glimpse of his fangs.

She feels every bit a voyeur as he takes Auri’s cock in his mouth and his hands reach around to grip the curve of her ass. Auri runs her fingers through Astarion’s hair, tilting his head back even as he takes her. “Yes, you are just wonderful,” she says. Shadowheart is more than satisfied to watch, but Auri turns to her, apparently uninterested in her remaining a bystander. “He’s doing so well, isn’t he? Doesn’t he look pretty with my cock in his mouth?”

Shadowheart nods. Words feel impossible. Auri looks down again at Astarion and he stares right back up at her. Her cock slides down his throat with ease.

Gods.

Shadowheart’s rarely seen Astarion surrender in anything, but when he yields to Auri, he does so wholly. Auri’s cock slides in and out of his throat so obscenely that just watching makes Shadowheart’s insides burn. When Auri motions to her, Shadowheart nearly misses it. She only pulls her attention from Astarion’s mouth when Auri snaps her fingers.

When Shadowheart approaches, Auri says, “Answer my question properly, please,” and one of her hands falls between Shadowheart's legs. She came only minutes before, but when Auri’s fingers seek entrance, Shadowheart sighs like she hasn’t been touched properly in an eternity. “He deserves to hear it, I think, for putting on such a good show.” Auri doesn’t look at her but her fingers are expert. “Tell him how pretty he looks with your cum in his mouth.”

Astarion's nostrils flare. Auri thrusts her hips forward, and when she does, she buries her cock in his throat.

“You're marvelous,” Shadowheart says as reverently as she ever spoke about Shar. Auri smiles.

Saliva runs down Astarion’s chin and he makes no move to wipe it away. Auri says, “Marvelous really is the only word that even remotely describes him.”

The heel of Auri's hand presses against Shadowheart's clit and she moans as Auri's cock slips from Astarion's mouth. A thread of cum and saliva hangs from his lips, and Auri says, “He’s so marvelous, in fact, that he's going to fuck your ass while I'm sunk to the hilt in your cunt.”

The image that pushes into Shadowheart’s mind makes her every thought go blank, and finally, Astarion’s decorum breaks, if only for the briefest moment. When unwieldy lust flickers across his face, Auri smirks.

“You said yourself that I should watch you fuck her. What better view than when you’re both on top of me?”

They’d discussed this, of course. Shadowheart knew that. To hear Auri vocalize it so plainly still sends lightning down her spine. Astarion swallows hard. Auri jerks her head upward and nods toward a jar on the small table beside the bed. “Off your knees. You know what to do.”

When he does as she says, Auri kisses him before he steps away, and her fingers leave Shadowheart’s cunt. She pulls her back toward the bed with one hand and teases her nipple with the other, every brush of her fingers electric against Shadowheart’s skin. From the corner of her eye, Shadowheart can see Astarion. The hand he has wrapped around himself glistens with lube.

“You're going to look lovely riding my cock,” Auri whispers in Shadowheart’s ear. Speaking quietly is unnecessary; Astarion can no doubt hear her, but it has its intended effect still. Goosebumps rise on Shadowheart’s arm. Auri continues as she lies back on the bed, pulling Shadowheart on top of her. “You're going to be so full, but we all have to remember the rules.”

Shadowheart nods again as she had before, a leg on either side of Auri’s hips, but Auri's eyes narrow. She grips Shadowheart's face roughly; Astarion's cock is so hard that it looks painful. “Tell me the rules, and I'll fuck you within an inch of your life.”

Auri’s a performer to her core. Shadowheart’s known that for a long time, but she plays this role particularly well. The head of her cock rests at Shadowheart's entrance. Breathlessly, she says, “His fangs and his cum belong to you.”

Auri smirks. “Good girl.”

And finally, Shadowheart sinks down onto Auri’s cock, exhaling as she does. There’s no resistance. Auri slots inside her with ease, and her hands slide up Shadowheart’s stomach until she reaches her breasts, squeezing almost cruelly.

When Shadowheart cries out, Auri’s smirk widens, a wicked expression that only serves to make her wetter, though she isn’t sure how that’s possible. Auri’s hips grind upward, and Shadowheart regrets ever saying that she couldn’t imagine Auri in control. She’s well on her way to a second orgasm when she feels movement behind her.

