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milswrites · 4 months

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Hobbies Part 2.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Little bit of angst

The days all seemed to blur together. If it wasn’t for his shadows whispering in his ears, Azriel doubts he would even know if it was day or night. The time spent crying in bed at his situation had decreased. Instead, an empty feeling settled in his chest, too exhausted to cry anymore. To tired to spend any more time wallowing, despite the fact Azriel could have sworn he has never slept more in his life.

The food baskets kept on coming, though their arrival at his door weren’t announced by any more knocks. His shadows had began reporting their presence to him, making sure their master was taking care of himself. There was no lingering scent of vanilla in the air whenever he opened the door to snatch them in. Maybe Y/N had given up on him, signed him off as a lost cause and ordered some other member of Helion’s staff to drop the food off outside of the flat. Good, Azriel thought. Maybe this was for the best, to be left alone. That’s what he wanted wasn’t it?

And yet in the moments Azriel’s pain at his abandonment lessened, he would find his thoughts drifting to the woman he had met the other week. How was it possible for one woman to be so happy all the time? Maybe it was the spymaster in him but a part of Azriel felt the overwhelming need to find out more. Surely someone that gleeful had some hidden secrets or ulterior motives. Or perhaps Y/N was just an open book, heart on her sleeve, no reason to be anything other than happy. No trauma from past events or failure in the love department to make her as scarred and bitter as Azriel was.

He struggled to pull his thoughts away from her as he got up for the day to make breakfast. At least he was eating properly now, food a little easier to stomach as his emotions settled down. And yet Azriel still couldn’t escape the hollowness inside him.

The boredom he had felt since his arrival still remained. There were moments when Azriel thought back to what Y/N said and thought if only he did have a hobby he enjoyed doing to pass the time as the days felt longer and longer from his lack of activity. The sketchbook gifted from Y/N still lay open on the floor from when he threw it but Azriel had no intentions of picking it up and drawing. He wasn’t like Feyre, who could transform all her emotions into beautiful pieces of art.

In some meagre attempt of crushing his restlessness in the flat, Azriel had began doing the one thing he knew how to do best. Train. It wasn’t the most efficient thing training in the flat. He had no equipment other than truth-teller and a few other daggers. He hadn’t packed for a long trip, expecting Rhys wasn’t serious and would come and retrieve him after a week or so.

That clearly wasn’t happening, and so in effort of building a routine to follow, Azriel got back to training. He would wake up, do pushups, eat, throw his daggers at the wall imagining they were Rhysand’s face, eat, sleep and repeat. It was dull work but Azriel found a fraction of satisfaction from simply having something to do.

Yet another day had arrived and Azriel woke up, ready to start his now regular exercise when there was an enthusiastic knock at his door. He didn’t need his shadows to tell him who it was. Only one person could have a knock as annoyingly bubbly as their personality. His rage had simmered down over the past few days, a slither of guilt taking its place at the way he had treated Y/N during their first meeting, after all she was only doing her job. Yet Azriel did still have the want to be alone. Sighing, as he stood up from where he was on the floor, strong arms under him as he was set to do push-ups. She was probably here with another food delivery, just to check he was still here so she could report back to Helion and move on to another job. He would answer, so only that she could leave him in peace once it was done. His form of a feeble apology for the other day.

Azriel opened the door and looked down at Y/N, eyes immediately snapping down to her body.

“What in cauldron’s name are you wearing?”

Azriel snapped his mouth shut, not meaning to voice his thoughts. But what did she expect to hear when she had come to his door hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing only a pair of short leggings and a small, tight bralette, both the most violent shade of pink. Not a basket of food in sight.

Y/N grinned at his shock holding her arms out and sticking a leg forward, showing off her outfit. “You like it? It’s no Illyrian leathers but it’s all I had and I thought it would do!”

Unable to stop his curiosity Azriel replied, “do for what? I’ve seen prostitutes with more clothes on than you.”

“For training,” Y/N replied simply, smile still on her face unaffected by his comment, “need to be able to move around, right? I’ve never actually done any training but it seemed like the right thing to wear.” This confused Azriel, had she really never had any form of training? But then he reminds himself that females in other courts, even ones in his own, aren’t as lucky as the women who make up the inner circle, the only women Azriel really spends time with. Being able to fight is a luxury most women aren’t able to have. He swallows the lump of anger that builds in his throat at the thought of yet another woman unjustly treated by the system.

“So why are you here then if not to bring food” Azriel presses on, eager to finish up this conversation and head back inside before his eyes can wonder any more than they already have.

“I just told you silly. I’m here to train. Well not here here,” Y/N leans to the side glancing past Azriels shoulder to the wall inside his flat, covered in holes left by his dagger, “I don’t think your poor flat can take much more. We’ll go to the grounds nearby.”

Dumbstruck, Azriel just stands there, mouth hanging open slightly, a noise of confusion unwittingly slipping out, all the while Y/N stands there smiling at him expectantly. “You said that’s your hobby right? Thought I’d try something new and who better to ask than you who’s surely had hundreds of years of experience,” her words were laced with excitement.

Wanting nothing more than to desperately get out of yet another annoying situation Y/N had forced him into Azriel looked for an excuse, “Doesn’t Helion have people for this kind of thing? Get one of them to help you.” With that he started to pull the door to, only for it to get stopped by your foot.

“Please,” Y/N begs, “I know you have nothing else to do and I’d really like to try this I just can’t trust myself to get it right.” Azriel wasn’t sure whether the batting of her eyelashes or the widening of her doe-like eyes was intentional or not but he cursed himself for falling for it all the same. The temptation of leaving the flat and the itch to get in some proper training after being cooped up for so long was overwhelming.

He stared into those wide, hopeful eyes and cursed himself. “Fine”, he relented, “Just this once.” Y/N squealed and for a moment he could have sworn she was going to throw herself on him in celebration, but thankfully she held her ground, instead rocking backwards and forwards onto her heels in excitement.

Already in suitable clothes for training and not wanting Y/N to see any more of the mess inside his flat, Azriel steps out and pulls the door too. Sighing he says, “let’s get this over with” as he follows Y/N who was walking out the building with a spring in her step.

It didn’t take long for them to walk to the training grounds, Azriel making note of where it was so he could come back another day to train alone. Thankfully Y/N didn’t initiate any awkward conversation while they walked, seemingly smart enough to understand that if she did anything to annoy him he would likely leave her and head back to his flat. Instead, she opted for her sweet humming that ignited something in his shadows, causing them to dance around their feet as they moved.

The longer he was outside in his thick Illyrian leathers, the more he understood Y/N’s risqué clothing choice. He hadn’t even started training yet and he already had an uncomfortable layer of sweat forming under his clothes.

The two finally came to a stop in the middle of the arena and Y/N stopped her humming to look up at Azriel in anticipation, “now what?”

“Now we stretch and then we move onto working on your balance” Azriel shrugged and silently began his usual warm up exercises.

“That’s it?” Y/N asked smile dropped and brows furrowed as she attempted to follow Azriel’s lead when it came to the stretches, “what about fighting or swords or… anything more exciting than that?” Clearly expecting to have a much more interesting time in the area than Azriel had planned.

Exhaling, Axriel extended his arm and lightly shoved Y/N’s shoulder and with little force necessary she went flying to the ground with a shriek. “Balance is important” he spoke, unable to stop the small traces of a smile that had worked their way onto his face, finding some joy out of pushing Y/N to the floor.

Now it was Y/N’s turn to huff as she dragged herself up off the floor and dusted the dirt off her new clothes she had just bought for this occasion. “Alright boring stuff it is” she said, and Azriel had to try ignore the strange tug in his chest he felt when he saw the determined grin that flashed across her face, rubbing the area to try soothe the senstation.

It wasn’t until their session was four hours in that Azriel realised she was hopeless. Y/N had grown bored of basic stretches and balance and had insisted they move onto footwork even though Azriel insisted she wasn’t ready. “What are you even doing?” He exclaimed, not understanding how someone could trip over their own feet a total of six times in the last five minutes, “there’s newborn babies that move more gracefully than you do.”

His insults did nothing to put you off from trying again. And again. And again. If there’s one nice thing Azriel could say about you, it was that you were clearly made of strong stuff. It beat him how you could be failing this miserably at training while simultaneously receiving insults he spat at you and still have a smile on your face.

“I’m getting there,” she panted, getting back up from the floor for what felt like the millionth time, “I’ll be able to take you on soon enough.”

Azriel smirked at this, “I doubt you could even lay a finger on me if you tried.” An endearing twinkle appeared in Y/N’s eyes.

“I’ll have you know, Azriel, I take challenges given to me very, very seriously” Y/N said as she lifted her fists and widened her stance in preparation for a fight. Azriel, took a lazy step towards her, cocky smirk appearing on his face, “bring it sweetheart.”

Y/N dashed forward and surprise flashed across Azriel’s face, he hadn’t expected her to be so quick. Intimately, it didn’t make much of a difference though as Azriel’s own quick reactions and hundreds of years worth of more experience allowed him to step to the side, causing Y/N to go barreling past him before skidding to a halt and turning back to face him. “Oh come on” she wined.

“Just one hit” Azriel teased, holding up a finger. Gritting her teeth, Y/N balled her fists once more, ready to try again. Just like the time before she ran right at him, only this time instead of stepping aside, Azriel grabbed her wrist as her fist headed towards his chest and used his strength to flip Y/N over his shoulder, causing her to land on her back on the dirt floor. Amusement filled his eyes as he glanced down at her struggling to catch her breath.

