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eilidh-eternal · 5 months

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Touch Up

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | cw for dub con/non con themes and heavy implications of grooming |

There's an insatiable itch beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the fresh ink and plasma that seeps from punctured flesh, and everything to do with a smug bastard named Simon fucking Riley.

Five days earlier…

“How ya doin’ sweetheart?” He has no right to sound this way. No right to let honey and smoke mix in his throat and spill from his lips in dark, dulcet tones. You blame the buzzing in your head, ricocheting off of your skull with each searing stroke of the needle he wields.

“Fine,” you say in a whispery breath. The hum of the needle goes quiet. That’s okay. The trilling heart in your chest is doing a fine job of replacing it.

Pools of liquid amber, dark and rich like brandy, slide from the nearly finished linework to your face, half hidden in your hoodie, and flood your gaze with an intoxicating warmth. There’s no running from it, from the fire he’s started. The flames he fans and tends to with each murmuration of praise licks up your spine in searing tendrils, smothers the remnants of a fragmented rationale in a blanket of smoldering cinders.

A pierced brow glides up towards the fraying hem of his black knit cap as he straightens from his hunched over position. “I’ll ask one more time, an’ I expect an honest answer—d’ya need a break?” Amber petrifies under his scrutiny, as if you’re some antediluvian creature, suspended in the thrall of his gaze. Something pretty to perch on a shelf and marvel at.

Your eyes dart away, searching the patterns in the woodgrain of the cabinets for answers, divining particle board like a tarot spread. As if any of them would sound less pathetic than the truth.

His hand slides, branding weight upon your skin, away from your waist and you fight the whine clawing up your throat. Swallow it down with the rest of the bad ideas right behind it. Plastic wheels scuff across fading concrete floors and the frayed edges of distressed denim replaces wood. Black, like everything else he wears, down to the powdery gloves and surgical mask. Bet his boxers are black, too.

When your eyes dare to meet his again the flames licking up your spine splutter, send sparks dancing up your vertebrae in shivery, glittering plumes. “I’m okay. Could use some water,” you settle on. It’s a shaky truth, flimsy and liable to crumble, but a truth nonetheless. You’d rather suffer whatever consequence comes with lying to him than lay yourself bare.

As if you aren’t already half naked in front of the man. As if he hasn't been toying with the waistband of your thong the entire session.

Your admission seems to mollify him, but the black titanium bar curving through a dusting of blond twitches. Remains cocked as he rocks back, leans across the counter in a truly obscene display, long tee clinging to every dip and curve, and plucks your water bottle from your bag.

It looks silly and small in his hand, dented metal covered in a collage of overlapping stickers, no trace of the scratched black paint besides the exposed underside. The tendons in his forearms shift beneath fabric as he turns it over to study the sticker Gaz had given you, ‘141 collective’ printed in a gothic font. There’s a similar font inked across the sliver of skin peeking out at his wrist, black ink still richly pigmented even though it looks to be more than a few years old. Must not get a lot of sun.

“Open.” You blink, several times, and come to the hazy realization that while your eyes have been busy mapping every groove and plane, tracing the prominent veins on the back of the hand draped over his knee, he’s maneuvered the water bottle to your lips.

They part at the subtle pressure of the spout, and he tips it forward, pressing plastic between chapped lips that close around it to take a hesitant sip.

“Another,” he demands, and you try not to notice the way his focus settles on your throat, tracking each contraction of delicate muscle as you drink. “Good girl.”

You nearly choke.

And he pays it no mind. Gives no pause to the widening of your eyes, pupils flared to the limbus, or the palpable heat radiating from your skin. He merely sets the bottle back on the counter and folds his arms over the bulk of his chest.

“Just water?” he questions, and you start to nod in answer, but quickly remember your—or rather, his—rules.

“Just water,” you echo in confirmation, and it’s received with a critical grunt. Like he can see through the paper thin restraints you cling to, the only thing keeping your lips from speaking on behalf of those between your legs.

He shifts back to his tray of inks with a glint in his eye that makes you wonder if maybe you should have said something more. Feigned hunger or fatigue.

“Just this section here–” He taps at the remaining carbon stenciling over your hip. “–and we’ll move on to shading.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and a gloved thumb brushes over raw, freshly tattooed skin. Traces his work in a gesture akin to reverence, sweetened by the lingering sting left in its wake—and you fail to stifle the moan that’s been building in the back of your throat for several hours.

When he repeats the motion and receives an identical response, the mask stretches over his face, pulls taut over the prominent bridge of his nose, and he curls his fingers into your hip. His chest rumbles with muted laughter at the whine that punches out of you, thighs clenching around the pillow wedged between them.

“Gonna need ya a bit closer,” he croons, and gives you no warning before he hooks his fingers through the elastic pulled taut over your waist, giving it a sharp tug. “C’mon, on your tummy for me…atta girl.” He takes to arranging your limbs how he wants them, left leg practically in his lap to keep the skin from creasing, ass on full display.

You bury your face in the pillow and crook of your own arm, vehemently ignoring the way he grips your backside to work on the remaining outline, and the surge of wanton arousal warming your neck and cheeks.

Present…

Delicate, looping letters, woven seamlessly into the outline. Hardly noticeable if you aren’t looking for them.

They glare at you in the mirror, the memory of strong hands a phantom touch against the surrounding tender skin.

S.R.

Simon fucking Riley.

It’s not enough that he’s under your skin, he has to be inked on it too.

“Well, angel, I know you come often, but I didn’t expect to see—”

“—Where’s Simon?” You cut John off, in no mood for his dilatory remarks, and he cants a quizzical brow.

“He’s finishing up a consult right now, is there—”

“—I need to speak with him. Now,” you demand, trembling fingers curling into fists at your side.

You couldn’t care less what he’s doing presently. You’ll drag him off the studio floor by that stupid spiked bar in his damn brow. He’s going to—

“Hey, hunny bunny!” Kyle appears behind him, walking out of what you assume to be an office with a tablet in hand and his usual sunny disposition. Rhinestones and pointed canines catch in the studio lighting when he smiles and tucks his tablet under his arm, coming to stand beside John. His gaze dips to the healing skin of your thigh. “That the piece Si did?” It’s barely visible below the hemline of your skirt.

“Yeah,” you grit through your teeth, jaw tense with the effort to maintain a modicum of decorum. “It needs touching up in a few places.”

His eyes catch on something behind you, and you’re about to reiterate your demand, but you fall short when an all too familiar weight settles on your nape.

“‘S all this fussing about?” Simon questions, and you jerk away from his grasp.

Your first mistake.

“You—” you hiss and lift the hem of your skirt, “—need to fix this.”

He tilts his head to study the healing tattoo. “What about it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” You know he does because the smug bastard is smirking beneath his mask, fabric stretched tight over his jaw and eyes narrowed in amusement.

He motions towards the hallway, “Let’s have a look, then,” and doesn’t wait to see if you follow him. Knows that you’re on his heels as he leads you back to the same private room. You don’t sit on the chair, electing to stand beside it instead with your arms folded tight to your chest, and you scowl at where he leans against the counter, posture mirroring yours in a decidedly mocking manner. “What’s got ya all riled up sweetheart?”

Definitely mocking

“This isn’t the design I agreed to,” you huff indignantly.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You take a step closer, the toes of your sneakers nearly touching his beat up combat boots. “I never fucking agreed to have your name tattooed on me. I’m not some tramp for you to—”

“—‘S not my name,” he corrects, and you don’t know what heats your blood more; the fact that he has the gall to correct you or that he isn’t even trying to deny what he’s done. “Jus’ my initials.”

“Same fucking thing,” you seethe, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

Your second, and final, mistake.

Calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull, yanking you further into his space until you’re standing chest to chest. He holds you there by your wrist and the firm grasp he has on your jaw, cheeks pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Someone needs a reminder about manners,” he tuts, and you whine against the pressure on your jaw. “A reminder about her rules.” His hand drops from your face to settle on your shoulder and the scathing retort coiled on your tongue withers to ash amid disbelief when he pushes down against your shoulder, forcing you onto the stool beside the chair. “Stay,” he warns when you shift forward, already halfway onto your feet again, and the undercurrent of a growl is warning enough.

“What are the rules I gave you last time?” He leans back against the counter again, arms folded loosely over his chest, and his fingers tap rhythmically against his bicep, staring down at you expectantly.

You glare up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt on top of your thighs, and he cocks that stupid pierced brow.

This is ridiculous.

But if there’s any chance at getting him to erase the brand he’s inked into your skin…

“Give a verbal answer,” you bite out.

“And?”

“Tell you what I need.”

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stalks forward to press a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his when you don’t deign to look at him. Amid the infuriating rush of warmth to your core, you briefly consider what would happen if you were to rear back and bite him.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, and he hums low in his chest, clearly pleased with your answer.

“So tell me what you need.” His thumb sweeps over your chin, traces the contour of your bottom lip, and you press your legs further together.

All the anger, hot and swirling in your chest, mixes with the smoky whorls of his words until you can't distinguish between the two. Can’t untangle the intrepid need to rebel from the desire to yield in supplication to the enigmatic man towering over you.

“I- I want…” Your words get tangled up with it, coming out in a stuttering mess. “Fix it.”

“Fix what, sweetheart?” The way he stares into your eyes is nothing short of maddening. Fathomless pools of amber, beckoning you to bathe in their warmth, and like a moth to a flame you go willingly.

“Fix me,” you croak, and he shakes his head. “Please.”

“Don’t need to fix ya, sweetheart. You’re mine–” He crouches down before you and slides a roughened palm over your knee, up your thigh to the tender skin beneath your skirt. “–Says so, right here.” He traces each letter of his initials inked onto your skin. “And what’s mine is perfect. Just the way it is. Understand?”

No. But you nod anyway.

“Words,” he insists. “Need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you murmur, still sifting through the haze in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he croons, sickeningly sweet, and pets a hand over your hair, thumb tracing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “All soft and sweet for me, told ya we’d get ya there. Just need a little training, hm? Gonna let me train that pretty, empty head, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you respond absently, and his eyes flare with a molten, ravenous desire.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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pacentia · 8 months

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Title: Forever

Summary: After BG3 events, Astarion and reader feel ready for a child.

Pairing: established relationship fem!reader x Astarion

Tags: NSFW, rough sex, sweetness, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, bloodsucking, kissing, L-bombs

Word count: 1,704

Note: listen up folks. no idea if vampires thralls can make people pregnant. but in my world they can. Pls enjoy. i haven't finished the game, so this is my own fantasy after bg3 events:)). Drabble/fic/headcanon requests about our darling husband are welcome :))

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and eventually months into years, together with your darling Astarion. After the events of tadpoles, mindflayers and vampire masters, the time had come to settle down and live quietly, close to Baldur's gate city. Close enough for easy supply runs, yet far enough to enjoy the privacy of your very own house. Astarion was quick to realize he'd want no one else in his eternal life but you - and asked you - on one knee - to be his forever.

The wedding was held shortly after, with only a close circle of your friends present. Karlach shed a tear from happiness - knowing you two were destined to be together, while Halsin felt just… Bittersweet. Astarion wed a fine woman, although he was secretly convinced that an Druid like himself: alive, warm, and aging could take better care of your needs.

This was often also the subject of certain discussions that popped up in your marriage as you were reading in the garden, or drinking hot tea beside the hearthfire. Worries that washed over him about the coldness of his touch - or the eventual loss he would have to endure somewhere in the far future, when you would eventually lose the battle against time. You understood where his worries came from, but you were always there to comfort your darling husband. You possessed no interest in anyone's touch but his and you pledged to him that you'd always be present in his undead heart.

Of course, the latter made you interested in if his vampirism could be cured or, if you could transform into one. Yet, both choices were frustratingly impossible. Curing him would just mean ending him, heaven's forbid. Transforming yourself would mean serving another vampire lord, a fate that Astarion would never want you to experience.

Though tonight - nothing of that sort mattered and you found yourself intertwined in one another, the soft duvet covering your bare bodies. Your fingers played with his light-grey curls, while his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, ready for bed.

"Say, love," Astarion suddenly spoke up, "I heard you took care of a lost little girl in the city today."

Right. A young Tiefling girl had lost her mother inbetween the packed crowds of the city, and the girl came to you for help. How exactly did Astarion know that?

"Karlach told me of course." The vampire stated as a matter of fact. "She saw you and passed by this noon for tea." You nodded and explained the situation - how you held the little girl's hand right until you found her mother together. The woman thanked you over and over again.

A small silence fell between you two, until the man continued his stream of thoughts, "Karlach then asked me if we'd ever have children and I said that I didn't know what you would think of it and I -" Astarion's gaze avoided yours until he remembered he was probably rambling again, "Sorry love, I just wanted to know if you and I could have that sort of future together?"

Your heart fluttered at the thought of Astarion as a father. He'd definitely spoil his little ones and love them unconditionally.

"A little one to raise in our house." The pale man smiled, lost in his thoughts. "We already have a spare room that we could decorate for them."

Of course those thoughts had crossed your mind. It would be a new chapter in both of your lives, and you felt ready to take it on together with him. Behind his cheeky and often sarcastic banter, there was a sweet and caring man - only revealed to the closest ones he trusted.

"You know they'll be incredibly mischievous and stubborn, right?" You smirked up at him, to which the vampire quickly retaliated, "Darling, you wound me. Besides, that's why you're there to teach them kindness." Astarion sing-songed, nuzzling into your hair.

No hesitation was present in your words, '"Of course, Astarion. I want this with you." You smiled sweetly, gently guiding his cold digits over your belly, making your vampire husband rub it with such fondness.

Something within him stirred, yet another level of deeper protectiveness that he would soon feel over you. Any other man that would come too close to you, would feel his deadly fangs buried into their jugular. Rip them to shreds. Kill them in cold blood. In fact, it made him involuntarily bare his fangs to you, accompanied by a low growl reverberating in his chest.

You grinned at his primal reaction, and whispered as you caressed his chin, "Dear Sir, you know you can't drink anything from me when you've put your little one in me, right?"

He was taken by a frenzy, and rolled his heavy body over yours - his nose buried into your neck, inhaling the delicious smell of your perfect blood. His cock hardened at the thought of drinking from you, his icy tongue lapping over the countless bite marks that he'd decorated your neck with.

"I know, sweet love. Sadly, I'll have to return to …inferior blood." An adorable pout covered his beautiful features - which made your heart flutter.

"You should get to work then, my love." You whispered in his pointy ear, pressing small kisses along his cheekbone, and you wrapped your legs around his strong back. The vampire chuckled at your words, "Oh, darling." He groaned, elated to see you so eager to get bred by him. His hardness teased over your wet and warm folds, making himself slick before he'd slide home. His arms snaked under yours, to completely wrap himself around you protectively, burying his face into your neck. The intoxicating smell of your blood so close to his lips, made him lose control over his pace and bucked his strong core into yours, drenched cock sliding deep in your sex.