Her mouth goes dry. Shadowheart doesn’t know how she managed to forget that Astarion was there, but the spell that Auri’s cock has cast between her legs apparently drove out all awareness. Auri’s hands leave her chest; one finds purchase on Shadowheart’s thigh and the other tugs at her braid firmly, pulling her downward.

Auri nips at her earlobe. Her cock pushes into Shadowheart, slow and deliberate. Auri knows that she was close before. Her breath is warm against Shadowheart’s ear.

“You have to be patient, beautiful. You’re not allowed to come again until he can feel it, too.”

Auri’s hand on her thigh ignites the heat in Shadowheart’s core as it trails toward her clit, and she whimpers, “Please.”

“Please what?” Auri asks, canting her hips upward again. Her fingers have stopped just short of the place Shadowheart wants them to be. “Ask for it. I want to hear you say that you want me to touch you.” Her tongue runs along the curve of Shadowheart’s ear. “I want you to look at me when you say that you want my lover in your ass.”

Shadowheart's had tens of lovers, and this is far from the first time she’s taken someone this way, but the weight Auri puts in her words lends even more taboo to the act.

And she’s never been full in both places at once.

The length inside her pushes against the spot that makes Shadowheart’s vision go white. She clenches her eyes shut. “I want–”

Auri’s movements stop entirely and her voice goes cold. “I told you to look at me when you beg.”

When Shadowheart's eyes open, it doesn't even seem like it's of her own volition. Auri's words force her to look on their gravitas alone.

Auri’s eyes are a piercing green. Shadowheart steels her jaw.

“I want you both to fuck me until I can't walk,” she challenges, and Auri’s grin is all teeth.

Auri jerks her head at Astarion behind her and Auri's fingers finally brush against her clit at the same moment that Shadowheart feels Astarion's hands on her ass.

His hands are cool but Astarion's always cold; it isn't unexpected and Shadowheart’s attention is more consumed by the deliberate way that one of his fingers works its way inside her. When she gasps, Auri calls her back, and her feather-light touch on Shadowheart's clit is maddening.

“You're doing so well,” Auri soothes, and Shadowheart's body reacts to the praise accordingly. The wetness between her thighs distracts her from the mild discomfort of Astarion's intrusion until Auri says, “Go on. She can take another.”

A second finger stretches her, and this time when Shadowheart moans, Auri cocks an eyebrow. “His cock is bigger than that, and you want to take it, don't you? You want to come on my cock and his?”

The lube that runs down the curve of her ass is debauched, and Shadowheart nods. “More. Please.”

“You heard her. One more finger, and after that, you'll be allowed to fuck her.”

Shadowheart’s so close, but Auri’s pace with both her hand and cock have slowed. When a third finger enters her, Auri stops moving entirely. “You can't come yet. You have to take him to earn it.”

When was the last time a lover made her feel this undone? Shadowheart whimpers this time as Auri's words roll over her, trying desperately to grind her hips downward. When she does, Auri's hand reaches up and finds her throat, stopping the movement before Shadowheart can find any relief.

“Do you want to fuck her, my love?” Auri asks, looking over Shadowheart's shoulder at Astarion.

Astarion is normally the perfect picture of control, but his voice is strangled when he says, “Yes.”

The hand on Shadowheart's neck tightens and she gasps. She feels Astarion's lips against her shoulder and she draws in a ragged breath. Auri's smirk is wide and wicked.

“Have your way with her, then. You've earned it.”

When his fingers leave her ass, Shadowheart would fall forward if not for Auri's hand around her throat. She misses his touch instantly but there's no time to mourn the loss because the head of his cock pushes against her entrance immediately.

“Alright?” Astarion asks, voice strained, as if restraint is causing him pain.

When Shadowheart opens her mouth to answer, Auri's grip on her neck tightens.

“She's fine,” Auri says, and she's right, of course. “She was made to take us.”

Astarion waits for a signal that this has become too much, but Shadowheart’s not interested in anything other than more. He eases into her slowly and the fullness is so much and Shadowheart thinks that she might split in half.

It’s like a dream.

Despite her words, Auri’s touch has turned gentle. She’s giving Shadowheart time to adjust, but their consideration is just another kind of torture. When she tries to lean backward, forcing Astarion’s cock in deeper, Auri holds her steady. “Patience, beautiful,” Auri says, a repetition of what she’d said earlier. Shadowheart whines audibly and Auri pulls her forward, far enough down that her nipples brush against the fabric of Auri’s shirt. Auri gives her a kiss so gentle that Shadowheart wants to scream.