Accepting defeat, an exaggerated groan left Y/N’s mouth as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing her head where it had collided with the ground. And yet, even after being tossed like a sack of flour over Azriel’s shoulder, that unwavering grin was still present.

“Next time,” Y/N wheezed out, winded from the fall, “Next time we’re doing something I find fun.”

All Azriel could do was release a small laugh as he held out a hand to help her up from the floor.

After another hour of ‘disgustingly horrific torture no sane human would choose to do for fun’ they had both decided to call it quits for the day, and as Azriel was walking out the arena, satisfied at the day of training, Y/N called out to him that she would see him real soon, to which he only replied with a playful scoff.

It wasn’t until Azriel arrived home that he realised he had gone a full day without even thinking of Elain and how infuriated he had been by the situation he was forced into. And as he made his way to the kitchen for some food, stomach rumbling after training, Azriel couldn’t help but let out a small smile to himself as he thought about Y/N. Maybe this sabbatical wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

Part 3

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Tag list:

@thelov3lybookworm

#acotar #fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #acotar imagine #oneshot

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haveyoureadthisfantasybook · 3 months

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vote yes if you have finished the entire book.

vote no if you have not finished the entire book.

(faq · submit a book)

#fantasy #books #Master of Restless Shadows #Ginn Hale #poll #result: no #l: English

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mogitz · 3 months

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Don't think about Lucien Vanserra witnessing the unspeakable: his world crumbling as the love of his life is ripped away from him and murdered right before his eyes. Don't picture his brothers holding him back, making him watch it all - every excruciating detail - as he's powerless to stop it.

Forget the image of him, broken and bleeding, dragging himself to the sanctuary of the Spring Court boundary, barely making it over the line before his knees give out beneath him. Don’t think about the emptiness that surely follows, nor the weight of his grief so heavy it's a wonder he could even stand to make it to safety in the first place. Don’t think about all the times on his journey he just wanted to give up altogether, but pushed on so that Jesminda’s death was not in vain.

Don't think about him having to turn against two of his own brothers, killing them in a twisted act of vengeance that feels nothing like the justice he sought. Resist the thought of him taking weeks, months, (years??) to mourn in solitude because Tamlin, though knowing loss to this magnitude as well, could not possibly navigate the depths of Lucien's grief. Thus, Lucien was left to weather his storm of sorrow and loss the same way Tamlin had weathered his own - alone - hiding away from a world that had taken everything from him

Don’t picture him upon the dawn-kissed roof of the Spring manor, where the dance of pinks and oranges and blues in the sky only seems to deepen his yearning for an Autumn forever lost to him. And don’t think about how in the Spring Court he has found some kind of solace... but never peace. How despite finding a home there, his soul remains restless, wandering, always running from the shadows of his past. Running from his future. Running from himself.

And please don’t think about how Lucien's gratefulness to Tamlin for giving him something close to a family results in a loyalty so profound that he'd walk into hell for him. Which he does - right into Amarantha’s clutches - only to come back less than whole, another piece of him stolen away.

That beauty he was known for? Gone.

Just like everything else.

Don’t imagine Lucien slowly piecing himself back together - inch by painstaking inch. Forget about the way he masters the art of sarcasm and humor, how he wields his wit like a shield to keep others at bay, to convince them, and maybe himself, that he's not hurting as much as he is. That beneath the quips and the easy smiles lies a well of pain and self-doubt so deep it's become part of who he is. That this levity he brings into every room is, in truth, the heaviest thing he carries.

And hey. Don't think about Lucien giving up any hope of being wanted, of being loved again. That his chance at having a mate, a true partner, was as dead as his former lover.

Or how, in a twist that must have amused fate itself, the Cauldron surprises him with a mate in Elain Archeron: his undeniable yet unwilling counterpart. How from nowhere, a bond snaps into place, redefining his destiny and sealing a connection that he'd long since given up on.

And don't think about how when Lucien's eyes meet Elain’s, somewhere beneath all the layers of loss and hurt and betrayal…. a spark of hope dares to ignite once more.

And then absolutely don't let your thoughts wander to his heart being trampled on, again, when he realizes that Elain - like everyone else - doesn’t want him. But at this point he’s not even surprised. It’s just another sharp sting in a lifetime's collection of disappointments and cruel irony. Don't dwell on how he's gotten so used to the taste of rejection and the feeling of being unworthy that he doesn't even think about trying to change her mind about him. Because, what's the point, right? Why bother when history has shown him, time and time again, that even just hoping seems to lead him to more pain?

Don’t think about how despite this, he still seeks her out just enough to show he’s willing to give it a shot if she is. How against his every instinct to protect himself, he keeps himself open to the slightest possibility of her, knowing it just leaves the door open to be hurt. And don't think about how every time Elain shies away from him, every time she looks through him or chooses to keep her distance, it just reinforces his walls, makes him retreat a little more behind his carefully constructed façade. Because facing that rejection head-on, acknowledging it, would mean admitting to himself that he's still holding onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could see past the surface. That she could want him, not despite of all he's been through, but because of it. That she could be the one to see him, really see him, and not turn away.

So, yeah, don’t go there. It's easier to laugh it off, to pretend it doesn't matter, than to face the possibility of another door closing in his face. Easier to keep up the act, to be the Lucien everyone expects - charming, sarcastic, unbothered - than to risk showing just how much Elain's avoidance cuts him to the core.

But don’t think about it.

Because acknowledging that Lucien's humor and charm are just his way of coping? That means seeing the depth of his loneliness, the real Lucien who's been hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone to care enough to look closer. And understanding that? It's realizing that beneath the façade, Lucien's just waiting for someone to prove him wrong, to show him he's worth the risk, worth the love he's convinced himself he doesn't deserve.

And Elain, with her quiet strength and her own hidden depths, might just be the one to see the real Lucien. To challenge the walls he's built around himself, if only he could believe, one more time, that he's worthy of being chosen, of being loved.

But perhaps Mor is right - they aren’t ready. And Lucien’s not sure he’s ready to gamble his heart on hope again. Not yet, anyway.

So, really, don’t think about it—unless you’re ready to root for them, to believe in the kind of love that could be their light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Because Lucien and Elain? They could be something epic, a testament to the power of second chances and the strength of a love that comes when you least expect it but most need it. That their path isn’t just about two people finding love in an unfair world that has taken the things they both hold dear; it’s a journey of coming back to life after being lost in the dark for far too long.

So yeah, just don’t. It’s a lot.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #thoughts #elain x lucien #elain archeron #acotar

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 4 months

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Cookiekind, in general, seems to hold the strange belief that Shadow Milk Cookie, as the Beast of Deceit, does not understand truth. This is because they have burnt ash for brains, and cannot comprehend that a change in superficial title does not mean that Shadow Milk Cookie is no longer the Master of Knowledge. Even if it did, a deciever can only be effective by understanding the nuance of truth, for the greatest lies are created through its flexibility.

So despite popular opinion, Shadow Milk does recognise, understand and know truth. Well, he knows everything, but especially something as fundamental as that.

Look, here's a truth, right now; Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, in spite of everything.

Not in the soft, fluffy cotton candy way, of course. Shadow Milk likes Pure Vanilla in the same way a cat likes a mouse, or a researcher likes a test subject, or a puppeteer has a favourite puppet. He likes him because he is a source of entertainment – having such a soft, simple heart makes him fun to watch struggle with silly emotions, and easy to taunt and frazzle. That's all, really. Shadow Milk can't even say he likes him to the point of wanting to crack him open and see what makes him tick, because he doesn't need to. He already knows everything about Pure Vanilla, right down to the composition of the yeast in his body, because he has constantly kept his eyes on him since the start.

It must be said though, if we are to talk in truths, that Shadow Milk may have some biases that make him more invested in Pure Vanilla's continued existence. Namely, the fact that he holds his Soul Jam.

Now, obviously he doesn't like that this little half-cookie, this unworthy, flimsy vessel, holds half his power. On the contrary, it is nothing but an insult to watch him clumsily flaunt it around while Shadow Milk stays unjustly shackled. It is the only transgression Pure Vanilla has ever committed against him, but it is a blasphemous one.

And yet, even with his bubbling rage at the disrespectful theft of his rightful power, Shadow Milk sometimes likes to toy with the idea that he is a gift, a plea for forgiveness from the Witches that he can righteously ignore. After all, Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam – his, not theirs – and does that not make Pure Vanilla his too?

Naturally, Shadow Milk knows that the Witches are horrible, selfish old tyrants and would not grant him that grace, but that does not change the fact that Pure Vanilla is, for all intents and purposes, his other half. There is something powerful in that knowledge, especially since he knows it would tear Pure Vanilla apart.

So Shadow Milk does like Pure Vanilla quite a lot, even with the full knowledge that he's a dirty little thief, because he is entertaining and, most importantly, he is his.

Now, here is another truth, since we're already on a roll; Shadow Milk Cookie will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back.

It's an inevitability, really. Even if Shadow Milk feels like he is absolutely crumbling of boredom stuck in this stupid tree, especially since the rest of the Beasts have one by one drifted into a bitterly restless slumber, they are all far too strong to be contained by a single measly seal forever. The day will come when it gives way beneath the probing of his hands, and with the cracks in the tree nearly large enough for him to stick his fingers through, he knows that day will come much, much sooner than later.

As for what comes after he escapes? Well, Shadow Milk has no concerns there.