"Fuck, Astarion…" You gasped in pleasure, his large cock burying itself deep deep deep within your folds. The vampire watched your features contort into pure bliss, and bit his lips in return - until he was nestled as deep as possible.

"This is what you want, isn't it, my darling?" Astarion whispered, while you clawed at his back - sweet agony from his pressure on your cervix. His way with words was too much to bear. Icy lips found your ear again, dripping with sin, "Completely inside your warm, wet, delicious cunt."

You could only whimper Astarion and nod, your fingers buried in his soft curls, as his hips started to gently, slowly thrust inside you. His cock felt so perfect. Big, firm, as if he was carved just for you.

"Fuck, darling," Your husband growled, losing himself deep inside you, speeding up his pace, shifting his position so that he could hold onto your hips for leverage. His red eyes feasted on your body, the most beautiful creature he'd ever set his gaze on. He could hear your heart beating faster. Blood pumping through your veins. Cheeks flushed red. He was salivating for you.

"Please, Astarion…" You cried out in delicious agony, needy for him to grab and fuck you harder. Impregnate you. Show Faerûn that you completely belong to him.

"What is it, my love?" He growled with bared teeth, sounds of wet, sloppy thrusts filling the bedroom.

"Bite me once more." You begged, holding onto his strong shoulders, "Just one last time, please."

Yes. One more time he could have you. His sanguine hunger kicked in, and he couldn't restrain himself anymore, "Oh my, darling…" He moaned In relief, his thrusts never faltering, thanking you over and over again for your gift - until he set his fangs in your neck.

One last time that sharp, ice-cold feeling washed over your senses - unable to move or do anything. Delicious pain mixed with heavenly pleasure, both of your orgasms were nearing. No combination more delicious for your husband - your fresh blood spilling from his lips and your cunt wrapped tightly around him. Pleasure welled up inside of your belly, enduring your vampire's violent kiss - until you reached your peak while he drank from your neck.

His digits dug into the sheets, pupils dilated as he released from your neck in time, overcome with adrenaline and power.

"That's it, my darling…"

His thrusts became harder, faster - his bloody lips finding yours, tongue invading your mouth. You were absolutely spent already, having lost nearly two pints of your blood again - so you held onto him for dear life. The metallic taste of your blood made you nearly gag if he wasn't lapping it up off your lips like a hungered animal.

"Astarion, fuck… Make me fucking pregnant." You cried desperately against his lips, his big cock bumping against your cervix with each thrust. And like always, he delivered your plea - and with a deep and primal groan he reached his peak. "Fuck, oh - Fuck - darling!" He growled with bloody fangs, his crimson eyes rolling in the back of his head, jets of his release splattering right against your cervix. Filled up to the brim.

Sated with blood and pleasure, he collapsed on top of you, holding you dearly in the afterglow of your pleasure. Sweaty, bloody bodies pressed against each other. His face buried against the side of your neck, lapping remnants of your blood one last time.

"Can't get enough of it, can't you, sweet?" You grinned.

"Never, my love." He smiled against your flesh as his cold hand gently caressed your lower belly - hoping that his love would nestle itself deep inside of you tonight.

"I love you, Astarion."

"And I love you, my darling. Forever."

#astarion x you #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction

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yuesya · 22 days

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COME TO ME, [ ]!

The caged bird jolts from its chained perch, eyes flying open at the call from the Master. A summons. Fear and nervousness flutter together in an unsettling swirl inside the pit of its stomach; the master sounds angry, furious, and that’s not a good sign.

Then, Anemo energy crackles up around the bird-demon of its own volition; the Master who owns it has called for it, and so it must answer.

… Whether it wishes to, or not. For the Master holds its name, and so the body obeys swiftly, even when the mind hesitates. Even when the mind screams and refuses–

The Master’s orders are absolute.

I want to die.

Anemo energy whips around his bruised, bleeding body. Then the entire world turns on its head and shifts, and the bird is no longer inside its cage, nestled deep within the caverns of a mountain where light does not reach. Instead–

Light. The sun is blinding, and the surrounding wind howls like an enraged storm.

(Blood lingers in the air, so thick that the bird can almost taste it upon its tongue.)

Battle-honed instinct immediately draws a spear into its hands, blocking the swing of a sword before it can even take stock of its surroundings. But the force behind the sword is unexpectedly strong, and the bird finds itself thrown to the side, violently flung away–

I want to die.

TO ME, [ ], YOU USELESS WRETCH.

The bird gasps, pain exploding across its abdomen as it’s forcibly summoned in front of the Master to block the blade with its body. For the first time, the bird is able to take a proper look at its attacker –the Master’s enemy– and they’re–

Wearing the shape of an adolescent girl, with long white hair and blue eyes that shine with an unearthly light–

A god.

There’s no mistake. Their essence is the same as its master’s. That’s a god.

And clearly, a powerful one.

The girl-god’s blade is dripping with blood –and the bird finally realizes the reason for it. Around them, the bodies of the Master’s other thralls lie broken and bleeding; some of them dead, others on the verge of death. Even the Master –the Master is bleeding, clutching at the bloody stump of a severed arm that drips black ichor onto the ground.

The bird stares at the young god. Blue eyes regard it dispassionately in return.

I want to die.

“You know what to do, my little bird,” the Master snarls from behind it. “Stall it using every means at your disposal. Do not allow her to harm me.”

I want to die.

[ ], defend me.

The bird jolts, and darts forward immediately at its master’s command. A new spear materializes beneath its hands, and it stabs forward. The weapon lances through the air, Anemo energy rippling around it in a wild vortex–

But the winds dissipate before they can reach the young, nameless god. Who simply raises her blade again and easily cuts through the god-killing metal of the very spear that the bird holds. Clang, clang. The broken halves of the spear do not last long beneath the sharpness of the nameless god’s sword, and the bird finds itself staring down the pointed end of that crimson blade.

I want to die.

[ ], fight with all your strength.

The bird screams. Anemo energy surges up around it, but it’s not the pain of uncontrollable winds slicing into its flesh that causes it to scream, but instead the sensation of a clawed hand digging in and crushing its soul, forcing it to obey fight kill devour–

The bird flies forward, slamming into the nameless god with sharp talons, losing grip on its human shape. Bloodied, mangled wings beat behind it, feathers as sharp as knives.

It’s no use. The bird is unable to leave so much as even a single scratch on the nameless god, whose expression does not once change towards it.

… Please let me die.

“It is finished!” The Master proclaims, triumph threaded through their words. No, no, no! “Powerful though you might be, you are but a youngling, unknowing of arcane magics beyond your comprehension. Upon mine authority, the Mistress of Dreams hereby commands you: Henceforth, you shall faithfully obey your Lord and devotedly serve the Master of your soul, Decarabian!”

#Writing #zenith of stars au #guili au #au of an au #this is an au of the mondstadt au #in which balor wanders into liyue instead of staying in mondstadt region #has a not so friendly encounter with a local god #then again #it's debatable whether balor herself is very friendly either #xiao pov #at a loose estimate there are two other parts to this scene #we'll see if i ever get around to them haha

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bluefootedbooby · 2 days

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you talked about marriage, now could you please write about the honeymoon 😏(wedding night) with Jinx!!🥺

cw: smut

Honey moon

Your head was spinning after that party! Having danced for the first time with your bride and watching her waltz from the sidelines with your now father in law… truly wonderful. The night couldn’t get better, oh wait… it could! Cause now Jinx had you in her arms! Bridal style cause you’re the bride too after all! Stealing you away after the party finished to your large hotel room that was now completely decorated in velvet and rose petal. She didn’t give you much time to compliment the decorum as she had you plopped onto the bed just admiring you.

“Oh, toots… My beautiful wife! Tsk, you don’t know what is coming for you! What is cumming for you~”

She snickered at her joke, taking a spin watching her dress twirl before getting wrapped around itself. She wasn’t being delicate at all! But it was too beautiful of a dress to rip up! So you sat up quickly and helped her take it off. Your eyes widened seeing a white lingerie set under her.

“Pfft, you had this on the whole damn wedding?”

What a hypocrite you are! Cause under yours was a similar lingerie in white. She ogled at you practically frothing at the mouth to taste you. “Oh boy, trinket… Fuck!” She hadn’t more words, quickly lunging onto the bed tackling you clashing your mouth to hers and savoring your sweet lips she hasn’t kissed in hours! Her thighs straddling your leg grinding on it so needy the lacy fabric chafing against her scratchy hairs. You giggled seeing just how worked up she was. Your fingers intertwined, the metal bands around your fingers clinking together with it. She paused lifting your hand to kiss the shiny metal with a smile. “Get these damn clothes off.” Yes ma’am! You took no time to waste taking them off in a flash! She already had your right leg pushed up so she could interwove herself between them pressing her cunny right against yours, already sopping wet. Your fingers gripped the sheet looking up at your wife, a grin on her face and bottom lip tucked under her teeth. Those eyes, those beautiful magenta eyes staring at you so fiery and lustful yet behind them you knew was nothing but love and adoration.

Her humping motion continued sliding back and forth along the slip and slide that was your pussy. Low and hungry moans escaping her as she hugged your leg. Your head fell back with a loud moan your back raising off the bed with a jolt as Jinx’s eyes widened watching her most favorite sight spill from you. A wet clear liquid squirting out those pretty folds of yours, watching your cunt throb so needy for something inside it. Oh she’s sure gonna give it… She patted your glistening cunt before motioning you to spin around. Like a thrall you did. Huffs and puffs falling from your lips. You could hear the opening of a drawer and what sounded like Jinx putting something on. But anytime you tried to look behind you she would tell you not to. So you waited, your ass held ripe in the air just for her to see until you felt it. Goodness… was it good.

“Got this just for tonight! Consider it our wedding gift~ New outta the package and 8 inches!”

“E-Eight inches?!” You stuttered

“Awww! Can my trinket not handle that? Course ya can! You gotta take it all f’me~”

A little whine left your throat feeling the silicone tip press to your needy hole. Jinx snickered watching it drool as if it had a mind of its own! Jinx eased herself in. It wasn’t too hard though, you were soaked! Your fingers grasped and pulled the bedding, chest pressed to the sheets, your head went to lower but your hair was pulled. “Nuh, uh! You ain’t hiding that face! Gonna hear all those pretty little noises my beautiful bride makes!” No warning, she thrusted into you at least four inches! A gasp and moan escaping you feeling the pain surge your core before it turned into pleasure as she gave fast and vigorous thrusts into you as hard as you could handle until you could handle more. Your face red and trying to hide but she would not let it. Lewd needy moans dripping out your mouth, drool frothing at the corner of your lips drizzling down your cheek! Goodness Jinx was going mad! So when your pussy loosened more she made quick moves to thrust as deep as she could wanting to feel your skin against hers

Five, Six, Seven, Eight! All eight inches of that pleasurable silicone nuzzled deep inside of your throbbing hole. Jinx paused a moment letting your anatomy shift to actually bear it as well as to just enjoy feeling her chest pressed to your back and arm wrapping around your waist. She pulled out only an inch before thrusting against, slapping noises filling the room mixed with your moans and hers in turn, her lengthy fingers playing with your nipple while the other massaged your delicate clit. You weren’t gonna be able to take this much longer. A puddle of your slickness already formed under you from how good you felt. Jinx kissed your neck, the hand that was at your breast now moving to your neck to hold it and squeeze gently.

“You’re mine now, lawfully, spiritually, in every way possible you’re mine. Say it.”

A whimper spilled out of you. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Fuck— I’m yours! I’m yours Jinx!”

Delicate tears prickled in your eyes rushing down as your core tightened around her synthetic cock squeeze halting the fast thrusting into hard slow and deep thrusts until a waterfall squirted from you and your tightness loosened. She pulled out looking down at the white frothy ring that formed around her dildo. She spread those pretty cheeks and folds watching a white thick fluid ooze out gently. She gave a sloppy kiss to your sensitive cunt licking you clean before carefully flipping you over.

“You did so good, my beautiful beautiful bride.”

“Gosh… Powder I love you.”

Her face froze a moment, then a warm smile as her forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you too:”

💜💜💜

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #jinx x reader #jinx x fem reader #jinxarcane #jinx x y/n #jinx x you

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steddiejudas · 6 months

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STWG Daily Prompt 1/4/24

Two prompts today *insert jq heart emote here*: Give in, Chill

tags: teasing, masturbating (sort of, it's interrupted lmao)

“Come on already! Give in!”

Steve shoves his shoulder against the door again, one hand on the knob as he furiously rattles it. Maybe if he just twists hard enough it’ll break? Trailer door knobs can’t be that sturdy, right?

He can hear Eddie moaning and grunting on the other side, refusing to open the door, and Steve will be damned if he lets Eddie get another infection because he’s too big of a brat to let Steve help when he’s in pain.

“Munson, I swear to god, if you don’t open this door I will call Nancy and have her come shoot it down!”

Still no answer comes. Steve is starting to panic. What if he popped a stitch again? What if he’s in so much pain he can’t get out of bed? What if he’s under Vecna’s thrall in there? Fighting for his life all alone and Steve could have saved him if he just tried harder to get in.

Muffled only slightly by thin walls, Steve hears something that has him shoving into the door again with renewed vigor.

“Oh fuck, Steve!”

“Okay, just hold on, Eds. I’m coming.”

He throws his shoulder into the door twice more before the wood of the frame splinters with a loud CRACK and he’s in.

Eddie yelps, his head whipping up to the broken down door as Steve rushes in to check him over. He’s wearing headphones and his face is red and sweaty, his breathing heavy like he’s just been broken out of a trance.

“Oh my god, Eddie, are you okay? Did he get to you?” Steve frantically runs his hands over Eddie’s face, checking his temperature for signs of infection, checks his eyes and nose, even his ears for any blood.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie’s eyes are wide as dinner plates, staring back at Steve like he’s a mirage. “Did I make you? Are you real?”

“Eddie– of course I’m real. You sounded hurt and… and you screamed my name. You couldn’t hear me?”

“I– oh. Oh god. You uh, really got tunnel vision, don’t you?”

“I guess? Why–” and Steve finally takes in the scene in front of him. Eddie’s not hurt. He’s far from fucking hurt.

What he is, is naked. And very, very hard.

“I– you… oh.”

“Yeah...”

“Wait, you masturbate with headphones on?” Steve teases, finding levity now that he’s confirmed with his own eyes that Eddie is okay.

“Oh my god. Get out!”

“What were you listening to?”

“Steve.”

“Let me listen.”

“Jesus christ, OUT!” Eddie throws a pillow at Steve’s face, groaning in mortification.