“Please.” Shadowheart doesn’t recognize her own voice. She’s never been the type to beg. “I need–”

Auri kisses her again, stealing away the vocalization of her desire, and when they part, she says, “I know what you need, but you have to be patient. The only one allowed to hurt you here is me, and I don’t want to hurt you like that. Understand?”

Shadowheart would let her do anything, but finally, blessedly, Auri rolls her hips. The movement is minimal but it sends pleasure to her every extremity, and Auri says, “You like that?”

Shadowheart nods; words are impossible. Astarion’s finally fully inside her. There are stars behind her eyes. The likelihood of her coming apart increases by the moment. Again, Auri fucks upward, and this time, Astarion meets her rhythm. When they thrust into her at the same time, Shadowheart thinks that this might just be the end of her. Auri kisses her a third time and Shadowheart pants into her mouth before Auri says, “Sit up for me. I want to watch him touch you.”

“I don’t know if I can–”

Auri cuts her off again. “You can hold out. I know you can. You can’t come for me yet.”

Shadowheart chews her lip so hard that the spot Astarion’s fang had cut open starts to bleed again as she forces herself back up onto her knees. He inhales sharply as blood again runs into her mouth, and if there was any control left in him, it disappears. One of his hands falls between her legs and the other grabs for her breast as his nose pushes into the flesh of her throat.

He can smell the blood. He doesn’t need to see it.

“You wanted me to watch you fuck her, Astarion,” Auri says, her own hands gripping Shadowheart’s thigh and hip respectively. “So make her come.”

She’s a toy, really, now, which is only fair considering how Auri had fucked her while more or less using Astarion as furniture. Astarion twists her nipple hard, and she’s so close. She strains for the orgasm desperately and Astarion’s teeth are on her neck–

And Auri says, “Stop.”

The sweat on Shadowheart’s brow grows cold as the one-word command ices her oncoming climax. Auri’s voice is stony. “You were going to bite her.”

This isn’t fair. Just one more moment would have been enough–

Astarion doesn’t deny what Auri accuses him of, and Shadowheart is caught in the middle both literally and figuratively.

When she says, “On your back,” to Astarion, he doesn’t hesitate. In fact, if Shadowheart didn’t know better, she might say that it was a ploy on his part. Shadowheart wants to whimper when Auri’s cock leaves her cunt, but when Astarion moves, he pulls her with him.

With minimal awkward adjusting, and agility that doesn’t quite make sense to Shadowheart, Astarion pulls her with him so that they’re both lying on the bed, her back flush with his chest.

And he’s fucking her, still. Shadowheart doesn’t know how much more her body can take. The sound of his hips meeting her ass grows louder, and that alone is sinful enough, but then Auri says, “Stop moving.”

Astarion’s hands squeeze the soft flesh of Shadowheart’s ass, moving her up and down the minutest fraction, but otherwise, he listens. It’s torture.

She needs to come. She has to. But her words are gone. Noises come out of her mouth that she doesn’t even recognize.

Auri’s on top of her, then, her cock brushing against Shadowheart’s clit. She strokes Shadowheart’s cheek with a single finger.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. And I know what you need.”

Auri sheathes herself in Shadowheart’s cunt in a single swift, nearly cruel motion, but Shadowheart would take it over and over again. She’d do anything for this feeling of fullness; any pain registers only as pleasure. With her every movement forward, Shadowheart moves not only on Auri’s cock but Astarion’s also. It doesn’t matter that he himself isn’t moving. Shadowheart isn’t the toy anymore. Each thrust fucks Shadowheart on Astarion and Auri’s cocks both.

Auri’s hips push against Shadowheart’s clit each time she moves forward, and she’s been so close for so long. It takes no time at all to fall off the cliff of her pleasure. Shadowheart reaches behind her, seeking purchase on anything to ground her. What she finds is Astarion’s hair, and as she rides out her orgasm, she feels him breathe in against the heat of her neck once more.

She can’t talk. All she can do is bask in the afterglow of the second orgasm Auri’s given her until Auri caresses her cheek once more. She tilts Shadowheart’s face side-to-side. Shadowheart can’t catch her breath. She draws in an insufficient gasp of air, and Auri says, “You can give me another.”