The Faerie Cookies may have longer lifespans than average, but sadly that doesn't make them any smarter. It'll be a piece of cake to knead their doughy brains into doing what he wants them to, even with half his power missing. The Guardian is the only one who poses any real threat, and even that has a laughably easy solution, because he certainly isn't immune to crumbling.

Shadow Milk picks at the slim seam of the cracks with hands that are not his own, encouraging them to grow as he takes a moment to fantasise standing over the Guardian's pathetic crumbs.

Speaking of laughably easy solutions, Pure Vanilla is awfully kind to come to Beast-Yeast, right on the cusp of Shadow Milk's escape! Really, Shadow Milk was estatic when he overheard him discussing those travel plans. It saves him the trouble of having to track him down once he's finished freeing his friends and razing the Faeriewoods to the ground.

Even better, having Pure Vanilla around to welcome him back to the free air could prove to be useful. It would be so deliciously poetic, for Pure Vanilla to cut down the tree with his stolen power and set Shadow Milk free with his own hands, offering himself up in a syrupy spotlight to reunite the two lost halves of Knowledge to its true owner.

Shadow Milk could push him into it, he thinks confidently as he twists his claws into the fracture, grappling at the edges to force them wider. He knows Pure Vanilla better than Pure Vanilla knows himself, he is sure. It wouldn't even be hard.

Now, let's review! Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, that is the first truth. And he will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back, that is the second.

These truths coexist, and because they do, Shadow Milk has long decided he won't immediately crumble Pure Vanilla into fine dust when he takes his Soul Jam back.

Oh, he could, and so easily too. Shadow Milk has held Pure Vanilla's hunched form in his palms dozens of times, in the pit of the abyss, has felt how fragile and weak it is – not that Pure Vanilla ever notices, the silly, blind thing. He has curled his claws around his silhouette like a cage countless times, and entertained and irritated himself with how easy it would be to crush him in one fell swoop.

Yes, he could crumble him without a second thought, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it? It's not like he needs to destroy him to be able to retrieve his Soul Jam, and really, it would be a bit of a waste. He's been waiting to meet him – really, truly meet him – for oh so long, to get rid of him immediately would just be anticlimatic. Nobody likes a boring ending, least of all Shadow Milk.

There is a sudden, audible crack, and Shadow Milk's hands finally breach the containment of the bark, fingers quickly scrambling to anchor themselves on the edges of the open wound. An uncontrollable, wild grin splits across Shadow Milk's face, or whatever is currently left of it, wide and eager.

He lurches forward, all of his eyes narrowing in on the wispy traces of light outside, with the exception of the one that always follows Pure Vanilla like a curse, currently watching him settle into an airship with some teeny, insignificant Cookies. Anticipation begins to simmer the endless darkness around him, finally, finally, finally making him feel alive for the first time in far too long.

Somewhere nearby, Silent Salt is slowly beginning to rouse, and Shadow Milk's grin stretches even wider. They don't make a sound and hardly move, but Shadow Milk knew they would be the first to wake. They always are.

Finally, a third truth, to neatly complete the rule of threes; Shadow Milk Cookie is looking forward to properly introducing himself and the other Beasts to Pure Vanilla Cookie.

This one doesn't need any further explanation. After all, there is nothing more thrilling than a good reveal.

The wood groans pitifully beneath his harsh grip, the noise mingling with the distant thrum of an airship in motion, and Shadow Milk's quiet but sharp giggling.

Ah, he can't wait to see Pure Vanilla's face when he realises the true identity of his precious Light of Truth.

#sorry. i was overtaken by demons (sm) it will probably happen again #this pov was an interesting one to write in!#my current conclusion on sm is that he is very entitled and very sure of himself #(hence the confidence that he knows all about pv here. and the irritation in canon when it doesn't work)#basically he's a whole bastard. love that for him though <3 #shadow milk cookie #crk #cookie run kingdom #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #← implied but the nature is up to interpretation #the biscuit library

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astroa3h · 5 months

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the shadow side of juno ✨💔

Does your Juno placement have hard aspects? You could be dealing with the shadow side of Juno, where all that glitters isn't gold. For years I wondered why things didn't work out with my astrological soulmate, why things turned so sour? 😪

The further I studied my placement the further I realised I was dealing with the shadow side of Juno. A wolf in sheeps clothing. A faux soulmate so to speak. Look toward your corresponding sign and stay away from anyone that gives off these red flags. They are not your soulmate. ⬇️

Juno in Aries: Impulsive to a fault, your faux soulmate could be a ticking time bomb of anger and aggression. This is a love that can quickly spiral into a cycle of heated fights and reckless decisions. Their fiery nature can lead to dominance and ego battles, where love feels more like a war zone.

Juno in Taurus: Your faux soulmate might be the embodiment of stubbornness and material obsession. They can become so fixated on comfort and possessions that they suffocate the relationship. Their fear of change can lead to a stagnant, lifeless love, where both of you feel trapped in a golden cage.

Juno in Gemini: Charm morphs into manipulation. Your faux soulmate could be a master of words but a novice in honesty, leading you through a labyrinth of half-truths and flirtations. Their fear of depth can leave you feeling alone in a relationship filled with superficial connections and empty conversations.

Juno in Cancer: Overprotective to the point of being smothering, your faux soulmate might have a love that feels more like quicksand. Their emotional turbulence can create a stormy home life, where you feel constantly on edge, trying to navigate their unpredictable moods and possessiveness.

Juno in Leo: Your faux soulmate’s need for attention could eclipse everything, including you. Their pride and demand for admiration can lead to a one-sided relationship where your needs are overshadowed by their endless quest for the spotlight, leaving you in the shadows of their grandeur.

Juno in Virgo: Perfectionism turns into relentless criticism. Your faux soulmate’s desire for order can create an oppressive environment, where you feel constantly judged and never good enough. Their obsession with details can choke the spontaneity and joy out of your relationship.

Juno in Libra: Their need for harmony transforms into a paralyzing indecision and fear of confrontation. Your faux soulmate might avoid important issues, letting problems fester until the relationship is riddled with unspoken resentments and passive-aggressive behavior.

Juno in Scorpio: Here, love borders on obsession. Your faux soulmate’s intensity can manifest as jealousy, manipulation, and a desire for control that can feel suffocating. The relationship might often feel more like a power struggle than a partnership, filled with secrets and silent battles.

Juno in Sagittarius: Restlessness to the extreme. Your faux soulmate’s love for freedom can mean a refusal to commit, leaving you in a perpetual state of uncertainty. Their bluntness can be hurtful, and their constant need for new experiences can make you feel like you’re never enough.

Juno in Capricorn: Cold and authoritarian, your faux soulmate might prioritize status and success over the relationship. Their emotional unavailability and relentless ambition can leave you feeling lonely and undervalued, as if you’re more of a trophy than a partner.

Juno in Aquarius: Your faux soulmate’s unconventional nature can mean emotional detachment and a refusal to engage in the traditional aspects of a relationship. Their rebellious streak might make you feel like you’re living with a constant revolutionary, where intimacy takes a backseat to ideals.

Juno in Pisces: Escape turns to neglect. Your faux soulmate might retreat into a fantasy world, leaving you to deal with the harsh realities of life alone. Their tendency to play the martyr can lead to a relationship where you’re always the villain, no matter how hard you try. Yikes!

xox astro ash

Get your own Juno Soulmate Reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h

#astrology #astrology readings #astrology aspects #natal chart #astrologer #juno #soulmate #soulmate reading #juno soulmate #love #marriage #twinflame #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astrology blog #zodiac signs #daily astrology

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frostbitebakery · 7 months

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INTRODUCING: Quinlan Vos, Professional Bestie

two IGMHC vignettes

“I— had a friend,” Ben says. “Growing up. At least for a little while.” - Obi-Wan, chapter 2, IGMHC

HUMAN SACRIFICES ARE ONLY PASSÉ WITH THE WRONG ATTITUDE

Fox ignores him. “Cody, I’m this close to a murderous rampage.”

Vos brightens. “Cody! The one who’s fucking a Si—“

“That’s Marshal Commander Cody,” Cody says icily and even Fox needs to suppress a shiver. “Who the fuck are you.”

“How do you even know ,” Fox starts and recoils from the wink Vos throws him.

“Shadow, remember? It’s my job to know more than is strictly healthy for me.” Vos nods his chin to the comm. “ Marshal Commander Cody, tell Obes his childhood bestie would like a hello sometime.”

“You know him?” Fox whispers harshly - yells, but whose narrative is this, thanks - while Cody mutters an incredulous “ Obes ?”.

Read the rest on AO3

TRUTH-INCINERATOR CAUGHT MAKING FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS, MORE AT 11

The past worn like a mask because of how Obi-Wan was is useful to how he now is. And, if the faint rumors are true, spoken so hushed within the confines of the council chambers only, the relicts have turned into goals again. To make what once was true again.

Quin’s head spins from the spirals Obi-Wan has contorted himself into.

“Is that so,” Obi-Wan comments quietly, watching him back. “My heart warms from your efforts. A cup wouldn’t go amiss either.”

Quin inclines his head. “Sorry, we’re not at the best buds level where I trust you with anything that can be used as a weapon.” The preparations for this meeting had been endless and frustrating. No weapons on either their persons so Obi-Wan couldn’t use Quin’s lightsaber against him. A Force suppression collar around Obi-Wan’s neck which doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Thick gloves on Quin, no sliver of skin bare for taking advantage of his psychometry. Master Windu had thoroughly gone over Quin’s shields with him. The Council had left nothing unprepared.