“What does it matter? I can’t exactly close the door behind me.” He chooses mercy though, making his way to the door as he speaks.

“You’re fixing that!” Eddie hollers after him.

“Yeah, yeah, chill. I’ll get to it when you’re finished up here.” he says. He stops to lean against the broken frame. “Oh, and just yell if you, you know, need me again.”

Steve leaves the room with a wink. And if he relishes in Eddie’s stunned expression, cheeks burning bright red, while he waits to see exactly where this is going to go, well that’s his business.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #18+ minors dni #stwgdailyprompt

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geekgirles · 2 months

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Aurora's Claim: a Chapter 3 Analysis

Okay, so I read the chapter and, as expected, I'm fuming. However, it does give me the perfect chance to mention how, no matter what the Osamodas said, it still doesn't contradict my thoughts on Armand and Aurora's relationship and her lack of agency outside her father's thrall. Thoughts I discussed in length here.

On the contrary, I'd say it actually proves my suspicions right. So let's dive in, shall we? (Spoilers for the chapter under the cut).

First of all, I still don't trust a word that leaves Aurora's mouth, so I refuse to believe Armand knew about the pregnancy and told her to flee until we get more tangible evidence. After all, what good would it have done? If the Sadida and Eliatrope fell, the rest of the world would follow soon. And even if he did, I maintain that he didn't want her to rule his kingdom alone, because he still told Amalia it was up to her to take up the mantle.

(I finally got to take that screenshot)

But see? Not once did Armand mention Aurora or tell Amalia to please help her rule or anything like that. He didn't even take advantage of those precious few seconds he had left to let his sister in on such major news, to tell her she was gonna be an aunt. Nothing. He instead makes it pretty clear his sister is the Sadidas' next queen, not his wife. Which I'm convinced is because he knew all along his in-laws couldn't be trusted.

See, not even after these frames did Armand mention Aurora's supposed state or what it would mean for the kingdom. Not even then did he think she should ascend to the throne if he wasn't there by her side. Armand never wanted Aurora to rule on her own, child or no child.

Again, because he most likely suspected what the Osamodas would try as soon as they got the chance. Their people might have been joined by marriage, but they were never allies.

Which is something that is immediately proven as soon as Aurora reveals she's pregnant. Her family has no intention of honouring Sadida traditions. They don't even mention the very real possibility that the child might end up being an Osamodas and, therefore, unfit to rule the tree people inhabiting the World of Twelve, in which case I'd say her claim on the throne would be void.

No, as soon as they arrive and drop the bomb, Aurora makes it clear she has no intention of allowing Amalia anywhere near power. Just like she makes it clear she is nothing but her father's pawn, seeing as in no point in time she intends to part from him, even if she were to ascend to the throne.

And the Osamodas intentions of controlling Sadida politics become crytal clear from that point forward. Because Aurora never tries to include Amalia in any of this, despite her being the last Sheran Sharm and, thefore, having received training on how to rule (as seen in season 2 when she was busy with her duties and kept sending Yugo and Ad to help) or sharing the strongest connection to the Tree of Life. You know, the very same thing Aurora and her child would be in charge of guarding with their lives should she become queen? With that in mind, it would only make sense to keep Amalia close in order to help her rule.

But what does Aurora do instead?

She insists her father will help her until the baby is born, and from that point onwards, he will still be around to raise the kid. In other words, that child has been doomed to become the Osamodas King's puppet even before they're even born! They intend to raise the next Sadida ruler to have their people's best interests in mind, not the Sadidas'.

And where does Amalia fit in all this?

She doesn't, because Aurora's very last line about how Amalia should do what she does best and travel the world could not be any more of an abvious way to tell her she doesn't want her anywhere near the kingdom, where she could get in the way of her family's scheming.

Before I finish this rant, I feel morally obligated to point out the sheer disrespect everyone seems to feel for Amalia. Yes, she's always been very free-spirited and spent long periods of time away, but if it weren't for her, her people and the World of Twelve would have died three times over (not counting the Nécromes attack because that was during the only time she remained in her kingdom).

Amalia's adventures have allowed her to grow and mature in ways no other ruler has had to go through. It's thanks to her and her friends that her kingdom and the rest of the world are still standing. And no one knows of the sacrifices required to save the world like she does.

She couldn't be there when her father died because she was saving the world from Oropo, for fuck's sake!

But sure, the Osamodas can keep calling her selfish and spoiled. After all, it takes one to know one. Because let's not forget how Aurora being pregnant or not is still no excuse for her father not sending help, meaning they're still very much a bunch of cowards and traitors insteads of the martyrs they're trying to present themselves as.

Literally the only way I can ever see myself coming to like Aurora is if she actually matured and developed beyond being her father's pawn and turned against him, realising Amalia is indeed the rightful ruler.

Until then, I'm going to be cheering for Amalia to wipe the floor with her.

@cocogum @vinillain @onyichii I hope you don't mind another analysis on the same topic.

#wakfu #wakfu spoilers #wakfu analysis #wakfu season 4 #wakfu webtoon #wakfu la grande vague #wakfu the great wave #amalia sheran sharm #armand sheran sharm #aurora #osamodas king #osamodas #sadida #ankama #krozmos #dofus

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ubbesbabymama · 1 year

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We have a problem.

↳ Pairing. Ivar the Boneless.

↳ Summary. In where Ivar despises how much he admires you.

↳ Word count. 1.9K.

↳ Warnings. Mention of violence(? I mean, the show is violent, heated moment but not smut.

↳ Note. You could say it’s kind of an enemies to lovers, but a bad one so sorry for that.

For the love of the gods, he despises you. You make him use his manners even when he doesn’t feel like it, you make him say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as if he’s not your king, and you even give him the same look his brothers uses to give him when he gave an idea and they didn’t even think about it. He definitely hates you.

But he’s not going to attempt to harm you, oh he will never.

“Get ready, we’re going to study the battlefield,” He says when his army and you are finished making camp in England.

He grunts when you ignore him, instead holding your cup to a thrall so she can fill it with some ale.

“Please,” He murmurs.

“Great, let’s go my king.” You chant, standing up and starting to walk to one of the horses, with some men following you. He rolls his eyes.

“I hate when you do that,” He says when you both are already on the way to the field where the fight is gonna take place.

“You may be my king but I’m not a slave, you treat me like an equal even if we are not in your eyes.” You say.

You are his strongest warrior, his right hand if we are being honest, with the hate and everything. He’s certain that you’re a far better tactician than he is and that same methodical thinking that he has is what makes you the second most dangerous person in his kingdom, after him. You never show your full potential but your smug attitude towards him is enough to know that you are what you talk, and for that he hates you. Because he admires you so much that he can’t help but to put you in the same position he has his father.

“Oh, a wood I see,” You murmur with a smirk.

“It will be difficult to fight here,” He says.

“Say who?” You ask and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Look around, my king.”

And he does, he looks around trying to see whatever the fuck you’re seeing but he can’t think of a decent strategy that involves these enormous trees.

“You have lost your mind, we definitely can’t fight here.” He shrugs and you sigh.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Watch your mouth.” He snaps, his breathing already increasing at the anger starting to bubble inside of him.

“I said, don’t be stupid,” You repeat slowly, making sure that you pronounce every word and he swears that if it wasn’t because of how much he needs your skills you would be dead right there and then. “This time we brought more archers than we usually do.”

You get off your horse and start walking to a tree that it’s easy to climb. Ivar looks at you with curiosity.

“They will expect us to fight them there,” You point to where the land doesn’t have trees. “For that’s the way we normally fight, but we can give them a welcome before the real fight. Lower their number as much as we can.”

“With archers.” He hums and you nod, taking your own arch and arrow and aiming at him.

“With archers.” You murmur and he smiles when you shoot, hitting a deer that was several meters away from him. “That will definitely be a good way of starting the fight.”

“Starting? You just want to start the fight here?” He asks, watching you walk to him after climbing off the tree.

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes and he sighs for the nth time. “We will have men where is clear and men hiding along the path from where they are gonna come from. We will force them to fight here, if they try to run back they will face our men, and if they try to run straight…”

“They will face our men.” Ivar murmurs, smirking.

He doesn’t see you again till the next day when is the time to fight, he made sure everybody was aware of the plan and made sure to position you by his side, to keep an eye on you he says.

“You know I can defend myself right?” You tell him when you’re on positions.

“And?”

“You always put me by your side when we are fighting,” You say and he ignores that, looking straight to where the enemy is supposed to get intercepted by the archers. “If you want to protect me so much just say it.”

“Who says I want to protect you?” He snarls with feigned disgust. “I have to, for I remind you that you’re my second in command.”

“Are you sure, my king?” You chuckle and he looks at you. “Are you sure that’s all I am?”

He hates you. Because you know that all his hate is a fucking acting to hide his true feelings, because you know he dies to have you and you use that to your advantage to get under his skin.

“And if you’re more so what?” He snaps.

“Then go to my tent if I make it out alive.” You laugh, and just in time some of the enemies come from out of the wood.

And just like you said, it was a small number, the others were probably dead or fighting with the other group of warriors on the other side.

“Let’s do this, my king.” You say excited, and he smiles. You adore to fight.

You fight without a care in the world, laughing, smiling and enjoying the slaughtering you were making, with him not too far away watching your back by throwing his axe and making a slaughtering of his own.

His army win, as he imagined, and he can’t be more proud of his army, and you.

Late at night he finds himself crawling to your tent, finding you taking a bandage off your thigh, showing a kind of deep wound.

“I didn’t see that earlier, when did you get it?” He asks, not waiting for you to give him permission to enter and doing it anyways, he sits in front of you.

“I didn’t say you can come in.”

“When. Did. You. Get. It.” He grunts. He can’t believe you got hurt when he was supposed to be protecting you without your knowledge.

“It was when we were making sure they were all dead, one used his last breath to try to do some damage and he cut me. It’s not as deep as it seems, it’s just that it opened when I was moving around.” You explain.

He crawls a little more till he’s sitting sideways in front of your open legs. It’s just now that he realizes that you’re just wearing an undergarment, a really thin one.

With shaky hands he takes the bowl with a cloth that you have on the floor and just when he’s gonna start cleaning the open wound he gets distracted with the amount of skin on display, his stare going up so slowly he’s sure you notice. And you do.

“You came into my tent to see my chest, my king?” You say in a mocking tone and he looks to the cloth in his hand.

He stays like that till he feels your hand on his chin, making him look up. You shrug.

“At least clean my wound first and the you’ll have all time in the world to stare,” He abruptly moves his face from your grip and you laugh.

But he puts the bowl on the floor and climbs onto your bed, sitting by your side and forcing himself to show confidence when he takes your leg and put it on his thigh, you take the bowl for him, not giving attention to the fact that the little dress scrunched up with your new position.

Slowly, with a patience he doesn’t have he starts to clean your wound, grimacing like he’s the one in pain when he feels you sucking a breath. Then, he takes the clean bandage and wrap it nicely around the wound and stay there, with his hands on your knee and thigh. He looks at you.

“You gave me permission to come in.” He murmur and you frown.

“I didn’t.”

“Before you jumped on killing the saxons, you did,” You raise your eyebrows remembering. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have come.”

“Right.”

You stay in a confused silence, confused because you seem to be in peace while he’s nervous and fidgeting with the closeness.

“What’s wrong, are you injured too?” You ask.

“We have a problem.”

“Uh? Something’s wrong?” You sit straight and just when you are going to put the leg down he stops you.

“I want to lay with you.” You suck a breath, just because you didn’t really believe he would give the first step. “For more than one time.”

“What does that mean?” He looks at you like he does everyday, wanting to shake your pettiness.

“It means that I want to be your man, and have you for myself everyday, not just for one night. I want to make you my queen, that’s what it means.” He says everything in one breath and this is the first time that he actually leaves you speechless. “I want you to just… go to bed with me.”

You stay silent, watching his hands and not looking up not even when he squeezes your thigh. He starts to fidget again.

“And where’s the problem in everything you just said?” You murmur.

“Uh?”

“You said we have a problem, where is it?” You ask him and he rolls his eyes.

“The problem is that a cripple wants you, the most powerful shieldmaiden in my whole army,” He grunts. “A man that can’t fucking satisfy—,”

“There you go being stupid again,” You snort softly, while simultaneously moving till you are straddling him and letting him rest his back on your bed, you lean till both of your chests are touching. “Let me remind you that I been knowing you for a long time and I know firsthand that it can work.”

“That’s not true.” He whispers, grabbing your hips.

“I have seen you spy on me when we are raiding and I have to bathe on rivers and trust me,” He looks behind you, not wanting to look you in the eyes. “I could see that it works.”

He grips your hips again and just when he is about to say something foul out of embarrassment you crash your lips with his and right away he moans, his left hand flying to grab the back of your neck to keep you in place, wanting to dominate you but the way you roll your hips distract him.

“Fuck…” He whispers when you bite his lower lip, he softly slaps your ass and you moan in his mouth.

“Again, please,” You whisper and he does just that, smacking your ass again while attentively watching your expression, he does it again. “Fuck, my king.”

He gives you one hard smack that has you gasping, you look at him and he’s dead serious.

“My name.”

“Ivar.”

“Exactly.” You sigh and lean to give him a sweet kiss. “That’s the name that should be leaving your lips.”

“We have another problem.” You murmur right into his mouth.

“What is it?” He whispers, entertained with your ass, caressing it.

“I have to put up with you from now on.”

He grunts.

#vikings imagine #vikings #ivar fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings ivar #ivar vikings #alex hogh imagine

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oliversrarebooks · 3 months

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 43: Katherine's Advice

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: conditioning, discussion of abuse, panic attacks

Oliver put the finishing touches on a set of egg-salad sandwiches, neat triangles with the crust removed, and set them on a platter along with an assortment of tea cookies from a local bakery. Truthfully, he didn't know the first thing about entertaining -- with no friends or family and a tiny bookshop apartment, it wasn't anything he'd ever had to do. Alexander had some helpful suggestions for things he'd seen other thralls do, and had procured the supplies Oliver would need for a light midnight lunch (or whatever one might call it.)

In fact, Alexander had been hovering around Oliver a great deal since their fraught conversation a couple of nights before. He'd bought a bounty of foods he supposed Oliver might like, and seemed to be popping up around every corner of the library to show Oliver interesting books. It was as though his master thought he needed to win his favor all over again -- despite the fact that Oliver was still very much enthralled, his thoughts often going hazy and filling with imagined echoes of siren song.

Oliver didn't really need the attention, but he did appreciate the advice on entertaining. Embarrassing as it was, Oliver really did want to impress his guests. So much had happened over the past few weeks, his entire life and conception of the world turned on its end. The only people who might really understand were vampires' thralls. Miriam hadn't seemed quite lucid enough for a true conversation, but Alexander had told him that Miss Ruth's thrall, Charlie, was quite intelligent and together.