Shadowheart’s sure she misheard. “What?”

Auri grins. Shadowheart’s always thought her somewhat plain, but here, she shines, her cock sliding out from Shadowheart’s cunt. The sudden emptiness makes Shadowheart shiver, and when Auri’s on her knees, she holds out a hand to help Shadowheart rise to her own until Astarion’s cock leaves her as well. To Astarion, Auri says, “You can stay there.”

When Auri steps off the bed and turns her back, Astarion grins.

And Auri had thought he might be uncomfortable playing this game.

Auri unfastens the cock from her hips and lets it fall to the floor without fanfare. Shadowheart can’t tear her eyes away as Auri snaps, and she knows a prestidigitation spell when she sees one. The tendrils of Auri’s magic wrap around Astarion’s cock, and Auri flippantly says, “No offense, but I prefer him clean.”

“None taken,” Shadowheart manages.

“You can touch yourself while you ride his face if you want,” Auri says. “He does a good job, though. Trust me. You shouldn’t need to.” She speaks casually, as if the previous orgasm hadn’t fractured Shadowheart’s reality on a fundamental level. Auri continues, “I’ve called you beautiful a few times now, but you are especially beautiful when you come. You come apart like you were born for it.”

The fire inside her re-ignites. It’s simple for Auri to pull heat back between Shadowheart’s thighs as if it had never gone. She’s never had hesitation about Astarion’s fangs anyway, but even if she did, Shadowheart doubts that it would have mattered. Auri could say anything right now and Shadowheart would do it.

Astarion’s eager from the moment Shadowheart’s cunt meets his mouth. She sighs (even squeals a little; her clit’s still hypersensitive from everything that’s come before) and watches as Auri wraps a hand around Astarion’s cock. She strokes him only briefly before straddling his hips and sinking down onto him.

Auri sighs through her nose contentedly as she takes him. “There’s nothing in the Realms that feels as good as you do.”

There’s a rumble in Astarion’s throat that Shadowheart can feel as his tongue swipes against her dripping entrance. He licks her clean before his mouth turns its attention to her clit. There’s no foreplay needed; Shadowheart’s a mess. Three fingers slide into her with no warning and no resistance.

“Come here,” Auri says, and Shadowheart wants to watch, wants to see Astarion’s cock slide in and out of Auri’s cunt, but she can’t focus on anything except for the fact that Astarion has hurtling much too quickly toward a third climax. She leans forward because Auri asks her to, and the consequence is the angle of Astarion’s ministrations changing. When Auri takes Shadowheart’s bottom lip between her teeth, Astarion’s fingers curl against the perfect spot. His lips draw at her clit harder than they had before, and Shadowheart doesn’t know how it’s possible for her body to crave climax again.

“That’s it,” Auri croons. “Let me see you all fucked out one last time.”

What’s she supposed to do but come in Astarion’s mouth? If Shadowheart had neighbors they would hear it as the pleasure crashes down around her. Shadowheart grinds her cunt into Astarion’s mouth and he takes what she gives, fucking her until she’s satisfied, and when the convulsions stop, Auri’s holding Shadowheart’s face in her hands.

“Beautiful.”

And after everything, it’s this that makes Shadowheart blush most. Astarion’s tongue drags along her slit one last time as if her cum is something it’d be a shame to waste. She slides to the side much less gracefully than she’d intended, but neither Auri nor Astarion seem to mind.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Auri asks her even though she’s looking at Astarion.

Shadowheart doesn’t know how she finds the words, but she does. “What’s that?”

“He loves having his ears rubbed.”

Astarion exhales in anticipation, and Auri rolls her hips, tilting her head back as she does. Shadowheart repositions behind Astarion, crossing her legs and pulling his head into her lap. Her fingers barely even brush the tips of his ears before he shivers, and Auri’s voice is softer than it has been yet. “What did I say was mine?”

“My fangs and my cum,” he says, words strained. Shadowheart knows that tone. He’s close, and that’s more than fair; they’ve been teasing him this entire time.

And Auri’s not done. “You’re not even going to fight me on this? You’re not even going to argue and pretend to not remember what I said belonged to me?”

“Oh, darling, I’ve been good, haven’t I? And you’ve more than made your point, as I’m sure we’d all agree.”