“You don’t fidget as much as when we were younger,” he says. He gotta start somewhere, silence has never been his forte, and suddenly it’s vitally important to understand the line that had been drawn somewhere and cut his best friend out of Quin’s life. “You used to always do something with your hands.” Obi-Wan had needed the stimulation. To concentrate, to expense restlessness, to focus away from anything and everything overwhelming.

Yellow eyes continue to look at him. There’s pity in them now. “It’s been beaten out of me.”

Quin grins, quick, regretful and unsurprised. He can imagine, colorfully, and his heart breaks a little more. “Your words have always known where to cut deepest and quickest.”

“Thank you.”

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#sithy wan cinematic universe in my head #quinlan vos #obi wan kenobi #sith!obi wan #commander fox #commander cody #codywan #quinfox #star wars #my fic #these two vignettes have been sitting in my wips forever #time to yeet!

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misguidedasgardian · 10 months

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Dragon's Mistress FINALE

MASTERLIST

Summary: Everything is coming to an end

Warnings: cursing, mentions of war, mentions of death, humiliation, use of the word bastard and traitor, incest, childbirth, sickness, deaths of multiple characters, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: THIS IS IT PEOPLE! I’m wrapping this up, thank you all for being in this wild ride, it has been the most controversial piece I’ve ever written! jaja I fear that whatever I write next is not going to wake the same amount of sentiments jeje anyways, enjoy!

I really hope I can make it all justice jeje

Aemond often looked over at Blackwater bay, in the direction of Dragonstone and wondered how you were, what you were doing, if you were content.

He wanted to believe you weren’t, but deep inside of him he knew you were happy and content without him.

He also wanted to feel the baby moving within you

You only let him touch you when you were sleepy in his arms, and the dragonling restless in your belly, moving so much he was able to actually see him

It was a boy, he was certain, it was his heir

And he couldn’t wait to see him, for him to be born, he was going to dispose of Floris, send her away, he was going to keep his child.

He couldn't wait to sit the throne with his baby on his arms, to show the entire realm, his power and legacy

And he wanted to see his beautiful wife, be there by her side when she gave birth

But affairs of the realm kept him, from fulfilling his desire

Even if he had been acting as Prince Regent for years, now that he was actually King, things were incredibly different, now he was bothered with small and big affairs alike, the Kingdoms was settling after years and years of war

After losing half the treasury

People was growing restless, smallfolk who still support her half-sister the usurper, denied the increase in taxes and were not taking well to his own reign, even though he had reigned with a a hard for forgiving hand

But the way to hell was made with good intentions

And he meant well

Days after you left turned to weeks, and then to a coupe of months, and one day, he knew it, the day felt different from the others, an strange calmness to it, the birds had stopped singing and the sea was calm like a cup of wine

He only smiled faintly, looking out his balcony, he then retrieved himself to return to his Kingly duties for the day

A day after he received the raven

His Queen gave birth…

To a healthy baby girl

He frown upon hearing the news, dismissing the maester to keep with his duties of the day

He wanted to see you, be there by your side

And when he was finally ready, he received other news

There has been a big fire in Harrenhal, ending the life of Lords loyal to his reign, and the one of Alys Rivers herself

Alys was dead

In a rage, he called his master of whispers, the same one who had caused the fire that ended the life of his own father and brother

He didn’t want to believe what Corlys had insinuated, that Floris and Larrys were on it together to get rid of you, but now this?

He knew perfectly well that a palace like Harrenhal, with nothing to burn itself, only burned for the whims of men and not of those of ghosts

And when Larys Strong refused him an answer, that he didn’t know

Aemond didn’t believe him

The second most powerful men after him was against him, so he needed to get rid of him, the power Larys held with whispers and spies, it was too much to have against him

But everything that he wanted to do, it was clouded by you

By his need to see you, but everytime he decided to go climb on hagar and travel to you

Something held him back

Something kept him away from you

Corlys front he shadows no doubt, not that he noticed

Floris was held prisoner in her own room, still getting royal treatment because of the babe within her, but she was forbidden to interact with anyone…

And perhaps that is what spared her

When he decided to take to the skies in VHagar to go and see you… there had been a almost seamless interruption, within the chambers of the small council

The maester of laws started coughing

“I’m sorry your grace, I don’t feel well”, the maester took the liberty of placing his boney hand in the man’s forehead

“He is burning”, he whined, concerned

And chaos ensued all over the keep

The envoy from the North had come and with him, he brought the Winter fever

Aemond had never experienced fear like he did in those couple of months

He, as the King, had to remain secluded, fire everywhere around him to keep away the disease that infected the air.

Seeing you was out of the question, he only received the ravens with tales of how Dragonstone was not accepting anyone from the exterior, and how they had remained spared from the wrath of the gods

And Floris went into labor, just in time to receive the prince

And Aemond’s commands to the wetnurses were clear

Save the princeling

They shared concerned looks as they received a small, red, dark haired prince into the world

Floris had a son, and so did Aemond

He held his newborn while sitting on the Iron throne, with a shy smile on his face, pedestals with fires lit up all over the room.

It was a small quiet boy, Aemond noticed, falling asleep immediately in his arms, against his chest

This is not what he expected

But fatherhood knocked on his door and he gladly answered

“The Gods are punishing us”, he raised his head to look at his mother

He had commanded her to stay in the tower of the hand for her own protection, and so far, the Queen had been safe from the fever, until now

Her face was red with temperature, he could see the sweat drops from here

“Mother”

“This is because of you, for marrying two Queens”, she whined, she took shaky steps towards her

“Stay back”, he whined, having his son in his arms

“I want to see him”, she begged him, she was delusional, he could tell

“You have catched it”, he warned, standing up, ready to ran away from his own mother if needed be

“The gods are angry with me”, she muttered, that twisted scowl on her face , “I failed them, I try to uphold the traditions, the faith the family, and i failed”

“You didn't”, he tried, to calm her, “You look unwell, I will fetch the maester”

“I don't need the maesters”, she said, and again, tried to come near him

“Don’t!”

“I just want to see him!”, she cried, “my grandson, the only one I have”

He had to call the guards to remove her from his space, he had to

He couldn’t risk himself of his son

Queen Alicent lasted seven days with the Winter fever before she perished, having thrown out all her green dresses, crying for her lost children

The fever also took half his small council, and Queen Floris.

The death of the later is still unknown, some say it was because of the childbed fever, others from the winter fever, and other that it was from neglect

The last remnants of his past life were gone, he was now more alone than he ever was in his life, the court had been decimated, and he didn’t even knew who to trust

Corlys had fled, because of the scare of the fever, and he was faring well and everyone was on Driftmark and Dragonstone

He stood alone

His only consolation is that you and his daughter were doing well, and not dying painfully of fever

. . .

You cradled your newborn daughter against your chest as she fed hungrily from you.

You had been so scared, and alone, but everything had gone perfectly, and after hard hours of labor, you heard a loud cry fill the room, besides yours anyways

A little silver haired girl

You shrieked of relief and happiness when the wet nurse placed a rosy-cheeked baby in your chest

She was so small and perfect, and as days passed you learned that she was so quiet, not at all fuzzy, she was a perfect baby, like she already knew she was a little princess

A girl

You giggled to yourself, fuck Aemond, but at the same time you felt fearful, but then you remembered you had Viserys, and Corlys, and the remains of your family to protect you, and you felt even better, everything was going to be alright

At least for your small family core

You’d learn, by ravens and letters, that the Winter Fever has struck the capital

Civilians were dying by the hundreds, and it had struck the inside of the Keep as well, you received a personal letter from Aemond, expressing his concern for you and your daughter

But you couldn’t be more relieved

Dragonstone was filled with life, the lords of the crownlands managed to send members of their families to make court in the castle, to be with you, you were getting to know them, and had dinners and interacted with all the ladies and lords, it was life fulfilling, you had never been able to do that before

And you found yourself happy one day

While the capital was submerged in chaos, you were dining in celebration of your beautifully perfect daughter, a princess to the Kingdoms, with your cousins, your grandfather, and all the lords

You were happy

Or as much as you could

You didn’t even care that Aemond never took the time to visit you, perhaps he was sad you had given birth to a daughter and not a son, perhaps that is why he was keeping his distance.

The you received news

That Floris was dead after giving birth to a son

A Baratheon prince

Despite Corlys’ concern, you had none, you had your brother, your daughter, your dragon who had laid an egg for your child that hatched into a curiously looking pink little dragon

And then one day

Aemond was in Dragonstone

You could feel the court change, as the servants changed the banners of the red dragon for a green one.

The first thing Aemond did was held court and receive his subjects int he throne room, with you by his side, and then, after a long day, he dare to enter your chambers, while you were starting to feed your daughter

“Queens don’t do that, specially for a girl”, he whispered entering the room

“Is my child, and I will feed her from my chest if I chose to”, you said dismissively, he said nothing else, perhaps relieved you were actually responding to him

“Are you healed?”, he asked, you looked at him in wonder

“My King?”, you asked

“Are you healed from giving birth?”, he asked, and you only looked at him sadly

You had the maids take your daughter away.

He served you wine, to relax you, and you had already surrender, you bathed him, as you offered him, like you used to do, but he grabbed you gently and dragged you inside the tub with you

“I’m so sorry for your losses My King”, you whispered as you massaged him, , straddling him, he only hummed

“I have children now, and nieces”, you can tell he was hurting, but didn’t want to show it, so you let it go. He looked at you with desire in his eye, as he took the sponge from your hand and he then cleaned you, specially in your breasts

“You look so beautiful”, he said huskily, you leaned in and kissed him, wanting to get it over with

He took you in the tub, making you ride him sensually, it didn’t hurt, in fact, it was actually pleasurable.