It'd be nice to talk to someone else who had gone through... this. That was all.

He had just finished up in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and his master rushed to greet the guests. "Hello hello!" sang a voice that Oliver would never forget: Miss Lily. She brought both of her hands to her face in a dramatic mock gasp. "Lex? No, it can't be. You don't look like you just clawed your way out of a grave. Who are you, and what have you done with Lex?"

"Mm. Nice to see you too."

"And look at you!" Miss Lily ruffled Oliver's hair. "You look like you're adjusting quite well! Are you the one responsible for Lex's shocking good health?"

Oliver blushed, not certain how to respond to the praise. She seemed different from how she had been in the auction house, more relaxed, but something about her voice and mannerisms still made Oliver feel a bit dazed and eager to please. "I'm just glad I was able to help him, sir."

"Of course you did. I just knew a thrall like you could do him a world of good. Speaking of which..." She pulled her thrall Miriam through the front door, and she looked at Oliver with her usual clouded expression. "Miriam, you remember Oliver, don't you? Lord Alexander's new thrall?"

She looked confused for a moment before her face lit up a bit in recognition. "Oh, yes! From when we were staying at the auction house. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too." Miriam's uncertain mental state made him a bit uneasy. If Lily and Alexander were anything alike, would he end up similarly entranced? Would he even realize if it happened? Was it happening already?

"But Miriam's not the only person I've brought along. I took the liberty of inviting one of our old friends that Lex has been avoiding."

Alexander looked confused. "Ruth? I haven't been avoiding her."

"Ruth's on the way, too, but no, not her."

"Oh -- you don't mean --"

A sophisticated-looking older woman, gray hair tucked in neat curls, stepped out from the porch. She was wearing an old-fashioned, dark blue flannel dress with a high collar. Behind her was another older woman, also wearing an old-fashioned flannel dress, hers covered with a ruffled white pinafore.

"Edith! It's been ages!" said Alexander.

"And whose fault is that?" she said, in the tone of a worried mother. "You kept turning me away when I called on you, and I'd hear all about it from Lily -- how you refused to take a thrall, and were drinking bottled blood --"

Alexander looked uncharacteristically cowed by the scolding. "And I'm sure she's told you that I have a suitable thrall, now, so you needn't worry about my health."

"I'll stop being worried about your health when you start taking proper care of yourself," she said. "But I'd like to meet this thrall of yours. Is this him?"

Even with his master and Miss Lily around him, Oliver could still feel the pull of this new vampire's aura on his mind. It was soothing, almost numbing, and he had the odd thought that she must be a good master. "My name is Oliver Pines, sir, and I am indeed Lord Alexander's thrall. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, what a polite and charming thrall," Miss Edith said with a smile. She shamelessly took Oliver's chin in her hand to examine his face, and Oliver was surprised that his master didn't seem to mind. "Healthy, and his blood smells very nourishing."

"As you can see, I'm taking care of myself just fine," said Alexander defensively.

"I suppose this is a better state of affairs than your usual. But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself properly." she said, and then turned back to Oliver. "You may address me as Dr. Edith. I'm a doctor who has served the vampire community for over a century. If you're ever sick or injured, no doubt your master will call on me to help."

"You're a vampire... doctor, sir?"

"There are very few health ailments that can afflict vampires, so I primarily take care of their precious thralls. After all, healthy thralls are necessary for a healthy vampire," she said, with a pointed look at Alexander.

He rolled his eyes with a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, your point has been made."

"And this is Katherine, my faithful nurse," said Dr. Edith, gesturing to the woman who had accompanied her.

Katherine delicately shook Oliver's hand. "Good to meet you." She looked bright-eyed compared to Miriam, but her hand was warm, and she clearly was not a vampire.

"Are you a..."

"Dr. Edith's thrall, yes, and her nurse and assistant and whatever else is required of me."

"I see," he said with relief. He was looking forward to having a chat with a thrall who seemed to still have her wits about her.

While the group was still exchanging pleasantries, hanging up coats and hats, when the doorbell rang once again. It was Miss Ruth, the vampire lawyer who had sized up Oliver's suitability for a clerk at the auction house. She was followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Do you remember me, Oliver?" she asked.

"Yes, sir, I remember you very well. You asked me to recite state capitals. I'm glad to see you well."

Miss Ruth looked at him with longing. "Oh, I do wish I could have afforded to buy you," she said. "But no matter how hard I work, I just can't compete with Lex's fortune."

The broad-shouldered man was named Charlie, and he was one of Miss Ruth's thralls and law clerks. He favorited Oliver with a stoic nod, and between him and Katherine, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Now that he was fully enthralled and owned by a vampire, it was strange to be around other humans, even those in a similar boat. It made him more keenly aware of his situation, and he wondered how he seemed to other people, all too aware that he was under a hypnotic spell.

"Now that all of our guests have arrived, Oliver, why don't you get your tea and refreshments and show the thralls into the second-floor sitting room?" said Alexander. "We'll be meeting in the parlor, and I would prefer not to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, feeling more than a bit like a child being shooed off so the adults could talk. But even though he'd love to hear what the vampires were discussing -- especially since he seemed to be of particular interest to them -- he was also eager to have a chat with the other thralls.

A few moments later, and he'd enlisted Katherine and Charlie's help in carrying trays to the sitting room. The curtains were open wide, offering a pleasant view of the gaslit city streets and the waning moon. Miriam settled into a plush chair and pulled a knitting project out of a small bag as Oliver poured tea for the four of them.

"Please, help yourself to sandwiches and cookies," he said.

"You're a lovely host, Oliver," Katherine commented. "And so lucid, as well."

"Um --"

Charlie glared. "An awkward thing to say to a new thrall, don't you think?"

"At my age, I don't see any point dancing around the bush. I've seen hundreds of thralls, after all, and I'm well aware that we're some of the more fortunate ones."

"How long have you two been thralls?" asked Oliver.

"Six years for me," said Charlie.

"I've been with the doctor for nearly thirty years now."

"Thirty years!" said Oliver. "I didn't know... well..."

"Didn't realize that a thrall could last so long in the service of a vampire?" said Katherine, amused. "It's understandable, but it's more common than you might expect. I'm particularly lucky in that my master is a doctor, and so I'm kept very healthy."

"Do you like your master?"

"I do," said Katherine. "I'm under her spell, of course, but after all these years, that's practically background noise. But after having met so many vampires, I'm glad it was the doctor who enthralled me. I meet lots of interesting people and vampires, and I get to help them. I'm never bored. And she's always treated me well."

"I'm also happy to serve my master," said Charlie in a tone that sounded a bit strange. "I mean, I do miss my old life sometimes, and it's hard work to be a clerk, but my living conditions are so much better than when I was working at the factory, that's for sure. My math and reading have improved, too."

"And how about you, Oliver? What's your first impression of serving Lord Alexander?" said Katherine.

Oliver's mind swirled with thoughts, of his master's siren song and his feeding and his need, of the library and the comfortable bed and generous food, of his tiny apartment above the bookshop that used to be modest but his, of the threat of his master's sire.

"It's been good so far. Lord Alexander will be a good master to me, I hope," said Oliver carefully. "But... did you two know his previous thralls?"

Katherine exchanged a look with Charlie. "Ah, yes, Henry. I remember him. He was more... subdued. Like Miriam."

"Like Miriam," Oliver repeated, his fear of having his mind fade away from him renewed.

Miriam looked up from her knitting. "Hm?"

"Nothing, dear," said Katherine. "I believe that Lord Alexander has, for the most part, always treated his thralls very well. He's a gentle vampire, and he's always treated me with more respect than is due a thrall. But..."

"But?"

"Well... I have had to treat a number of mysterious injuries on Alexander's previous thralls. Miss Lily's as well. I assume you know what those two have in common."

Charlie looked impatient. "There's no need to beat around the bush. Our vampires won't mind us talking about this. They're probably talking about the same thing," he said. "Oliver, what has Lord Alexander told you about the Maestro?"

"The Maestro?" said Oliver, his eyes widening. "Is that... his sire?"

"Oh dear. Yes, he is," said Katherine. "So he's told you very little. It's the way of vampires, unfortunately. Even my master barely tells me anything."

Oliver gripped his chair. "I need to know. Please, tell me."

"I'm afraid I don't know that much myself. He's notoriously reclusive. But I have had to visit his manor to attend to thralls on a number of occasions. Even my master would prefer not to go there, but she says it's too dangerous to defy him."

"What was he like?"

Katherine leaned in close, as though the subject of their conversation might somehow overhear. "His power lets him control people's bodies utterly. His thralls are like toy soldiers, moving to a drum only they can hear. I'm used to all kinds of thralls, but his were uncanny." Katherine shuddered. "Even though he didn't lay a hand on me, he was glaring at me the entire time, and I could feel his influence pulling at my mind. A feeling as though I had to fall in line immediately, or something terrible would happen. Like I could barely think without him hearing it. I've rarely wanted to flee a manor so quickly as that one."

"That does sound... unpleasant," he said, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he sipped his tea, unable to stop his imagination from conjuring visions of himself being used as little more than a puppet. "And his thralls were injured?"

"My master complained that he hadn't called until they were practically bleeding out -- afterwards, of course, not while we were there. Malnourished, too, with a haunted look about them." She put a hand on his knee with a sympathetic look. "But these were the Maestro's own thralls, not Alexander's. You have far less to worry about here. As I've said, I've always found him to be a very gentle vampire."

"Convenient," huffed Charlie. "A vampire with a reputation for being gentle and honest, who gets to blame all his thralls' injuries on his notoriously cruel sire."

Katherine looked alarmed. "Charlie --"

"I'm just saying that I find it hard to believe the apple falls that far from the tree."

Before Katherine could interject again, Miriam unexpectedly looked up from her knitting, fear written on her normally placid face. "But it is true," she insisted. "Lord Alexander has never hurt me. Neither has Miss Lily, except when she has to leave me there, and --" Tears began to roll down her face. "I can hear it. I can still hear it. Miss Lily told me I could forget, but I can't, I can't forget or he'll punish me --"

"Miriam, oh dear, Miriam, it's okay," said Katherine, pulling the sobbing thrall into an embrace. "It's all right, Miriam. No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe with us, dear."

"I can dance. I can do the dance perfectly, I promise, just let me try, I can do it." Miriam's anxious mumble was barely intelligible between her crying and the way she was pressed against Katherine.

"Miriam, you aren't there. You aren't anywhere frightening. You're having tea at Lord Alexander's house, remember?"

"I'm at...?"

"Lord Alexander's house. His thrall Oliver is being such a gracious host. It's perfectly safe. See?"

Miriam seemed to wake from her terror almost as quickly as she'd fallen into it. "Oh, of course, I don't know what I was thinking!" she said, glassy-eyed as she lifted her head from Katherine's shoulder. "Oh, I always enjoy when my madam visits Lord Alexander. He's very kind to me."

"Of course he is, dear," said Katherine, patting her back. "We really shouldn't bring up such awful topics around Miriam. She's a sensitive soul. Charlie, how's your baseball team doing?"

Oliver wanted to hear more, even though it terrified him, but he also felt awful that his questioning had thrown Miriam into a panic, so he eagerly went along with the topic change. "You like baseball, Charlie?"

"Love baseball, always have," he said, also looking relieved at the conversation switch. "My master gave me a great radio set, so I can listen to all the games. But my team's doing awful this year -- bottom of the league. They never shoulda traded their star pitcher..."

As Oliver listened to Charlie rant about blown games and poor referee calls, as Katherine discussed birdwatching and a new bread recipe she'd tried, he could almost forget the fear of his situation and feel a little bit normal.

It was only later, after Charlie and his madam left and Miriam was engrossed in her knitting, that Oliver was able to pull Katherine aside. "Katherine, will you please hear me out?"

"Certainly," she said in a motherly tone. "I know how hard it is, the first few weeks of being a vampire's thrall."

"What you said before..." He glanced around as if he were afraid his master would pop out of the shadows at any moment. "Am I safe here? Will I be all right? I've been conditioned to be unable escape..."

"That's normal, yes. I assume Miss Lily was the one who handled your conditioning?"

"She was."

"Then no, I don't expect you'll be able to escape," she said. She put a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I can't promise that you will be safe. What I said about the Maestro was all true, and while I do believe Alexander means well on the whole, you're among vampires now. We live in their world, and they do what they will with us."

Oliver felt his gut twist. "So then..."

"I've met so many thralls in my life. Hundreds, probably. Most in worse situations than you, and some in better," she said. "Would you like to hear my honest advice about surviving this?"

"Yes, by all means."

"Find happiness wherever you can. Find joy outside of your master's enthralling and feeding. Hobbies, food, art, education, anything that brings you pleasure -- indulge in it." She smiled warmly. "You'll need these pleasures to keep your mind sharp and keep your soul from despair. When you're permanently a prisoner, you need something tangible to look forward to, even if it's simply a warm drink or a beam of sunshine. You seem like the sort of man who can appreciate the mundane."

"...I like to believe so, yes."

"That's a skill that will serve you well, Oliver," she said. "Even if Alexander and his sire are cruel to you, you'll still have something to hold on to during your darkest moments."

"Something to hold on to..."

"I think you will figure it out. With how much Lord Alexander seems to prize you, it wouldn't surprise me to meet you here twenty years from now, looking back on our lives with our vampires."

She seemed to mean it, and that gave Oliver hope.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

I really enjoy Edith as a character and hope to write at least one side story with her.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree

#whump #whump writing #vampires #vampire whump #mind control #vampire whumpee #rare bookseller #oliver #alexander #lily #miriam #edith #katherine #ruth #charlie

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aparticularbandit · 7 months

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not as ahead on fics for this month as i'd hoped to stay - i've got something already done for tomorrow, but yesterday and today i didn't finish stuff, so i'm only that singular day ahead.

hoping to get further ahead - or at least to STAY that day ahead - but. we'll. see. ><

#musings #bandit writes fic #december banditnanza 2023 #i think i should be able to finish the random fic i just started #and /maybe/ the next chapter for #viv westview fic #that one...was my main focus for a bit but the thing about chapters is that they require more word count than a lot of these shorter prompt #answers so like - i could sometimes finish two prompts or a one-shots in the time it takes me to write a full chapter #(sometimes more depending)#so it's...yeah #i need to answer prompts and get more days in the back #before i jump into another chapter #(like finishing up thrall)#(which...i need to sit on a little bit longer anyway)

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captainlilyuniverseworld · 2 months

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The Willingly Unwilling

A/N: This was meant to be a short thing about Astarion using the invisiblity spell for innapropiate means, and delved into an Ascended Astarion, Consort Gale situation

The Willingly Unwilling

“I’m bored.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I am slightly busy if you hadn’t noticed,” Gale motioned to the books strewn about the table. The parchment filled with his scrawl. The various ingredients.