Auri’s smile is wide and affectionate, no less in control but entirely the ray of sunshine that Shadowheart’s used to. When Shadowheart’s thumb and forefinger rub small circles into his ears, Astarion says, “Shit.”

Auri leans forward until her chest is flush with his. Shadowheart would feel like she was intruding if not for Astarion’s hand gripping her forearm so tight that she feels like it must be the only thing binding him to this planet. “Are you hungry?” Auri asks, voice low.

“Starving,” he hisses, and Auri pulls her hair over her shoulder to expose his claim. He stares at it with pupils dilated.

“Then feed while I fuck you,” she says, her hips rising and falling as punctuation. “And fill me with cum when you’re done.”

They’re lost in each other as Auri rides him with her own hand between them, but Shadowheart’s never forgotten. When Astarion’s fangs tear into Auri’s skin like he’s never fed before, his nails dig into Shadowheart’s arm, and her fingers tease his ears still. He thrusts into her, any of his remaining discipline lost, and Auri’s fingers lose rhythm on her clit at the same time. She comes with a gasp even as her blood drips down her neck onto his shoulder, and he follows barely a moment after. Astarion grips her to his chest with his other arm as she collapses on top of him.

Elf ears are more sensitive than even half-elf ears; Shadowheart’s quick to let them go in the aftermath, but to her surprise, Astarion doesn’t release her arm.

And, to be frank, Shadowheart’s not entirely sure what comes next.

Auri tilts her head up to look at Shadowheart from her place on Astarion’s chest.

“Why are you still up there?” Auri asks her. The performance has completely fallen away.

Shadowheart blinks at her and Astarion scoffs. “If you don’t come down here and cuddle, it’s not unlikely that Auri will start crying.”

Auri blushes. “That’s not– I would not–”

But Shadowheart acquiesces without a thought, her naked body slotting in next to Auri and Astarion like that’s where she was always meant to be. When she does, Auri glows, putting a hand to her cheek with earnest tenderness.

Shadowheart asks, “What happens now?”

Auri slides off of Astarion’s chest and faces her; Astarion presses himself tight to Auri’s back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I obviously–” Shadowheart swallows hard and sighs, rolling her eyes. “This is stupid. This just isn’t going to be weird when I wake up tomorrow, is it? What happens now?”

“Who cares?” Astarion pushes a curl that’s fallen into his eyes back up into his hairline.

Auri snorts, punching his upper arm lightly. “I care, but I don’t disagree with the sentiment that ‘who cares?’ is supposed to convey. If there’s anything to figure out, we can figure it out tomorrow. Tonight was its own reward.”

Auri kisses Shadowheart’s forehead. Astarion buries his nose in Auri’s hair and brushes hair that’s fallen into Shadowheart’s eyes behind her ear as he'd done for himself only moments before then closing his eyes.

Shadowheart settles in under the comforting heat of Auri’s arm and resolves that they will just have to come visit more often.

But, yes. They can figure it out tomorrow. And whether this ever happens again or not, tonight was more than enough.

Shadowheart sleeps. No dream could ever compare.

#shadowheart #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #shadowheart x tav x astarion #smut #bg3 smut

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 1 year

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I find it really interesting that Inej’s favourite part about her room at the Slat, despite it being “barely big enough to fit a cot”, is that she has her own window. I think this is important not only because all the windows at the Menagerie were barred, but also because the whole idea of a window is representative of the difference between her life in Ravka and her life in Kerch. Travelling through Ravka, she had no need or want of a window because she was part of and at one with the outdoor world, free to explore it and enjoy it as she saw fit, but in Ketterdam windows and rooftops are her way of travelling the city. They bring her a source of hope and connection to the life she lost whilst simultaneously being her method of completing jobs for the Dregs to slowly claw her back to that very life. So in a way, the window has become a physical manifestation of both a veil of separation between her and everything she’s ever loved or cared for, a literal sheet of glass between her and her world, and of a hope for salvation to return to that love and care.

Ahem, I mean… I like these books a normal amount, not at all obsessed…

#grishaverse #leigh bardugo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #inej ghafa #kanej #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #six of crows inej #amita suman #book analysis #books #analysis #shadow and bone #fantasy books

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larkspyrr · 8 months

Text

chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from <;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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