“You are coming home with me”, he whispered in your ear, with him still inside, but after your both reached your peak

“I don’t think that is such a good idea”, you whispered, he sighed loudly, “the fever is still out there”

And that is how you convinced him to let you stay, you could tell he was hurting, you could tell that he was lonely, now more than ever, but he heard you, and left you in Dragonstone, after an entire month, he left alone

And for the first time, you felt him defeated, even though he was the king of the seven Kingdoms

And that is how, weeks turns to months, turned to years

12 years later

When you looked at your little brother Viserys you often wondered if he was also a son to Harwin Breakbones Strong

Your brother, at his eighteen years old he had the stature and built of the strongest Knight of the seven Kingdoms

You saw him practicing with his sword against Steffon, he was truly a great teacher, and Aerion was also a great student, quick on his feet despite his height, and strong in his movements.

Your daughter giggled by your side as you walked together by the beach. and walked toward the Dragonmount for her dragon riding lessons, even though she and her dragon were connected in levels you were yet to understand yourself

“When is papa coming back?”, she asked, and you just shook your head

“I’m not sure my love”

Aemond visited often, he found reprieve in Dragonstone, in your arms and his daughter’s care, he took you like a vacation, and you saw him happy, but he soon left, he was the King he had duties, and even though he had refused to say something or share about his thoughts,

Despite his very efforts, and yours, you had not been able to conceive another child, you couldn’t pass the first trimester before bleeding, and that was alright with you, but not with him, he was concerned. But you found reprieve in Dragonstone, and even though Corlys was getting very old, and he walked with a cane now, you still felt contented

Rhaena and Baela had married, one within her family, and the other with a Hightower from Oldtown, to your surprise, you were certain Daemon was twisting and turning in his grave

But they were happy

You found meaning, raising your daughter, and caring front he people in the Crownlands

Corlys had sent your way many Lords of the great families through the years, and you knew them all, and that was very strange

You could feel it

The air was changing

You could sense it

And it all came to be, when Aemond drew his last breath

He had been battling with an unknown disease for months, shortness of breath, coughs, spitting spots of blood

He died, slowly and painfully, the servant found him in the morning, with blood dripping off his mouth.

He knew it was coming, the stranger was looming over him and he spent his last weeks weak, not being able to leave his bed, and there, he pondered, about how he was going to leave this life, with nobody by his side.

His son was scared of him, barely looked at him in the eyes, and his Queen was in Dragonstone, with no intention of coming to his side, shunned and threatened, his daughter, the apple of his eye, was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, but so gentle and kind. he couldn’t force her to come to court, she was still to young and innocent

He laid alone, on his deathbed

A single tear escaped his eye, as tumultuous thoughts invaded his mind

The time he made Vhagar rip Lucerys front he skies, the time he defended Aegon and burned Rhaenys to a crisp, when he slayed all the Strongs he could get his hands on, when he burn to the ground all the castles and cities in the Riverlands…

The first time he took you against your will, whe he humiliated you and made you kneel

Your tears

Your cries

Everything, installed on his chest like a knife, twisting and turning until he could no longer breathe

He died, coughing blood

Whispering how sorry he was, when Floris, his mother, Helaena, and Aegon came to collect him

The day Corlys had been preparing for for years

As soon as his spies let him know of the dark news, he sent the ravens to all corners of the seven Kingdoms

From the Wall to Sunspear and Oldtown, all the great families but one, the Baratheons, started a long journey, but not to the Capital, but instead

To Dragonstone

As you, and our daughter mourned, dressed in black, you consoled your child, who only had known Aemond’s good side, she glung to your side as you kissed her head

“I’m sorry my love”, you whispered, as you were in the balcony, looking out at the seas

From one day to the other, ships with banners from all over the continent came to the island, to your amusement

Rickon Stark, now a young man, came to you, as did Edmund Tyrell, Robert Tully, Alyssa Arryn, Even the princes of Dorne came, not to surrender but to support

Corlys introduced them all, to the new King of the seven Kingdoms

Viserys Targaryen

They all bend the knee to him

And proclaimed him King with the crown of Jaehaerys

“I love you, always”, you whispered to him, as you took his cheeks and made him lean in so you could kiss his forehead, he held you back, kissing your temple in turn

“My lovely sister, you kept me safe, you protected me, cared for me, now is time I do the same for you”, he whispered, “I will protect you now, you will be safe”

Happy tears rolled down your eyes, you knew it was going to be hard, and that your brother was going to be unsafe, but it was what it was

It was his destiny

So you traveled with all the great families to King’s Landing, Corlys barely made the journey, but he did, and that is what he had been expecting for all his life.

But when you entered the Throne Room, you found a skimpy kid sitting in the Throne, his Baratheon family by his side, who paled when they saw the greatest commitive the world had ever seen.

Viserys calmly walk up the stairs leading to the throne, the King’s guards did nothing to stop him, he only looked down at the boy and smirked

“You are in my seat”

The reign of King Visrys was long and fruitful, called Jahaerys come again, he married your daughter on her seventeenth name day, and together they had two princes and two princesses

You remarried, a man from a great house, you didn’t bare more children, but you were so happy, and contended, and lived in Dragonstone for the rest of your life

Corlys passed weeks after he put Viserys on the Throne, his life work was completed, thanks to him, the seven Kingdoms were now united under one rightful King, continuing your mother’s legacy, like it was supposed to be

THE END

#misguidedmistress #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #targaryen!reader #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #dark!aemond x reader

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 5 months

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 8: Free Fall

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Pet spawn?

Unrestrained laughter erupts from your lips at Elowyn’s overt taunting. This snake has made the doltish mistake of thinking that she can manipulate you through her callous words. She believes you to be a blind fool, but you see her goading for what it is, and you will not be baited as if you’re a starving animal being offered food on a silver platter.

She’s been trying to exploit my weakness for Astarion all along.

Elowyn’s face deforms into a bewildered mess that makes her usually gossamer features vanish. She smooths down her silky green dress with a restless hand. Those beaming sapphire eyes try to drill through your unyielding gaze, and she doubles down on her efforts to spur you on.

“Sugar doesn’t believe she’s your pet, Astarion,” she throws her head back with mocking, frosted laughter echoing into the night, “How adorable.”

“I know what you’re doing, Sugar,” you giggle, pulling your hand out of Astarion’s, who watches you with a cocked brow, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment, “It will not work on me.”

Your palms heat as you stalk steadily around her and Astarion. Running up and down the length of her svelte frame, your eyes analyze Elowyn with an iron gaze. She really is quite stunning, with her pouty lips polished with a red-hued stain, but she can’t conceal that conniving, duplicitous flare in her eyes from you.

“I am sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, spawn,” Elowyn croons innocently, “Astarion, dear, your toy is frightening me. She needs her Master to give her leash a yank.”

Astarion chuckles, bitter and biting, “I warned you to watch yourself,” he purrs, shoving her away from him, “Did I not?”

The blue flare of lightning erupts across her fingers, and you’re momentarily confused. You’re too away for her to cast Shocking Hands against you. It doesn’t dawn on you until it’s too late that her target is Astarion. You cast quickly and pitch her into the air with Telekinesis, sending her hurtling across the paved ground.

It’s too late, and you watch Astarion’s eyes flicker between the deathly spiritless frost and the vivid cardinal red. He shudders with a bellowing roar as the lighting courses through him. Seeing him in pain causes your intrinsic sorcery to surge in a torrent, along with the ardour of your rage. Fire detonates to life from your palm in a molten, oscillating sphere burning so hot it would put the very Hells themselves to shame.

You prepare to bombard Elowyn with the draconic firestorm, but Astarion’s strained voice makes you pause, “Don’t,” he grimaces as the aftershocks course through his body, making him twitch and jerk.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Astarion?” you snap, your body trembling with the sheer amount of power brimming inside you.

“I will explain everything,” Astarion’s eyes dance between ice and fire as the conflict inside him sieges his mind, “but right now, I need you. I cannot afford to lose control.”

You look between him and Elowyn, who remains unstirring on the rigid ground. You could kill her effortlessly right now and wipe her miserable soul from existence, but you would almost surely cause Astarion to lose the fragment of control he is hardly clinging to.

Elowyn or Astarion?

The choice is obvious, but it still vexes you. “Fuck!” you scream into the sky, struggling to rein in your rampaging temper. The fireball in your palm ebbs as you try to douse it, “Tell me what you need.”

“Kiss me,” he commands.

You glance once more between Elowyn and Astarion, gods-fucking-damn it, you think, before sprinting towards Astarion. You drive yourself into his outstretched arms and take his lips in yours. He crushes you against him with such strength that you wonder if your ribs may splinter and break.

You slide your tongue over the sharp tip of your fang and let the metallic sharpness flood your mouth. You entice his lips to part, and a groan rumbles in his chest as your taste drags him back from the brink of oblivion.

The clattering of unsteady footsteps resounds, and Astarion breaks the kiss, glancing behind you. Elowyn is wobbling on shaky legs as she attempts to stagger away. The bright vermillion hue of blood streaks her face and drips from her cheek onto her soiled dress.

“She must not get away,” Astarion says with a voice bathed in malice.

You untangle yourself from him and cast Hold Person. A purple glyph renders on the ground under Elowyn, and she halts, mid-stride, dead in her tracks, as the blockade encompasses her. Glimmering chalky tendrils cavort around her, keeping her statuesque and speechless.