Astarion came up behind him and put his hands on his shoulder, slowly he ran them down the length of Gale’s chest, nails scraping the thin material of his shirt.

“I’m all for having a hobby pet, it’s good to keep yourself occupied but as I said. I. Am. Bored,” he leaned over Gale now, chest pressed against the wizard's back.

Gale shivered and spread his legs almost automatically as the vampire’s fingers began to knead the flesh of his thighs through his linen pants.

“I’m nearly finished,” Gale licked his lips. “You promised-”

“Agreed.”

“Promised,” Gale repeated. “That I could have time out of the day to do what I wanted, and you would let me.”

Astarion huffed. “You were playing dirty when I agreed to that.”

“You didn’t agree, you promised,” Gale reached for his quill. “And I’m almost done. We can do whatever you want after I finish.”

“Perhaps it’s good I didn’t make any more spawn,” Astarion sat back but scraped Gale’s scalp with his nails. “Your stubbornness might rub off on them.”

Gale leaned his head back at the touch and felt the cold press of lips, sharp fangs along the column of his throat. They were dragged teasingly against the skin before Astarion severed all contact.

“Fine. I’ll find some other way to entertain myself,” Astarion left the room and Gale rubbed the back of his neck.

He waved his hand and the door shut behind him. A quick flick of his wrist and a muttered spell and the doors lockeded. Astarion’s displeasure is palpable.

Gale set the quill down and runs a hand through his hair. He’d lost track of how much time had passed, how long they’d been together in this, gods whatever it was. Everything leading to now felt as if it’d happened simultaneously merely weeks ago as opposed to months, when he first agreed to visit Astarion, to the newly named Ancunin Palace. Astarion had taken a gleeful delight yanking the plaque that adorned the large columns outside the iron gates and breaking it over his knee.

When Gale had first arrived the palace was nearly stripped bare from the inside.

“I can’t very well cement my place if everything reeks of old,” Astarion had told him. “So, I gathered everything that belonged to Cazador, minus the jewels and the gold, took it all outside and burned it.”

Astarion hummed. “I even dusted off a few bottles of wine and enjoyed the little bonfire with a drink or two.”

“Out with the old, in with the new as they say, no?”

“Exactly!” Astarion whirled around and grinned at him. “When I said I was going to be better than Cazador, I meant it in every possible way. Just because we are the undead does not mean we must live and dress the part. He had no real sense of taste the more I thought about it.”

“Astarion, why am I here?” Gale tried not to watch as a servant carried an armful of bloody bedding.

“Because I asked you to come,” Astarion answered.

“Yes, I understand, but your letter said that you needed something from me. Help or…or-”

“Help?” Astarion cocked his head to the side. “Nowhere in my letter did I state I needed help.”

“Assistance then,” Gale replied.

“Mmm no, no assistance, I’ve plenty of thralls roaming the halls,” Astarion mused. “I don’t need help and I don’t need assistance.”

“Then why am I here?” Gale tried again.

“Because I want you here,” Astarion had said. “Because I want your company. Because I want to talk to you, watch you. See you. We are friends, aren’t we Gale?”

And Gale, like the fool he was, took his words at face value. He tried to keep his visit short, but then Astarion would look at him with those eyes. He’d pour Gale another glass of wine, or brandy, or tea.

He’d find another book in the palace’s vast library.

“When I saw it, I wondered how long it’d take you to read every single volume,” Astarion mused.

The second time he tried to leave, citing his work and his research and wanting to write down his account of their journey Astarion had given him the office with the elevator.

“I have no use for it,” Astarion shrugged, holding out the key. “Consider it yours to do with as you see fit. No one but you and I shall have the keys.”

“Are you quite sure?” Gale asked.

“Of course,” Astarion smiled. “I want you to enjoy yourself while you are here….You are enjoying yourself aren’t you?”

“I am,” Gale answered.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #astarion ancunin #gale x astarion #bloodweave #bg3 #gale dekarios #fanfic #dark fic #ascended astarion #dark consort gale #game spoilers #manipulation #unhealthy relationships #not quite dead dove but borderline

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randomly--accessed--memories · 2 months

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Each cast member's relationship with Vox in RAM

Alastor – Alastor decided to break Vox on a whim. Seven years ago, during one of their fights, he managed to subdue Vox, which he'd never fully managed to do before; usually, they would fight to a stalemate or one of them would decide to make their escape before things could get really serious. With Vox at his mercy, Alastor found himself recalling a certain experiment he performed several years ago on the former overlord of the fashion industry. Alastor wanted to claim victory over Vox, make him suffer for his decades of insolence, and, most importantly, wind back the clock. Vox used to be his starry-eyed little protégé, hanging on his every word and doing exactly as he said. He missed that version of Vox (or rather, what that version did for him and his ego) and hated the crass, obnoxious megalomaniac he'd become. If that experiment had transformed Niffty into such a loyal, amusing thrall... why not try the same with Vox? Alastor took Vox into the basement of Vee Tower and did things to him that no one will ever know, broadcasting his screams to all of Pentagram City. Once he was satisfied with his work, he dumped Vox's mangled body in the lobby and completely vanished from the Pride Ring for seven years. He hoped that, whenever he returned, he'd find a Vox that was far more to his taste. And he got his wish. Or at least, he thought he did.

Alastor finds Vox's state quite amusing, and he derives a great deal of satisfaction from having such total control over him, but... he still misses the old Vox, in a way. Alastor enjoyed the challenge Vox used to pose. He enjoyed being able to banter with him. He enjoyed how, for 60 years, he and Vox perpetually feuded, but never truly defeated each other. This new version of Vox offers none of that. He's almost cloyingly docile with Alastor and absent-minded to the point of incompetence. There's only so long the novelty of watching his greatest rival reduced to a pathetic, feeble-minded wretch can last. Still, Alastor is unwilling to let Vox go. He's his toy now, and there might still be some fun to be had by dangling him over the Vees' heads until this nonsense with the hotel is finished.

Angel Dust – Angel's feelings about Vox are deeply complicated. He was one of the few non-overlords who knew that Vox was still alive and had lost his mind, due to his constant proximity to Val. Vox's condition was a constant source of rage, grief, and frustration for Valentino, and more often than not, he chose to take those feelings out on Angel. He wishes so badly that he could just ignore Vox or laugh at his suffering, but he can't. Seeing it up close every day isn't cathartic, it's just sad, and he hates that it makes him pity the man who happily enabled his abuser for decades on end. He'll never forgive Vox or become his friend, but, after several months at the hotel, he decides that he can at least be a better man than Vox ever was and not be needlessly cruel to him. Read more here.

Charlie – Vox grows to really like Charlie (just like everyone else tbh). She's just so endlessly patient and kind; she always treats Vox with respect and understanding, which makes him very eager to please her. If she sets him a task, whether it's related to hotel maintenance or the redemption activities, he'll try his best to do it right– and if he fucks up, he'll attempt to make it up to her somehow, even if his methods are kind of... extreme (Accidentally fried the hotel TV? Time to go steal a new one!). They're not super close friends, but there's a lot of affection between them.

Cherri Bomb – Cherri is unsympathetic to Vox once she finally meets him. She's not willing to forgive him for what he helped put Angel through for all those years and tries to get Angel to laugh with her about how he got what he deserved. As much as he'd like to, Angel can't bring himself to laugh along. She'd probably be the hotel resident most willing to mock or prank him (other than Alastor) once she moves in, but we'll see what happens in season two.

Husk – Husk does his absolute best to never exchange words with Vox unless there is literally no other option. Vox scares the shit out of him. It'd be one thing if Niffty was just a one-off– maybe something went wrong with her during Alastor's usual overlord-murder routine and he just decided to roll with it– but seeing explicit confirmation that, no, this is something Alastor can and will do to people just for shits and giggles is terrifying. Husk has no love in his heart for Vox as a person, but watching Alastor puppet him around and utterly rob him of his dignity makes Husk fear and hate Al all the more. If Husk steps too far out of line, what's to stop Alastor from doing the same thing to him, someone he actually has under contract and who no longer has access to the power that Vox and Niffty had when they were broken?

Lucifer – Vox has an ongoing delusion that Lucifer is one of his old bosses from his human life. He's constantly sucking up to him, trying to earn his approval so he'll finally give him that promotion he's been after. Lucifer finds this situation fun and plays along. He's not malicious about it– he genuinely just enjoys putting on a show and doesn't think it's doing Vox any harm. He may or may not care about who Vox used to be; if he does care, it's only in the context that Alastor is capable of doing this to his fellow sinners, and that's all the more reason not to let him continue to manipulate Charlie.

Niffty – Vox and Niffty instantly click. They're from the same time period and are both in similar mental states, so they get each other on a level no one else in the hotel can. Alastor specifically fucked with Vox's mind to make him more amenable to retro culture, so Niffty's 1950s sensibilities immediately make him feel at home with her. She's also the only one in the hotel who isn't even remotely bothered by his cognitive issues. Vox forgets what he's talking about halfway through a conversation and tries to leave to do something else? Niffty will come along happily, regardless of what they were originally doing. Vox fries electronics or shocks her by accident? Yay, pain! And now there's a mess for her to clean up! They just adore each other. Neither of them is cognizant enough to realize that they're both ex-overlords in the exact same situation– they just "naturally" get along completely separate from that. They're one hell of a double act, causing problems without realizing it and occasionally calming down enough to have sweet, quiet moments together. Out of everyone in the hotel, Vox will miss Niffty the most once he finally goes back to Vee Tower.

Sir Pentious – Pentious is sent by the Vees to infiltrate the hotel and report back on how Vox is doing, as well as if the hotel has any vulnerabilities that they can exploit in order to rescue him. He isn't caught quite as quickly as he is in the main verse and instead choses to defect from the Vees after a few months due to how willing they are to kill everyone in the hotel as soon as they get Vox back. Pentious used to look up to Vox as one of the most powerful overlords in Hell and is caught off-guard by the state he's now in. Even as Pentious is playing double agent, he finds himself becoming very attached to the hotel and its residents, including Vox himself. Vox is supposed to be the hotel handyman, but he ends up breaking things more often than he fixes them due to his short attention span and volatile powers. Pentious finds himself helping Vox with his job more and more often; he has a lot of experience with wrangling mentally not-all-there people (or eggs, in his case) into successfully completing complex tasks, after all. Vox ends up liking Pentious a lot; they talk about mechanical stuff and Vox finds Pentious' big personality funny and interesting and attention-grabbing. They strike up a pretty sweet little friendship, which gives Pentious a bit of an ego boost that an ex-overlord likes him enough to consistently want to spend time with him. And at no point does Vox ever feel compelled to scream at Pentious to kill himself. Read more here.

Vaggie – Vaggie mostly kept her distance from Vox for the first six months at the hotel, like she did with most of the other residents. She doesn't trust easily, so it takes a while for her to open herself up to people. She sort of mentally filed Vox under the same category as Niffty: Erratic weirdos who Alastor brought to the hotel for God knows what reason, but who don't seem to be malicious. She struggled a lot with being patient with him and dealing with his destructive fits though. Her first instinct is to attack when threatened, so Charlie often had to get in between the two of them whenever Vox started losing control. Eventually, Vaggie starts picking up on the fact that something is off about Vox and Alastor's "friendship." Once she learns what happened to Vox, she finds herself empathizing with him quite a bit; she knows how it feels to be blindsided and left to rebuild your life from nothing, as well as what it's like to be an ex-monster hiding in plain sight.

Valentino – Valentino has not been doing well these past seven years. He was never known as an overlord with an abundance of self-control, but any he may have once had has gone completely out the window. He simply does not know how to deal with his emotions, so instead, he takes them out on everyone and everything around him, including himself. His reputation for needless violence towards his workers has grown exponentially every year since Vox's encounter with Alastor. He constantly starts totally unnecessary fights with other overlords and wannabe overlords just to give himself an outlet for his anger. He's abusing his body in a manner he hasn't done since he was alive and is doing so with increasing frequency. He's become a rabid dog that everyone in Hell knows needs to be put down, but no one can manage it because he and Velvette have become so powerful in Vox's absence.

But for some reason that even he can't understand, Val leaves most of that anger at the door when he goes into Vox's quarters to make sure he isn't driving his claws through his screen, or curled up in the corner of the room, screaming at memories from decades ago, or simply catatonic, unwilling or unable to move or speak. He becomes something that he never– not in a million, billion years– would've ever thought himself capable of being: a caregiver. A shitty one, probably, but a caregiver, nonetheless. He'll do his best to calm Vox down during his bad spells and, amazingly, manages not to retaliate when Vox lashes out at him. He'll try to provide what little comfort he can when it seems as though Vox is about to shatter into a million pieces. He somehow finds it within himself to be patient when Vox can't recognize him and asks the same questions over and over and over again. And never– not even once– has he been tempted to take advantage of Vox's vulnerable state. Why?! Preying on vulnerable people is his entire identity! Val cannot understand why– if he can't bring himself to take advantage of this weak, pitiful version of Vox– he doesn't just go back to his room, retrieve his angelic bullets, and put Vox out of his misery already. But he doesn't want to. Not really. Vox is his. And no matter what, he always will be.

Velvette – Velvette always considered herself "the backbone of the Vees." Well, now no one can deny that fact and she's infinitely less satisfied with her afterlife because of it. After it became clear that Vox was not going to recover, she took over his old position as CEO of VoxTek (now VTek). She'd always idly coveted Vox's power, but now that she has it, she's utterly overwhelmed. Between running both her and Vox's businesses, caring for a Vox who doesn't even recognize her most days, and having to deal with Valentino's self-destructive spiraling, she's simply spread too thin. Vox's situation on its own is so deeply emotionally draining, it's a miracle she still has energy to run the company. She knows she can't falter though, even for a minute. Everything, from her own power to Vox's personal wellbeing, is hanging on her ability to project strength and carry on like nothing's wrong. And on top of all that, none of the other overlords or the public in general give her the respect she deserves. They see her as a nepo baby who inherited the bulk of her empire from a man too arrogant to realize that sharing power is not generally considered a respectable strategy in Hell. It almost makes her as angry as Val, although she makes an effort to actually control that anger or at least put it towards something productive.