“Go back to the manor,” Astarion orders with a sharp edge, “I will return when I have dealt with this.”

He wants me to leave?

You can’t help yourself, and you grit your teeth as you try to bite back raw jealousy, “Are you taking her back to the palace,” you spit harshly, “to entertain her?”

“No, you adorable, envious thing,” he chuckles, “Most certainly not.”

“Then why do I have to leave,” you cross your arms over obstinately.

I do not take orders.

“I do not wish you to see what I’m about to do to her,” his eyes bore into you.

“You’re not going to kill her, or you would have let me do it,” your eyes tunnel into Astarion, scrutinizing him, “What do you not wish me to see?”

He sighs, running his hands through his hair, “How long will the spell hold?”

“It will dissipate with time, or I can end it at my whim, but you are avoiding the question.”

“Fine,” he growls. His hand rests at the back of his neck, and he shakes his head slightly, "If you wish to stay, then stay, but keep behind me and do not look into my eyes.”

Your brow cocks in confusion, “Why?”

Astarion runs his fingers lightly down your arm with that practiced scheming smile, “Do as I ask, please.”

He’s trying to manipulate me.

“I’m staying.”

“Bloody Hells, you’re stubborn,” he groans as his face twists between an angry scowl and an amused grin. Astarion takes several steps forward before turning back to you, “You should take heed of my instructions at times, you know. I’m trying to protect you, and you’re making it exceptionally difficult.”

Protect me from what? From the feeble, sad sack of flesh stuck in my cage?

Astarion disperses and becomes flesh again at the other end of the street in front of the imprisoned Elowyn with his arms crossed, regarding her with low, pinched brows.

Show off.

Casting Misty Step, you vanish and appear beside him. Elowyn’s eyes flicker between you, but that’s all she can move. You stare at her acutely with a smug smile. The wound on her forehead still weeps, and blood dribbles down her face, slow and syrupy.

“How long until she’s free?”

“I can let her free if you wish,” you say while walking a lap around the suspended woman, trying to figure out what is so off about her that makes your hair stand on end, “or you can wait for the spell to wane.”

Astarion’s eyes cast skyward, “It will be dawn soon. Get behind me, let her go, but do not look into my eyes. Do you understand?”

You press your back against Astarion’s as you stare off in the opposite direction, “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Do it.”

Gripping the Weave, you allow the spell to unravel and give Elowyn her freedom. The scent of her blood on the air is heavy this close, and you feel like you’re frothing at the mouth, trying to bulldoze your profane urges down. Astarion’s hand turns and folds over yours, giving you something to concentrate on.

“Astarion,” Elowyn gasps, finally able to speak, “You don’t have to do this. I overstepped. Master, please be merciful.”

She calls him Master? HA!

“Elowyn, darling,” Astarion’s voice is wrapped up in the velvety tone of manipulation you remember so well, making you wince, “You must learn your place, or I will be forced to replace you.”

“Master,” she sobs, “please.”

“Be a very good girl and look into my eyes, Elowyn,” Astarion coos, “You will go home tonight, crawl into your bed and fall into a deep sleep. When you awaken, this will all be but a dream.”

Elowyn’s voice is emotionless and blank when she answers again, and you can’t help but spin around. Staring into her eyes, you recognize the compulsion from the guards at Cazador’s. Threads of red rays are weaving around her as she stares at Astarion, unwavering.

Gods, she doesn’t even blink.

There’s nothing but a vast emptiness in those sapphire eyes now, almost as if you were looking into the eyes of a corpse. Her pupils are blown wide, obscuring much of the colour of her irises. This should delight you, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t a little, but you wonder how often he’s made you forget. How many times has he made you go home and think something was simply a dream?

No wonder he didn’t want me to witness this. Can I not even trust my memories?

At Astarion’s command, Elowyn walks away in a rigid and jerky motion as if her limbs are carved from wood. They lurch stiffly, and you can hear her repeating, “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” as she marches wherever she goes.

You watch Elowyn disappear into a dark alley, repeating those words in a hollow voice, “What did you do to her, Astarion?"

You already know, but you must hear him admit it.

“Probably precisely what you think,” Astarion says with a stiff back, standing exceptionally tall and intimidating, “I compelled her.”

A tremble runs through you, “How long does that last?”

“Until my commands are completed,” he looks at you, and you watch an ominous glow recede slowly from his eyes, “As far as I can tell.”

How many times has he done this to me? Another thing I must be alert for.

The walk back to the manor is tainted with an awkward silence. Flaming Fists patrolling the streets nod to Astarion as if they are acquainted, but they give you careful, often fearful, looks and even change their paths to keep their distance from you. You are tempted to scream “BOO!” at them to see if they jump.

Astarion walks casually beside you and, oddly enough, slows his pace to yours. In your peripheral vision, you catch his eyes repeatedly snapping toward you. You pretend not to notice his peculiar behaviour, but apprehension claws at you, ruffling your nerves. Usually, it was hard to get Astarion to shut up, but right now, you wish he would say anything to dispel the cumbersome stillness.

Casting your eyes heavenward, you stare into the sky, not a cloud to be seen. All those little pinpoints of twinkling lights are starting to dwindle as the moon prepares to yield to the sun, “Astarion, are you still yourself?"

“Yes,” he crosses his arms and cocks his brow, “I am still myself, more or less. Why?”

You pivot on him quickly, grabbing his arms with a bright smile, “Can we watch the sunrise?”

Astarion halts, eye round and brows raised so high they seem to be trying to climb onto his scalp, “You wish to watch the sunrise with me?”

“If you promise you won’t let the sun burn me.”

“Never, my sweet. I would be honoured,” Astarion grins boyishly, his fangs in plain view, “I know a perfect place. This way.”

Astarion twists you through the upper city streets until you reach the newly rebuilt High Hall. The palace towers into the sky and construction continues on a few additions and extra wings stretching outward.

Several grand spires topped with parapets sit atop an elaborate multistory estate with elegant windows. It is protected by an outer wall with several rather large round towers. The central courtyard boasts lush gardens, expertly manicured with crisscrossing walkways lined with benches.

“Astarion,” you say while looking around at the extensive scenery, “where in the Hells are you taking me?”

He points to the tallest rounded tower with a flat top, “Up there.”

Glancing at it, you cross your arms and stare at him with knitted brows, “I can’t get up there. I can’t see where I’m going.”

He chuckles with a sly smile and shrugs, “I guess I will be the only one watching the sunrise then because I can fly up there.”

Sometimes, you can’t tell when he’s joking, and you stare at him petulantly with pursed lips.

“Oh, you are adorable when you’re being sour,” an endearing crooked half smile draws up the corners of his mouth, “No tricks needed. We are just going to walk right in.”

Walk right into High Hall?

Astarion strides through the grounds with you on his heels. He’s familiar with the property and knows what paths to take and where to turn. With dawn approaching, the groundskeepers are starting their rounds of watering and pruning the various plants. They all greet him with a bow and a respectful “Saer” before continuing their routines.

Gods. They know him. What the fuck has he been up to?

He lets himself into a tower where a couple of guards are playing cards or dozing in their chairs. They jump to attention as soon as they see him. Some pop up so abruptly that their rickety wood chairs and stools capsize with a rattle.

“Master Ancunin,” they greet him with their heads bowed in respect.

“At ease,” Astarion instructs, “Wigmund, I will be at the top. No one is to disturb me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Ancunin, as you say,” the burly man rasps.

You duck down slightly to try and look at their eyes. You can hear hearts beating, but you wonder if one or more of these poor souls are Astarion’s spawn.

How else would he have such command over them?

Astarion crosses his arms and cocks a brow at you, “Heads and eyes up, all of you,” he barks before motioning to you with his hand in a dramatic gesture, “Take a good look, my dear.”

The men snap their heads up with wild eyes. You stare at Astarion, observing his eyes to ensure you haven’t upset him. He stands casually, aloof and quite clearly bored but with a lopsided grin. You stare into the eyes of all the men, browns, blues, and greens, but none are sanguine red.

“Finished your inspection of my men?” Astarion tuts, “We will miss the sunrise if you take much longer looking for things that aren’t there.”

“I’m going to have questions for you later, Astarion,” you taunt with a wry smile.

“You are exceptionally nosy these days,” he admonishes playfully, bounding up the twisting staircase as you follow, “It seems we have much to discuss.”

Astarion motions to the ladder leading the hatch that will open to the top of the tower, “Ladies first.”

“Are you angry?”

He sighs with a theatrical flair, “Why? Because you inspected the guards to see if any of them were my spawn instead of simply asking me?”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Astarion’s fingers slide down your arm, “I’m not angry in the slightest. You may inspect as many guards as you want. I care not.”

You point at the ladder, “You go up first.”

He bows, “As you wish.”

Climbing onto the top of the tower, your eyes are met with a breathtaking view of the Chionthar and lower city. Large and small boats slice through the otherwise still waters as the first dim wisps of light creep up on the horizon.

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back, “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“It is,” he smiles one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen on him, “Come. Sit with me. Sunrise is not far off now.”

You crawl onto the flat stone top and let your legs hang over the edge precariously. Looking down, you shrink away as anxiety tightens in your stomach. You were never a big fan of heights. It’s been established that you are not the most graceful being to walk this land, and part of you fears you might topple right over the edge.

Astarion watches you intently before shaking his head and giggling at you, well aware of this phobia, “Heights still trouble you?” he looks down and cocks his head, “The fall wouldn’t kill you, but it would be painful.”

“Wow,” you scoff at him dryly, “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

“Come here, little love,” he chuckles as he grabs you by the waist and moves so you’re sitting comfortably between his legs, “I’ll protect you from your woeful clumsiness.”

The first swell of the sun ascends over the horizon, and you lurch back further into Astarion, gritting your teeth in a knee-jerk reaction. You know you’re safe with him, or at least you hope so, but logic succumbs to panic. Burying your face into Astarion’s chest and closing your eyes, you grip tight handfuls of his shirt.

Please, please, don’t hurt me.

“It’s alright,” Astarion pushes the hair out of your face, and his fingers sweep up and down your arm, “I’ve got you. Open your eyes.”

You open one of your eyes in a narrow slit and peek out of it, looking toward the horizon. The golden sphere climbs slowly, casting outstanding, sharp oranges and pale yellows into the sky. The radiant light frisks over your pale skin, and you smile.

Astarion lights up when he sees you smiling. His arms pull you closer, and he rests his head against yours and whispers, “This is nice.”

It is.

You relax in Astarion’s arms as you both watch the birth of a new day.

Standing in the long hallway, you stretch with a yawn. The heavy drapes cover the windows, smothering the manor in shadow, which means Astarion has gone out. On your way to the library, you pass a large mirror with a delicate silver trim. You peer into the reflective surface. Unsurprisingly, the mirror remains empty and void of your image. You let the pads of your fingers slink down the smooth finish. It used to make you sad, this lack of reflection, but somewhere along the way, you became anesthetized to it.

You look down the hall at Astarion’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, and you can’t help but take a peek inside.

I shouldn’t.

Despite your better judgment, you push further into his room, letting your fingers trace over the baroque tables and wardrobes fashioned from deep plum-stained wood. Papers and ledgers are strewn on his desk, various contracts and purchase agreements with notes and signatures in his immaculate hand.

A rectangular black leatherbound notebook lays on his bedside table. Picking it up, you sit on the bed and let your fingers meander over the smooth cover. You know you shouldn’t open it; you shouldn’t be here in the first place, but curiosity was always your downfall. Your fingers undo the ties, keeping the oddly shaped notebook closed, and you flip it open.

Your face stares back at you from the page, and you gasp as your eyes pine over the beautifully detailed sketch. Gods, you haven’t seen yourself in so long, and you wonder if it’s even you for a moment. Your fingers shake as they hover over the drawing. You fill page after page countlessly as you flip through them.

Every single one.

You hear the creak of the manor door open, the resounding thump of Astarion’s heartbeat and footsteps as he ascends the staircase. You should leave, but your eyes are fixed on the image of your eyes before you. At least, you think it’s your eyes as they appear now, but you’ve never seen them, so you can’t be sure. It’s the only sketch in colour. Red veils most of the irises, but there are splotches, cracks and slivers where another colour emerges against the vivid scarlet.

Astarion leans against the doorframe. His arms crossed, “Snooping, are you?”

“I didn’t know you draw.”

“My dear, I’m 200 years old, with much of that time spent hiding away during the day,” he tuts with a low chuckle, “I am a man of many talents.”

“These,” your voice drifts as you swallow hard and turn another page, “These are all...”

“You,” he cuts you off, “Yes. Observant, as always.”

Finally prying your eyes away from the page, you stare at him bewildered, “Why?”

Astarion sits beside you on the bed, “I could never get you out of my head,” he shifts the notebook out of your hands and stares down at the page, “For awhile, these were all I had left of you.”

“I-I,” you spring off the bed, intending to leave, “I’m sorry. I should not have been in your room.”

“I did say I could be convinced to call it our room,” Astarion grabs your arm, a sly grin quirking up the corners of his lips, “You’re welcome in here, even if it’s just to rummage through my things, you delinquent.”

Our room. It sounds so good.

No. I cannot let myself get caught in this trap.

“Is that what my eyes look like now?”

Astarion turns the page and cocks his head, examining it, and then back at you scrutinizingly. Walking to the window, he pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to splash over the room and beckons you closer with his finger.

“Look at me,” he angles your face so the sun washes over it, “Hm, close, but I could do better.”

Astarion almost rips the page out, and you grasp at his hands with a yelp, “What are you doing!?”

He giggles with a smirk, “Don’t fret,” his thumb caresses your cheek, “I will sketch it again.”

“If you’re just going to tear it out and throw it away, can I keep it?”

He cocks a brow at you and looks at the page. Smiling, he tears it out carefully and hands it to you, “It’s all yours, beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly, staring at it, mesmerized.

“If you’re done poking about now,” he sighs while closing the notepad, “I believe we have matters we must discuss.”

Elowyn. Fuck.

A discussion topic you would rather avoid. You’re not ready to hear whatever he has to say, and truthfully, you don’t want to know what kind of relationship he has with her. She already told you more than you care to know.

You look at him, crestfallen, “You want to discuss Elowyn.”

He nods, “You did well to avoid an altercation with her,” Astarion praises, taking your hand, but you pull away from him.

“I’m not an idiot. She was trying to bait me,” you scoff, clenching your jaw with a frown, “I have used the same tactic many times. She knows what you are, Astarion, and about whatever is wrong with you. She tried to get you mad on purpose. You realize that, right?”

“Yes, that’s quite clear after her little performance,” Astarion’s fingers cradle his chin, “Her motives for such a demonstration still elude me, though.”

You toss your head back and laugh steely and sarcastic, “She wants me out of the way. I suppose she’s not happy to share you,” Astarion’s mouth opens to speak, but you trample over him, “I don’t want to know what she is to you,” your eyes shine, wet with unshed tears, “Please. Spare me that pain.”

“Sweetheart…” he mewls with a timbre of candied gloss.

“I said no, Astarion,” you say, sharper than any dagger ever could be. Your hands shake as you place the drawing on a table, careful not to crease the delicate parchment.

“Why do you evade this?” he roars coarsely while tearing off his coat as if it’s suffocating him, throwing it aside, “Why does this upset you so much? You abandoned me!”

“If you don’t know why this upsets me, then you are being intentionally ignorant, Astarion!” you scream as the tears finally spill out of your eyes, “I thought… I thought...”

I thought you loved me.

You wrap your arms around yourself to stifle your sobbing, “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

Leaning your back against the wall, you hope it might help steady you. Sometimes, you miss the all-consuming numbness that has been slowly unthawing, leaving you this walking emotional catastrophe. Your knees feel like jelly as sobs you’re trying to keep suffocated wrack your body.

“Elowyn means nothing to me,” he whispers in a velvet dulcet, “She is simply a means to an end.”

I guess we are doing this.

“If she means nothing to you, why didn’t you let me end her,” you wipe the tears staining your cheeks, “Why did you protect her? It’s hardly like you to be against murder.”

“She is still useful to me. She is a rather keen alchemist and a proxy for that vile Drow merchant.”

Drow merchant? No… It couldn’t possibly be.

“I’m sorry. What?”

His fingers wrack through his hair fitfully, messing the perfected style, “I’ve contracted the blood merchant to do some,” he pauses, “assessments for me. Elowyn is her assistant.”

Did I just hear him correctly?

Exploding, you scream at him. Leaping forward, grabbing his shirt, you shake him, “Please tell me you are not talking about Araj Oblodra?”

“The very one.”

“What in the fuck are you doing cavorting with her,” you scold him, flushed with helpless rage, “you hate her!”

“I do, most fervently,” he retorts harshly, “which is why Elowyn takes care of the dirty work.”

“Assessments?” you cringe, the word tasting sour on your tongue, “Please tell me you are not giving her access to your blood.”

He won’t even give me his blood.

“If I tell you that it would be a lie, and I’m no liar,” he says in a crystalline tone, “The ritual changed the composition of my blood. I’d rather like to know why and if it has anything to do with my… ailment.”

He’s gone completely mad.

“You godsdamned idiot! How could you be so careless? You have no idea what your blood is capable of!”

“Oh, come now,” he scoffs with a serrated click of his tongue, “Don’t be dramatic, darling. It’s only a minuscule amount. They could hardly do anything with it.”

“Fuck,” you rage on, and all the candles in the room alight at once with long, skinny flames twirling like tornados unnaturally, “I can’t believe you would be so fucking brainless.”

He glances at the candles and shrugs with a clever glint in his eye, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he waves dismissively, “and all that.”

“Close is one thing, but taking her to your bed?” you give him another vigorous shake as if you might be able to physically shake sense back into him, “What in the nine Hells are you thinking!”

“Take her to my bed,” his brows pinch together, “whatever are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me,” you rasp, tears freefalling from your eyes, “She told me about your relationship, and you implied it the night she showed up, and you told me it was none of my business! A long night entertaining your guest, remember?”

His forehead creases, and his eyes shift as if trying to recall memories, “Ah,” he looks suddenly abashed, “Yes, I suggested that. I, uh, may have embellished… a little.”

“Why? What was the point?”

“I asked you to stay that day, remember? I asked you to stay with me in the palace, and you declined. I may have, perhaps, a trifle childishly lashed out.”

“But Elowyn,” you finally let him go and start pacing the room, “she told me!”

“I’m curious,” Astarion straightens his shirt where your unyielding grip rumpled it, “What exactly did she tell you?”

“She said you two were having a lot of fun. I believe her exact words were, “Sex, sweetness, sex,” you bristle while trying to quell the nauseating wave that unfurls and tickles your throat, “She made sure the clarify that for me as if I were some fucking halfwit.”

Astarion throws his head back and laughs loudly, “Gods. She wishes,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “Elowyn has never graced my sheets. That is not to say she did not try, of course, but can you blame her? I am terribly charming.”