She never realized how much she loved Vox until she essentially lost him. She knew she had a good bit of affection for him, but she never would've anticipated that she'd be willing to go to such lengths for him. She's not a patient person, but she finds herself becoming one with Vox. She'll play along with his delusions if that's what he needs from her that day (even that horrible, gut-wrenching one where he thinks she's his seven-year-old, human daughter). She'll make whatever accommodations to the tower that are needed in order to keep him safe and as happy as he possibly can be, no matter how much they cost. She'll shout Val down when he reaches his breaking point and nearly lashes out at Vox, and then turn around and offer whatever comfort Val will accept when he breaks down over losing the only person he ever loved. The urge to be kind makes her skin crawl– she fully committed to becoming the most callous, impudent, self-serving version of herself years ago (with Vox's own guidance!)– and it makes her feel weak to love this deeply, but... she'll never stop. Not until all three of them are banished to the bottomless pits of Purgatory.

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ollypopwrites · 1 month

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if you're still taking requests, can you write a fic where Gale has a cold and the others have to take care of him and cook instead 🥺

Anon I've been working on this for so long! My actual partner got very sick and then we had a move and then a weekend wedding getaway -- it's been hectic. But I've got about 3k words of Gale being doted on for you.

A Wizard in Need

Pairings: Mostly gen but also Bloodweave

Rating: M (language mostly)

CW: chronic illness, common colds, self-worth issues, slight body-horror imagery.

Read on Ao3

His whole body shook with the sudden heat, limbs beginning to jerk and shift, and hot liquid pouring out of his mouth, his nose, his eyes — damn, even his ears. Their time has run out, he realized, as his insides churned and changed, the pain unbearable as his bones broke beneath the skin. Soon he would be no more than another thrall, moving to the whims of some Elder Brain and without his own to think for himself.

But the hunger of the orb swelled beyond anything else he could comprehend. The transformation could not even offer a reprieve. His last dreadful act as his own person is the orbs' imminent final stand – a deafening roar numbed his body to the pain and everything went white.

Gale shot up suddenly in his bedroll, a strangled cry becoming a hacking cough, as he gasped for breath. His camp clothes were soaked with sweat, he felt them sticking to his too warm body. His hands felt at his face, the familiar scratch of his beard, his nose and lips were all present — no tentacles. Gale shuddered in relief, catching his breath.

But Gods, he still felt terrible. Feverish, his mind in a haze and his head feeling as if it were stuffed full of cotton.

There was a rustle at the flap of his tent and he saw the slight glow of red eyes. The rest of Astarion’s face was backlit by the fire outside, hiding most of it in shadow. Gale felt too unsteady to be sure but he thought the perfect lines of his companion’s face were creased in concern before he schooled them back to his usual half-lidded stare.

“Thought the tadpole might have finally had its way,” he said quietly.

“For a moment there, I did as well,” Gale breathed a sigh.

“It’s the orb, isn’t it?”

Gale rubbed at his chest. It ached, surely, as it always did. But the hunger clawing beneath his skin was more of a background feeling rather than whatever this was.

“No, not this time,” he replied. “It’s-“ he sneezed abruptly, several times in a row, and afterward his entire head throbbed.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion seemed half-amused. “I believe you have a common cold.”

“That’s — “

Preposterous, and above all else annoying. They had tadpoles in their heads threatening to change them every day, a cult on their heels, he had an orb of netherese magic stuffed in his chest and now he had a trifling bug which made him feel like his entire head was about to burst.

“Inconvenient.” Gale finished lamely.

“Will you survive?” Astarion asked sarcastically.

Too ill to even pretend to be jovial, Gale rolled his eyes and started getting out of his bedroll. “I just need some tea and a quick wash up.”

When he tried to stand, however, the world began to spin. With a quickness that did nothing to help his dizziness, Astarion leapt forward into the tent, keeping him from falling sideways. He helped Gale down, seemed to hesitate with his hand out and then pressed it on the wizard’s sweaty forehead. His hand was shockingly and soothingly cool. Gale couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling.

“You’re scorching.” Astarion noted.

“I question the validity of your knowledge on the matter,” Gale sniffled. “You’re freezing.”

“Vampire,” Astarion gestured to himself as if he had forgotten. “But I know a flush when I see one, and yours is decidedly not one of debauchery.”

There was a clever remark somewhere he could retort with, just on the edge of flirting, but all Gale could think of was crawling back to his bedroll. He grabbed his waterskin, taking heavy pulls to soothe the scratching in his throat. After which he found no energy to do much else.

“Rest,” he muttered. “I need rest.”

Astarion said nothing as Gale flopped back into his bedroll. He should tell him to bugger off, Astarion was on watch after all, but he didn’t send him away. The vampire sat still, unnaturally so as he always did, before grabbing his waterskin and walking out of the tent.

Gale shifted between consciousness, exhaustion taking over but a fit of coughing or sneezing kept him from fully submitting. He felt more than heard Astarion come back, placing his waterskin by his hand again and a cool wet cloth pressed against his forehead. It could have been the fever and the ever changing state of his wakefulness but Gale was certain Astarion kept taking the cloth and cooling it between his hands before placing it back on his forehead.

As if he had shifted through time itself, Gale woke up what felt like moments later. Except there were birds singing outside his tent rather than the tune of crickets. Sunlight didn’t quite pierce the cloth of his tent but it lit it up from the outside, and he could hear everyone moving around camp.

He still felt dreadful. Blindly reaching for his water he found it full, and drank as much as he could before slumping back. For a while he tried to use his considerable willpower to sit up, get dressed and greet the next day of horrors which awaited them. But he simply did not want to.

Just as he was about to force himself up, just outside his tent he heard, “Gale? Are you awake?” From Shadowheart.

“Yes,” he croaked.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

There was the slightest frown as she peered in first. “Astarion says you have the plague.”

Gale didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just a fever,” he tried to assure her. “A bit of rest and it’ll pass, I’m sure.

“Sk’va it’s the transformation,” Lae’zel hissed just outside. “We should give the wizard an honorable death before it takes hold.”

Gale wanted to remind her that an honorable death would mean a decidedly unhonorable explosion which would wipe out their entire camp and beyond, but Wyll spoke up before he could.

“It’s a cold, Lae’zel,” Wyll said. “Nothing some hearty broth and rest can’t fix.”

Everyone seemed to be standing just outside of his tent. Out of view but definitely not out of hearing range.

“If he is cold we have extra blankets,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Why do we waste our time with broth?”

“No,” Karlach said, “a cold, mate. A bug.”

“Then smash the bug.”

“It’s not a real bug,” Wyll explained. “It’s a turn of phrase. Gale’s ill, with a common and mostly harmless sickness.”

“Tch’k.”

Sometimes Gale wondered if Lae’zel’s ignorance to Faerunian turns of phrase was merely a bit she was fully committed to. He couldn’t help but breathe out a small laugh but that triggered a coughing fit that stole his breath and shredded his throat.

Shadowheart gently pushed him down with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m more a battle healer, less a medicine woman,” she frowned. “Are you hungry? Wyll’s starting a bone broth but we have porridge.”

“Porridge sounds lovely,” Gale attempted a smile.

“I’m on it!” Karlach yelled and he heard the heavy stomps of her boots trail off.

“Halsin went to find some herbs for a tea he thinks may help,” Shadowheart told him.

That was rather kind of Halsin to go out of his way. Gale thought for a moment he should try to make an attempt to tough it out. They did have very important things to do, after all. But as he woke with the ever present pain of the orb on top of feeling so dreadfully, he was not sure he could stand on his own two feet for long. Typical. Washed up, burdensome old man that he was: he would be the one to get ill on the road. He wasted valuable magical items, was a constant threat of blowing them off the face of Faerûn and was now too sickly to move.

He offered what he hoped was a convincing smile. “When Halsin returns, have him leave the herbs with the supplies, I’ll fetch myself a cup later.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sure.”

“Quite sure.”

“Astarion filled your waterskin, drink it,” she said blandly, then disappeared from the tent.

“We’ll leave you to rest,” Wyll said through the cloth. “Shout if you need anything.”

It was quiet for a bit, the unintelligible murmur of everyone about camp and the birdsong outside would have been comforting if he didn’t feel so dreadful. He closed his eyes, and focused on his breath, trying to ignore the fact that his nose was too stopped. Heavy thumping footsteps and a flood of warmth in the tent alerted him to Karlach before she even said anything.

“Delivery!” She boomed. “I warmed it up for you. One benefit of being a walking inferno.” She clanked on the metal in her chest.

“Thank you, Karlach,” he said.

“Of course, bomb buddies gotta stick together,” she gave a toothy grin.

“Karlach let him rest,” Shadowheart called.

“Oops, sorry,” she smiled sheepishly. “Shout if you need anything, yeah?”

Gale nodded. Bomb buddies. He wished he had her exuberance in the face of certain death. After she was gone, he willed himself to eat and had a mind to try and get up to wash his plate, but politeness would have to wait in the face of the dizziness he felt. He drank down some of the water and laid back, trying to breathe again. His chest ached. His fingers rubbed around the mark of the orb, not doing much to aid in the pain but now a habit more than anything.

It was quiet, almost peaceful. Until suddenly his body wrought out a coughing fit so powerful he thought he may vomit. Suddenly the orb throbbed, his entire body seemed to vibrate and then — he woke up again. Still coughing. A cold, firm hand pulled him to sit, shocking him slightly at the unannounced presence.

“Easy,” Astarion said simply. “Breathe.”

Gale closed his eyes, catching his breath. He still felt horrible. Astarion placed his waterskin in his hand, helping him lift it to his lips and drink some down. It was a heavenly sensation, the cool liquid soothing his throat and slaking the dry raw feeling from the cough.

The day had changed into evening, not quite late enough to engulf his tent in darkness but enough that his gaze had to adjust to the low light.

“Halsin made tea,” Astarion commented. “I’ll have Karlach warm it up for you. Wyll’s broth for you should be done soon, took me ages to find something big enough to boil down.”

Gale shook his head. “We need to make for the mountain pass,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own self. Raspy and nasal. “You all should have sent a scouting party, not wasted time playing nurse.”

“Now is that any way to thank us?” Astarion simpered dramatically. “Lae’zel and Karlach found a path to the crèche, once you're done lazing about we will all head there to see if her little device works. When it inevitably fails, we will head to the Underdark at Halsin’s behest.” He tilted his head, not unlike a curious cat, Gale noted. “We can’t do that without our resident wizard, now can we? Who else will I bother on the road?”

“There’s plenty of people to bother in camp, if you must.”

“They’re not as fun as you.”

Gale was grateful for the fever. It could easily be the reason he suddenly felt his cheeks heat up if Astarion noticed. Without saying anything, Astarion held out the water again. Gale peered past him as he took a drink to a mirror he had in the corner of the camp. It was strange to see Astarion in front of him and not in the reflection. If Gale didn’t know better he’d think him a hallucination, a result of the illness that made Gale’s own reflection have the sunken in look he saw.

“You should clear off,” Gale muttered. “The last thing we need is for illness to spread through the camp.”

“I haven’t been ill in nearly 200 years, Gale.” Astarion waved him off. “But if you want me to leave, I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

Gale didn’t want him to leave, but he was on his way out anyway. Not much later he returned with a piping hot cup of tea. It was not a pleasurable mixture, slightly sour and earthy, the only reprieve from the flavor was the sweetness of honey in the aftertaste. He was not going to doubt Halsin’s knowledge, nor did he want to appear ungrateful.

Astarion never left. Halsin came in, broad body taking up so much room in his tent he couldn’t even see Astarion behind him. He offered him more tea, some kind words and another cold cloth before leaving. Thankfully Astarion didn’t seem to want to chat, he simply thumbed through a book and lounged on some pillows. Every so often he would cool the wet cloth for Gale, or run to fetch some more water.

Wyll came in with broth and some bread. Gale found it in himself to sit up long enough to eat and let the others check in on him. The Blade of the Frontiers made quite a decent bone broth; he’d said the cook at the Ravenguard estate had taught him the recipe after many days spent sick in his youth. Lae’zel had grabbed his face and inspected it, as if looking for some errant tentacle that had escaped everyone’s notice. She gave one of her low growling hums out and told him he needed to rest, as if he had been trying to sprint the length of the lake the entire day. The healers had offered teas and potions to help him sleep.

Karlach had shyly offered her beloved bear Clive to sit with him since she couldn’t without burning his tent down. It was sweet, and childlike of her to do so, but he appreciated it more than he would have imagined. It seemed no one had realized just how much he was weighing them down. Perhaps they just didn’t want to mention it.

His chest ached.

“Do you need a magic item?”

“What?”

“You’re rubbing the mark.”

Gale immediately stopped, having started the pointless effort to soothe the pain without thinking. “No, I’m alright.”

“Don’t be stoic,” Astsrion said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“What does suit me, in your esteemed opinion, Astsrion?” Gale couldn’t keep the slight lilt of sarcasm out of his tone despite himself.

“An unfevered flush, I’d imagine,” Astsrion replied immediately. “Does it hurt terribly?”

“It always does,” Gale replied, his raspy voice tired and defeated.

“Drink your tea,” Astarion simply said. “Halsin says it’ll help you sleep. Probably tastes like dirt, though. I don’t envy you.”

Gale took a sip, shuddering at the flavor. “It is…earthy,” he conceded. “But the effort is appreciated.”

Astarion’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Astarion,” Gale began cautiously, “why are you still here?”

Astarion looked at him for a long moment, eyes rounding out as he seemed to think. “Someone has to make sure you’re still breathing.”

“It’s a cold,” Gale said, “I’m not at risk of falling over dead just yet.”

“With those grey hairs you can't be too sure.”

“Oh,” Gale breathed out a soft laugh, “you certainly know how to keep me humble, don’t you? And while I’m ill? Your bedside manner could use some practice.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked.

“Happy to assist,” Gale replied. “Word of advice, don’t mention dying to your ailing patient, it doesn’t inspire much comfort.”

It was quiet for a bit as Gale drank the tea down as quickly as he could. It was not a pleasant taste, and he wanted to be done with it as soon as possible. He gently stretched after setting the cup aside, his back stiff from laying all day and shoulders wound up from tensing them in his sleep. Gods, he wanted to bathe and sleep but he felt the energy draining from him. Halsin’s concoction was working quickly to lure him into a gentle sleep.

“Say what you will about the flavor,” Gale yawned, blinking blearily. “Halsin’s skills as an apothecary are quite impressive.”

“I’ll pass your compliments along.”

“Without embezzling, if you please.”

Another quiet moment as Gale laid back, ready to let sleep wash over him. He was used to Astarion’s presence now, not sure what the real point of it was, but it kept the worst of the anxious thoughts at bay. And it was a comfort, Gale tried not to linger too long on that, but it was nice to have him there.

“Everyone offered to care for you, you know,” Astarion said without preamble. “No one complained. Except me, of course, but I’d rather bring mine directly.”

Gale frowned at the ceiling of his tent, unsure what brought that comment on.

“Burdensome is debatable, darling, I’m hardly one to cast judgment about dietary needs,” Astarion tried to hide behind a casual tone, “but washed up is a bit harsh,”

“The tadpoles.” Gale winced in realization.

“Little blighters,” Astarion agreed. “We’re in this together, Gale. Whether we like it or not. We’d all take the bleeding heart kindness you’d offer any of us without blinking,” he tilted his head a bit, “it’s only right that you accept ours.”

That seemed like flawed logic; Gale was, with few exceptions, the most volatile besides Karlach. Even having him with them was expensive and dangerous. But his thoughts could not linger too long on it, as Halsin’s tea had his mind slipping towards blissful rest. The last thing he felt was the gentle coolness of a hand on his forehead, and the soft whisper of Astarion’s voice.

“Sleep tight, darling. We’ve got you.”

Thank you for reading!

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion x gale #bloodweave #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #olly writes #gale dekarios fanfic

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vampiric-hunger · 16 days

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⊱─ 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: 𝕔𝕙. 𝟞 - 𝕖𝕟𝕧𝕪 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘:Ascended Astarion/f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, jealousy, arguing, asphyxiation, bondage, breast play, dubcon, underwear as a gag, smut, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, teasing, PiV, praise kink, vampire bites, caught while fucking, creampie.

➺ 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you're skilled, driven and most importantly - ambitious. but even as someone in your position, a trained assassin and a leader of your own Guild, you still lend yourself to jobs that are of importance. even if those jobs sometimes mean attending parties. tonight - it's a masquerade and you're bored out of your mind, until the man who hired you to protect him leaves you alone, at the mercy of a stranger who suddenly took a keen interest in you.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 6,407

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: and we're getting close to the end! what a ride so far! i loved writing this chapter because writing jealousy and envy is always a lot of fun for me, but i digress! enjoy ♡~

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link]

Upon your return you didn’t have a chance to send Astarion a message of any kind because the day after you came back the Duke himself demanded you accompany him to a celebratory ball. It appears one of his generals performed well in battle while you were away and begrudgingly you agreed. It would not do you well to scorn the ruler of Baldur’s Gate.

But as you are preparing for the ball, finding your finest dress and making sure that it’s clean and ironed, you wonder if you really have no time to send a message or if you simply don’t want to.

The answer comes simple – you don’t want to.

Not because you regret what happened in this very house two weeks ago before you left on a assassination mission to kill Princess, as you code-named her for secrecy, but because the thought of him turning you into one of his spawn haunts you.

He didn’t tell you that he abandoned the idea. No, he said nothing about that at all. And that’s something you cannot ignore.

While you dress and doll yourself up, you keep thinking about it, about the idea of being his like this and you realize that you really don’t want to be his thrall. That you don’t want to be his to command whenever he wishes. It’s already hard to assert yourself without that and how he cast Dominate on you proved exactly that without a shadow of doubt. It hangs heavily over you like a dark cloud, threatening to erupt in rain at any moment.

You know that before you see him next – you need to think, a lot. You need to figure out a way to give yourself what you want without giving Astarion what you are sure he will ultimately seek: your eternity.

When you finish preparing by hiding some smaller daggers on your person, you hear a carriage and a sound of horse hooves coming closer. You suspected that the Duke will send someone to pick you up to ensure that you show up. You find the man extremely predictable if not slightly paranoid. You don’t have an issue with that, you rub elbows with paranoid men every day.

The trip to the city center doesn’t take too long but you use that time to keep pondering upon the conflict in your mind and heart. Yes, you have to really and truly admit to yourself – you like Astarion. And it stretches beyond just carnal desire or the thrill of danger. You don’t even know why, you can’t answer this, what it is that exactly draws you to him like a moth to the flame, you just hope that the flame won’t consume you. And as you watch houses and people pass by the carriage window you feel a knot of dread in your stomach – you’re playing a very dangerous game with a man that holds unforeseen power in his hands.

Is risking your life really worth it? For something that could be just a fleeting fancy for either of you? And yet you realize that it’s too late for this already. While the carriage navigates the streets and begins slowing as it approaches a massive mansion in the middle of the city, you understand with a sinking feeling that you should’ve been honest with yourself and had this ‘conversation’ with your inner self before Astarion showed up at your house. But you didn’t know then that you will agree to… what exactly did you agree to? Another tryst? No, it didn’t feel like this sort of transient proposal from him. Not a relationship either, surely, too early for that, all you two did so far was fuck and shout at each other, a proper pissing contest between two very prideful people. Then what? You have no answer to that and have no time to think about this further as the carriage stops at last and the door opens, revealing the Duke in his best ensemble, offering a hand to you with a smile.

“Good evening.” he greets you before you take his hand and your skirts as you climb out of the carriage.

“Good evening to you too, Duke Sanolin.” you smile, easily slipping into your role of a perfectly pleasant, well-mannered noble woman. You don’t hate the role, but your words feel empty and shallow even when you greet the Duke.

“I take the road here was pleasant? City planners made sure to increase quality of the roads leading out of the city. Merchants have easier and swifter time traveling this way.” Duke starts boasting and you nearly recoil when you notice him offering you his elbow, but you just squeeze out a smile on your face and hook your arm exactly how he wishes.

You don’t reply because he doesn’t need you to speak. You are here to stay close to him as he mingles with patriars. You are here to look pretty while you discretely protect his life. You are here to smile and to nod and to be vigilant. Oh how you loathe these jobs.

However, when Duke Sanolin leads you inside and servants greet you both, offering wine and small snacks on silver platters, you scan the guests and see nobody you should keep an eye out on. There are some dangerous nobles among the masses of them in Baldur’s Gate. Some of them have relations with other Guilds, some are simply unhinged and unpredictable, some have grievances and revenge on their minds, but tonight you see no familiar faces, faces that you have memorized for safety. This makes your shoulders relax. Sure, someone undesirable might come yet, rich people are rarely punctual, but for now you feel more at ease than you expected yourself to be tonight.

And Duke is not some secretive heir like Lord Goldbrith or a boasting sex addict like Lord Witdale. No, Sanolin is a very educated man and a very social one to boot, so the moment you two enter the main ballroom, he quickly becomes surrounded by ladies and lords alike. Everyone wants to be on his good side and you too get acknowledged as someone who is accompanying him tonight, asking where his wife is. When Duke explains that his wife isn’t feeling well thus he decided to bring his ‘niece’ with him, most seem to stop questioning your presence, although you do notice a suspicious glance or two from those who don’t believe Duke’s innocent lie because they don’t know who you truly are, which is not that many of them, you suddenly realize. This party seems to have been assembled from people who rub elbows with the ruler of the city very closely, including yourself, and that makes your job easier – protecting someone of this importance is near effortless when he’s surrounded by his allies instead of enemies.

And then something dawns on you – could Astarion be here? You immediately begin to look around watching for signs of him, but so far you see nothing, yet it still doesn’t alleviate the panic beginning to claw at your chest and throat. You don’t like feeling paranoid but this is exactly the feeling that now overwhelms your mind, making your hands shake slightly as you hold the glass of wine and take small sips from it while keeping your eyes on the crowd as Duke Sanolin is talking to his political allies with you at his side.

You don’t fear Astarion, not really, you’re too proud for that, but what do you fear is a scene that he could cause if seeing you back instead of getting a message from you informing him about your return could lead him to anger. And you already know that Astarion’s anger can get pretty explosive with no regards to anyone around him unless forced to stop and think better.

For an hour or so you feel rising panic trying to replace all other senses in your mind and body, but thankfully Sanolin doesn’t notice anything, chatting away about things that dull your mind: trades, fashions and council meetings. Nothing useful for you to pay attention to. And when you finally feel like you can relax, that Astarion might not show up, you freeze, paralyzed with near animalistic fear when you notice him entering with a loud laugh, teasing the servant and making the young man blush.

Shit.

You turn your back to him and try to blend in with the nobles chatting up the Duke, trying to hide behind his own body and you empty your glass of wine in one gulp to calm your nerves. What is wrong with you? You faced enemies and threats bigger than Astarion’s possible anger for not receiving a simple note from you, but you immediately understand why – because you want to be with him and you feel like you betrayed whatever fragile start you two agreed upon those two weeks ago.

“Good evening, my dear.” you hear Astarion’s all too familiar voice croon behind you and your fingers clench the glass so firmly that you have to remind yourself to relax before it shatters in your hand.

You slowly turn to him, not bothering to plaster on a fake smile, and his crimson eyes immediately locks onto yours. Duke and his allies fall silent at the greeting and turn to Astarion as well, making minstrels that the host hired for tonight seem unreasonably loud even though that’s far from the truth.

“I was so hoping to see you tonight.” Astarion says and you hear traces of poison in his words, you notice the cold edge in his smile and hardness in his eyes.

“You know my niece?” Duke interrupts the stare-down and Astarion turns to the man, shaking his hand.

“Duke Sanolin, delighted to see you tonight. And yes, I do know your niece.” you near flinch at vampire’s emphasis on your fake title and you look at Duke, seeing that he and Astarion are exchanging some silent understanding, most likely about who you really are, the hired assassin.

“She’s a delight, isn’t she.” Duke smiles at you now and you feel his hand on your lower back as if trying to reassure you, it makes you feel like your heart is being squeezed and a flash of sorrow replaces your anxiety with the wish that your own father was ever this comforting. Alas, you quickly discard the self-pitying thought and smile back to him.

“I’m glad to be here tonight, surely.” you speak and sense Astarion’s gaze burn into you, but you pretend that you don’t feel it or see it.

“Duke Sanolin, would you mind if I stole your niece for a moment or two? There’s something I want to ask her about her… mother.” Astarion pauses as he tries to think of a lie on the spot but since Duke is perfectly aware of your line of work, after all that’s exactly why you’re here, he just gives Astarion a curious look and nods, his hand leaving your back.

“Just for a moment.” he says and Astarion laughs, waving his hand dismissively.

“You’re a powerful opponent in a fight, Duke, I’m sure you don’t need a small girl like her protecting you, do you?” Lord Ancunin says with a taunting grin and Sanolin narrows his eyes for a moment, but when his companions burst into lighthearted laughter, he relaxes and laughs along.

“Very true indeed. Go ahead then, steal my niece away, but I want her returned, sooner rather than later, she’s here to observe and to learn.” Duke lies with such conviction that you wonder if he’s becoming delusional, but you understand that maybe this is exactly why he’s a Duke – a good politician knows how to lie without a shadow of doubt in his own words.

Yet you don’t want to go with Astarion. Even when he pulls the empty glass out of your fingers you look at the Duke with questions in your eyes that you hope he can read.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay and… observe the conversations?” you ask as the men surrounding Duke now simmer down to chuckles and Duke pauses, then glances at Astarion, noticing his impatience. “I’m sure you won’t miss too much if you’re away for ten minutes or so.” he nods and your stomach clenches but you nod too and inhale deeply before you look at Astarion again, his gleeful expression looks more dangerous than actually happy to you, yet you don’t say another word.

“I will return her shortly.” Astarion ensures Duke Sanolin and when Duke nods to him as well, he briefly licks his lips. “Follow me.” the vampire gestures with a turn on his heel and begins leading you through the crowd.

With leaden feet and arms just as heavy you follow him, preparing yourself for the confrontation. The crimson daggers he was shooting at you the entire conversation, despite how brief it was, make you easily understand that Astarion is angry. Maybe not as angry as he was when he visited your home, but close enough to make you worry about what’s to happen.

The moment main crowd is behind you both, Astarion pauses and turns to you, then grabs your wrist and begins dragging you after him, ignoring servants and several scattered nobles loitering by the ballroom walls as you barely can keep up with him, your skirts burdening your steps.

“I can walk on my own!” you hiss behind him, not wanting to draw even more unneeded attention but you get ignored while Astarion navigates the hall, pulling you deeper into the bowels of the mansion until he arrives to the end of the corridor and pushes open the door.

You try to glance back, to see if anyone is watching, but don’t get the chance when Astarion pulls you into the room with enough force to make you stumble forwards, especially when he suddenly releases your wrist. When you spin around to face him, you watch him slam the door shut and turn the key in the lock, the snap of it sounding like a thunderstrike in the silent room.

Quickly you realize that you’re in party host’s private study as your eyes catch upon tall shelves, shields and paintings adorning the walls. The desk that you nearly ran into, that is now behind you, was empty when you briefly saw it and now you see two full armor knight suits by each side of the door.

At last Astarion turns to you. His expression is a deep frown and he tugs on the sleeves of his bejeweled white and silver attire, then smirks.

“So you’re back.” he starts and you open your mouth to reply but he swiftly raises his upturned palm to you, silencing your words before they leave you. “You’re back and you didn’t even bother telling me. For how long?” the vampire steps towards you and you move backwards away from him, not yet noticing that you’re doing that.

“Last night. I returned only last night and then this morning Duke’s note came.” you hear yourself rushing to explain but Astarion scoffs, his smirk wide and sharp and then it becomes even wider when you bump into the desk behind you, leaving you with no other place to retreat to.

“So instead of sending me a short, quick message that I know you are capable of, instead you prostrate yourself in front of all these rich politicians like a whore begging for attention. I thought I mattered to you more.” he taunts with fire and brimstone in his every word and you begin to feel sweat beading your forehead. Why are you so stressed about confronting him right now? You have no answer.

“I didn’t know I was married to you.” you bravely taunt back with a crooked grin, your palms grasping the edge of the desk and gripping it tight like it’s an anchor to a ship at sea because that’s exactly how you feel right now, lost in the storm that is about to crack the sky wide open.

Astarion pauses his steps at your words, his smirk faltering for a precious moment, then he tilts his chin upwards ever so slightly and takes couple last steps to end up right in front of you, just mere inches away, so close you can smell his perfume and see the dim light reflected in his irises from the few lit candles in the room.

“Would marriage be more preferable than becoming my spawn?” he asks and here it is, just as you suspected it will be – his desire to turn you into his thrall. You knew that he won’t give up the idea easily and you frown, finding your anger.

“Neither would be preferable. Look how you are acting! I do my work but you have the gall to insult me? Call me a whore?” you shoot back and straighten your back, your eyes harden as they look at him and Astarion’s own eyes narrow at your words.

“You told me you wanted me, to be with me.” his voice is dangerously low as he speaks but you don’t care, because what can he even do here, in the home of city’s general, with Duke not far either. Assured that Astarion wouldn’t risk exposing himself by hurting you - you feel emboldened.

“You came into my home and Dominated me, you bastard!” you raise your voice and Astarion’s hands twitch like he wants to do something, to strike you or maybe silence you. You don’t care either way.

“I didn’t force you to say what you said! You wanted it! You admitted it! Now you’re pretending like you haven’t said a word?!” Astarion’s own voice raises as you shout at each other now.

“I’m not pretending! But you’re insane if you think I will drop everything and just run to you the moment I’m back!”

“Why not?! Is carousing with these old cads that much preferable than coming to me?! You take their money so that they can roister with other fat slobs and you try to tell me that’s not what being a whore is?!” Astarion points his finger at you as he shouts, his features twisted in anger and you slap his hand away from your face.

“I’m not fucking them, you spoiled idiot!” you snap back and Astarion’s hand shoots up, his fingers wrap around your throat and start squeezing it.

“But what if you are?!” he hisses at your face while you try to pry his hand off your neck and it finally dawns on you – he’s jealous, isn’t he. He’s jealous because he saw you with the Duke.

“Let go.” you manage to croak with Astarion barely letting you take in any air while your nails scratch at his hand leaving marks, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice that, his crimson eyes blazing with fury and envy that you chose your work over doing something as small as letting him know you’re back.

“No. It’s time you learn once and for all – you are mine.” a wicked grin suddenly appears on his face and while you try not to panic at all the possibilities that can happen, you feel Astarion use his other hand to pull the dress off your shoulders in several harsh yanks, the seams straining and snapping.

“Astarion, what do you think you’re doing.” your voice is coarse, barely a whisper but he’s not even looking at you.

He’s holding you in place by your neck while he moves the dress down your arms, making you release his wrist when the fabric begins cutting into your skin, the garment then is moved lower, your breasts become exposed and you grit your teeth while Astarion moves the top of your dress to your waist, making sure that your wrists are still in the sleeves, binding them to your body this way.

“I know you want to be mine. You can’t deny it, I can hear your heart beating fast and not from fear, little assassin. I’ll show to you just how badly you want to belong to me” vampire responds with a degree of calmness in his voice and when his eyes finally raise to your face, he notices a traitorous blush on your cheeks. “You’re so beautiful when you are forced into submission.” he whispers and you part your lips to speak but stop when you feel the heat of his palm on your breast, fondling it, squeezing it, then his fingertips find your hardened nipple and pluck at it, making you gasp ever so softly with your neck still being squeezed. Your body responds to the rough teasing, desire begins to uncoil in your lower abdomen and for a moment you hate it.

“Stop it!” you manage a whisper and finally Astarion’s fingers on your neck relent, letting you inhale more air but also making you slightly dizzy in the process. You try to remove your hands from your dress sleeves, feeling like you’re being shackled but Astarion interrupts your attempt by harshly kissing you on the mouth.

Your lips were parted as you were gasping for air and he wastes no time to slip his tongue into your mouth. You try to lean back from him but all you achieve is Astarion biting down on your lower lip just for a moment and grabbing your hips, lifting them so that you drop on the desk on your back with a thud. You lift your head to look at him and notice his eyes scanning your exposed chest while he moves your body for you, pushing it more onto the desk.

“What do you think you’re doing! It’s host’s office!” you hiss with both anger and slightly panicked concern that someone might come looking for you, sooner rather than later, but it’s like Astarion doesn’t hear you.

Annoyed that he’s treating you like this you try to free your wrists again only for him to grab at the fabric in a way that it brings both of your hands together and he tsks at you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment while he grins.

“Don’t struggle little assassin, you know you want this just as much as I do.” he says almost calmly if not for his eyes betraying his passion and desire.

“I have to go back, Duke-“

“Fuck the Duke.” Astarion suddenly snaps at you, clearly unhappy that you still try to resist him, try to argue with him, because obviously he doesn’t care about anything but this moment and you. “I will do whatever I please, to whoever I please, whenever I please.” his words are choppy and you feel your heart skip a beat at this. You realize that his arrogance and assurance that nobody can stop him is exactly what you find so alluring about him.

“Astarion-“

“No, no more words from you.” his brows are furrowed and with other hand he finds his way under your dress, finding your underwear and yanking it down with three swift, practiced pulls, wrangling it down your legs with ease. You watch him with surprise because he’s so different right now compared to two other times you fucked. There’s something else about him now, less charm and more confidence? No, that’s not right.

Dominance.

Dominance urged by his jealousy and his desire to make you finally submit.

And then his eyes flash red at you before you notice him holding your undergarment before he bunches it up in his fist and pauses just for a second. Astarion then quickly leans over you, his hand releasing your dress and now gripping your jaw, pushing his thumb and index finger into your cheeks until you are forced to open your mouth. Not that you resist much, caught completely off-guard by his sudden attack. You make a sound of protest and then your own underwear gets shoved into your mouth. You make another noise, startled and shocked but Astarion only clamps a palm over your lips with a grin.

“I think it’s for the best if you remain quiet for now.” he says with a bitter tone and you know he’s still angry, you can see it in his eyes, the possessiveness that he doesn’t even try to fight, because right now he just embraces it. You are his, that’s how he sees it, and he’s ought to teach you that once and for all.

Your eyes scan the room while you try to figure your way out of this predicament and while you’re not looking Astarion leans back from you, his palm leaving your mouth and for a brief second you try to push the fabric out of your mouth, but then clamp on it with your teeth when you feel two fingers plunge into your cunt. Your eyes immediately snap back to Astarion who’s watching his digits begin to pump in and out of you, enjoying how your body responds by clenching and releasing, getting wetter for him by the second. A smirk widens on his face as his gaze remains locked on your core swallowing his fingers with a wet sound.

“This is how I like you best, my little assassin. Submissive and eager for me.” Astarion croons, his jealous anger finally dissipating into nothing, replaced by pure desire. Palm of his other hand presses against the inside of your right thigh then pushes your legs wider apart and the tip of his tongue licks at his upper lip. “You will look absolutely wonderful as you stand by my side in the Crimson Palace.” he speaks more to himself than to you now, his fingers curling and stroking your inner walls, making you shiver and breathe faster as fire quickly spreads through your body, making you forget your fight at least for the time being. “You don’t know it yet, but you will love to be mine, I promise you that, darling.”

Astarion’s eyes do not leave your spread legs when he pulls his fingers out of you, together drawing a muffled moan out of your throat and then his head dips down and you moan around your gag louder when his hot tongue greedily presses against your drenched folds. He licks them, parts them with the tip of his tongue and then rubs against the nub of your clit while his fingers return and spread your entrance, this time making you squirm as your legs shake from tension and uncomfortable position. Astarion has a free hand and he puts it to use, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder while his tongue slithers down from your clit to your wide open cunt and he fills it with eager devotion. You mewl as you watch him with strained from pleasure expression, but soon your neck gets tired and you let your head drop back on the desk while vampire’s tongue explores you as deeply as it possibly can, making you pant out soft sighs at his ministrations.

“Ahh, delicious.” you hear Astarion exhale the moment his mouth leaves you and you exhale with relief when your body relaxes. “But that’s not all, little love.” he coos and your heavy-lidded eyes find his face. You watch him lick his lips, then quickly undo his pants, first the belt, then the buttons and then he pulls out his hard cock, the tip of it glistening with precum, and your throat involuntarily attempts to swallow, the gag in your mouth becoming drenched with your saliva. Astarion laughs. “I see the hungry look in your eyes, but don’t worry, I will give you exactly what you want.” a wicked grin and then he aims his length at you, teasing the tip against your wetness. “So ready for me with so little effort. You’re so easy.” he taunts with a chuckle and you blush heavily because something about how he says it makes your blood run faster and compels you to want to please him.

With a soft hum as he watches himself tease your cunt with his velvety tip Astarion finally pauses, nudging your entrance, pushing in just a little bit and then pulling back. His eyes flick to you to watch your reaction as he does it again and again, making your brain lose any thought except for all-consuming desire for him to stop it, to just fuck you, you’re not used to these types of games, but it looks like this is exactly why Astarion is doing this. He’s enjoying driving you crazy and it’s written all over your face how impatient you are already.

“I wish I could hear you beg, make you put that sweet mouth of yours to good use for once, but alas.” Astarion muses and just as you furrow your brows at his words he wipes everything from your mind by thrusting deeply and powerfully into you.

You cry out, your underwear in your mouth muffling nearly all of it and you watch Astarion smile widely, satisfied by your receptive reaction.

“Good girl, I prefer when you don’t struggle.” he teases and begins pumping.

His pushes are slow in the beginning and Astarion grabs your wrists now, holding them together at your waist as he increases his pace, plunging into you faster and harder. You mewl at his every shove into your core and watch his perfect curls lose their assembly with each passing moment, you see the sweat appear on Astarion’s forehead and his eyes are focused on your breasts that are swinging invitingly as he fucks you on top of this desk and yet he smirks, satisfied with himself.

“You’re perfect. Every time I have you like this I realize it more and more. You’re perfect…” his own voice starts becoming strained, his thrusts hard and heavy, and you wrap your legs around his hips, pushing him deeper into you, making him glance up at your eyes. “Just perfect…” he affirms and bites his lower lip while his face flushes with his physical exertion and his eyes move from yours to your lips, then to your neck.

No, you can’t stop yourself, this feels too good and you bite on your gag as you watch yourself being fucked by a man who you tried to resist for so long. For so long you were trying to escape the truth, deeper truth than that you have feelings for him. Truth, that the thought of being his spawn is not as unappealing as you kept trying to convince yourself. And as his cock strokes you deep inside, making you feel more than pleasure, more than a temporary satisfaction, making you feel like you are wanted and needed, you let go and close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy this fully. But that’s what you were looking for all your life – someone to take charge and just allow you to enjoy yourself. Maybe that’s what you want for eternity too.

You suddenly gasp, brought back to the present as you feel Astarion’s fangs pierce your breast. When you open your eyes you now see that his mouth is wrapped tightly around your left nipple, his tongue moving against it, sucking hard, soothing the pain from his fangs now embedded into your supple flesh. Your eyes meet his when he lifts his red gaze to you and you see nothing but desire in them even through the curl now hanging over his face.

With a wet sound Astarion release your breast and you notice two puncture wounds, slowly beginning to seep blood while he straightens his back, his face covered in sweat and his lips painted in crimson, then his hands move and force your legs open, making you release the grip of your thighs on his hips with ease.

“You’re mine and you will be forever be mine.” Astarion says it with such conviction that you don’t think, you just nod to him as your dry throat tries to make your moans louder. “Yes? Nod again.” he commands and you nod eagerly again while he handles your legs by grabbing underside of your thighs and pushing them up, then down, nearly bending you in half as his cock manages to slide even deeper into you than before. “Good girl.” Astarion’s voice becomes audibly strained but he grins from under his eyebrows and begins thrusting again, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your fingers clench at your dress harder and harder but you don’t notice that at all, instead you arch your neck and let out cry after cry with every mind-numbing pump only to be silenced by your gag. Astarion is panting too, his groans and moans louder and louder each time his body rocks against yours. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room alongside your voices and your back arches, you’re so close now, so close to the promised release.

“Fuck, you feel so good, I don’t think I will ever get tired of fucking you.” Astarion’s heat of passion has taken over him and he pounds into you with reckless abandon now, chasing his own climax without caring to tease you or prolong it any longer.

And then a knock on the door. Astarion doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch but you open your eyes, trying to gather your scattered thoughts to understand what’s going on.

“I can hear you in there! Come out at once!” Duke Sanolin’s voice barely registers in your clouded mind and more bangs on the door do not delay the orgasm that is approaching you like a tidal wave. “Do you hear me?!” an angry voice, but you don’t care. Rest of the bangs and words fade from your reality when you close your eyes again.

“Get the FUCK away from the door!” you suddenly hear Astarion snap angrily and the banging on the door stops.

You whine with pleasure, ignoring all of this and feel Astarion bend over you, squishing you underneath him as his tongue leaves a hot trail on your skin between your breasts. And then his voice reaches your mind, a strained whisper.

“Come for me, my love.” he nips at your right breast, his thrusts not relenting and it’s like this is all you needed to hear. You let go.

With a scream of pleasure behind your gag you come, your body straining, your cunt clenching around Astarion’s cock and with a loud groan he climaxes, spilling inside of you and filling you while his erratic thrusts try to prolong the bliss even for a second more. You don’t even feel how Astarion’s fingers dig deep into your thighs as he loses control and everything disappears except your satisfaction until it finally retreats and your body relaxes.

You lay there, gasping for air and finally remember that you can just spit out your gag. Yet before you do, you feel it being pulled from between your teeth and when you open your eyes, you see Astarion gently removing your underwear from your mouth. He smiles to you and then places a kiss on your dry lips, wetting them with his tongue.

“You did so well, my love, so well.” he praises as he gently lets you lower your legs and you try to gather your scattered mind, trying to catch your breath.

“Someone was here. Duke… It was the Duke.” you murmur and Astarion only chuckles.

“Yes he was and now he isn’t. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you and me. Be mine, little assassin. Be mine forever. You can’t tell me that eternity of us doesn’t sound good.” Astarion’s lips that were whispering against yours now move down to your neck and you tense for a moment, only for him to chuckle and look back at you. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn you here.”

“But you are going to turn me.” you begin to find your voice despite your throat feeling raw and Astarion gently rubs a pad of his thumb against your lower lip.

“You want it. I know you do. You want me to take care of you.” he whispers and something breaks in you, snaps in a way you never expected. What’s the point in lying and pretending.

What’s the point in struggling only to die.

The promise of immortality. A promise of eternity with him. Do you feel this strongly about Astarion? But as you look at his tired, sweaty face, as you see his smile that looks genuine and as you see desperate yearning in his eyes you realize that yes, you do.

“I want it.” you respond in barely a whisper and Astarion’s eyes widen for a moment, then he smiles.

“Wonderful.” he says but then pulls back from you, sliding himself out of you and letting his cum seep out of your sore cunt before he helps you sit up and free your hands from binds of your own dress.

You glance up at him as you rub your wrists but you’re allowed that only for a moment before Astarion draws you off the desk and into his arms, holding you firmly. His kiss is sudden and scorching while you still try to recover from everything but his happiness is obvious. Then he leans back before you are even able to kiss him back, his palms quickly move to cradle your face as he looks at you with relief on his face.

“Come to the palace. Tomorrow. I will have everything ready so that your step into immortality is perfect. I promise you this, my little assassin, I will make sure that you don’t regret this.” Astarion whispers and your heart beats faster in your chest. You heard promises like this before, many times, but somehow when it’s Astarion who’s saying them - you believe him.

“Tomorrow?” you ask, still dazed and trying to process everything.

“Leave the details to me. Just come to me when sun goes down. And… don’t change your mind.” he frowns slightly, as if worried you might not appear but you sigh and grasp his waist, pulling your body against his. There’s no fight left in you anymore, just acceptance. So you smile and give him a brief kiss.

“I’ll be there tomorrow evening, as you wish.” you promise and Astarion’s gaze slips down your face, then to your neck ever so briefly before his eyes are on yours again.

“I’ll be waiting.”

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