“You’ve,” you blunder. Your tongue feels numb, and you can’t get it to form the question, “Never?” you ask, finally managing to nudge it out clumsily.

“Absolutely not!” Astarion exclaims, clicking his tongue in disapproval, sticking his nose pompously in the air, “I do not fraternize with my underlings.”

Was that why he wouldn’t touch me? Did he consider me his underling?

“Why,” you stammer, swallowing hard, “why would she tell me that? What would she gain from it?”

“You did say she was trying to goad you,” he shrugs, “As for her motivations, I do not know, but I intend to find out.”

“I’m still going to fucking kill her one day,” you growl with a devilish smirk, relishing the vivid unpardonable visions racing through your head, “after I discover what she is up to.”

“Still murderous,” he grins wickedly handsome, “I’m impressed. When the time comes, she’s all yours, my love.”

My love.

You giggle at his approval, but it fades as you stare into those engrossing ruby-red eyes. You crash into him, wrapping your arms around him, taking his lips in yours, primal and uninhibited. Astarion groans, and his tongue darts into your mouth, desperate to savour you as if he is a drought and you are the first droplets of rain in centuries.

Gods, your hands ache to roam the silk ivory of his skin, and you tug at his shirt. He pulls it off in one swift motion before his lips crash into yours again, his hand cradling your cheek. You start to undo the metal clasps of your shirt. Apparently, too slowly, and he tears it from your body, tossing it aside uncharacteristically carelessly, the usual requirement for order and tidiness slain by his untamed need for you.

“You’re beautiful,” he drawls, “So Godsdamned beautiful.”

Your rationality is eclipsed by infernal, white-hot desire. You pull him close, letting your searing hands pour over the contours of his flawless body. You are slipping, tumbling down an icy hill you will never be able to ascend again, but at this moment, you barely recognize yourself nosediving to your demise.

His hands burn trails of vitality into your lifeless skin. A deprived whimper escapes your mouth, and you can feel the smug smile spread across his lips. He knows, he always knows you won’t fight him, won’t spar with these feelings, even when you should.

Gripping the back of your thighs, Astarion pulls you off your feet, just as he did that night in the forest. Your legs straddle his waist, and in a couple of fluid, silent steps, he pins you between himself and the lofty mattress with his hips. He grinds his erection against you, eliciting unconstrained sighs from you against his starved, urging mouth.

His hand pushes past the waistband of your trousers to find you slick with arousal, and a moan rumbles deep in his chest. A feverous tension coalesces in your abdomen. Fuck, you should stop him, you should, but you don’t. He has poisoned you and made himself the antidote, leaving you helpless against him.

“What do you want, darling,” he coos with a voice like a warm spring day, “Tell me what you want, and I will make it yours.”

Astarion’s dexterous fingers sweep gently over your swollen clit in flawless execution. He remembers you, remembers your body and remembers exactly how to drive you to unadulterated senselessness, which is exactly where he wants you. Isn’t it? Senseless and begging, pleading, beseeching him for his touch, his love, his acceptance.

Hells, you know better than to let him overwhelm you, but being with him is like second nature in the same way breathing had once been. Even after all this time, despite everything he’s done, you cannot fathom how not to love him.

“I want-” you murmur as his finger glides magnificently around the pulsing bundle of nerves, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out at the decadent sensation, “Fuck, Astarion. I want you.”

“And I want you, only you,” he articulates in an assertive, sultry inflection, carefully pronouncing every word as if his very life depended on getting the message across, “Forever, until the world falls down.”

Astarion’s fingers crook in your waistband, and he pulls on it lightly in a silent query for permission. You’re in a tailspin, spiralling into the depths of your desires, and you feel yourself nod before you have even really had time to consider the request.

Astarion strips you, and you’re bared to him entirely. His crimson eyes gorge themselves on the banquet of your pristine snowy skin with such intensity you can feel them dancing across your flesh.

Astarion leans over you, lowering himself in a torturously slow progression, and his lips wrap around your nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and you writhe against him in a hopeless attempt to curb the pang between your legs.

His warm mouth brushes down your stomach, over your belly button, his breath hot and humid. Your body produces heat no longer, but Gods, you feel feverish as if he’s breathing new life into you.

Astarion lifts your leg, trailing chaste kisses down the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he places it over his shoulder. You lurch forward, nearly bounding completely upright, when his tongue laps at your swollen clit. Astarion holds you down, steadfast and unwavering, while he states his fervent hunger with the taste of you. Those eyes look at you through thick lashes full of covetous eroticism that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

His eyes close, and his lips wrap around your sensitive bud, driving you further into bliss. You tangle your fingers in his hair as your body jerks with every sweep and flick of his tongue.

Astarion’s fingers tease your entrance, and he relinquishes his foray of sensation on your swollen flesh. You groan in displeasure at his retreat, and he chuckles deeply, which results in an impetuous scowl from you.

“Oh, don’t be cross, love,” he taunts with a sly smile before he sucks on his fingers, that captivating crimson gaze never letting your eyes retreat. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, “When have I ever left you wanting?”

His tongue delves, parting your sex as his fingers sink into you in a slow progression, allowing your body time to adjust. A vulgar and indecent growl resonates from him as he eases in until he’s knuckle-deep.

He twitches the pads of his fingers upward as he starts languid thrusts, hitting your G-spot. Your back arches and hips jerk as he escalates his tempo to harmonize with your breathy whimpers.

He must feel the traction of your release begin because he moans deeply against your tender pearl, and that sound, the embodiment of passion and longing, sends you spiralling overboard. Astarion doesn’t stop the delicious onslaught of sensation until he’s coaxed every splintering pulse out of you. His name cries from your lips in a sonorous, majestic recitation.

Your vision has barely started to clear when his lips catch yours, and you can taste yourself on his breath, driving your desire to new heights while your fingers grapple with the border of his breeches.

“Say you are mine,” he instructs, in a husky tone with those blood-red eyes digging into you, hooded and affectionate, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours. Please. Gods, please,” you whine in shattered breaths.

In a split second, before you even have time to perceive his movements, Astarion crawls up the bed, his knee hooking yours, spreading your legs wider. His hard cock slides through your folds with a lazy roll of his hip, covering himself in your arousal with a yearning quivering pant.

His swollen head pushes against your entrance. Astarion pushes the stray strands of hair out of your face with a tenderness you haven’t seen since he Ascended, “I will be gentle,” his eyes search yours for hesitation, “Are you ready?”

Ready?

Gods, you have far surpassed simply being ready. You crave him. No, you covet him, selfish and mandatory, and there is nothing that can stop you from drinking him in, “Fuck me, Astarion.”

“Fuck you?” he giggles, “How utterly vulgar,” he teases, “No, darling, I will make love to you unless you have objections, of course…” he trails off.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he was almost unsure of himself.

Make love?

Is it a trick? You can’t tell anymore, you don’t want to tell, and you drive the thoughts out of your mind, blurred by burning lust. You press your lips against him in wordless approval. Panting moans leave his mouth as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

He sputters, his chest heaving and breath snagging, “Hells, love, you’re tight,” he rasps low, clenching his teeth. He immerses his hard length into your wet heat gradually until he’s filled you, claimed you.

The throbbing in your centre bursts anew as he angles himself perfectly, and your nails dig harshly into the silken bed linens. The pads of his fingers find the pulsing collection that swells between your thighs as he starts to pump into you, careful and attentive, raptly watching you for any signs of discomfort.

“I want to hear my name cried from your lips,” he taunts, all provocation and suede baritone, “You will fall apart around my cock, won’t you?”

You know you will. The tension in your muscles is already ballooning with every snap of his hips. Astarion’s fangs drag delicately over your skin. The mix of pain and pleasure is too much, and you mewl in desperation.

“Astarion,” you stammer as your pleasure expands through your limbs, and your core clenches, gripping him, “Fuck, Astarion!”

He gasps, “I can feel you fluttering around my cock,” he stutters, breath hitching in his throat, “Dissolve into rapturous ecstasy around me. Fuck,” he groans, “With me, my love.”

You crest over the pinnacle of your pleasure as ordered, and the shockwaves rocket through you, violent and so brutally you wonder if your heart might have stopped if the grip of death had not already stilled it.

His name rips from your throat poetically, just as yours does from his, and he spills into you with a final, powerful thrust.

Both of you wrest unneeded air into your lungs, chests surging, rising and falling fruitlessly. You’ve let your attachment to him muddle your rationale, but Hells, does it ever feel brilliant.

“Good girl,” he purrs triumphantly.

He expected this all along. You can tell by the saccharine intonation, but you’re too spent to give a damn.

His lips faint over your ear and he whispers, “Hold on me.”

His arm glides around your waist as you wrap yourself around his neck, and he lays down, settling your head on his chest with your leg laced over his.

Astarion exhales a contented breath, and his fingers sweep up and down your arm tenderly, “You are unharmed, yes?”

There is genuine concern drenched in his voice that makes you think of a chapter of your life long gone, and you wince, “I’m alright,” you manage to stammer out, but your voice is as dry as yesterday’s dust.

Astarion jerks as if you’ve struck him at your intonation and uses his hand to cast your eyes toward his. His brows are furrowed as his eyes shift, trying to identify the nuisance parching your sun-baked voice.

“Did I hurt you?” his hand and eyes skim down your body as if looking for an injury or wound that might provide the explanation you’re not giving him.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you sigh, bony-weary and forlorn.

“Little love,” he coos, scarlet eyes bleeding into you, threatening to swallow you whole, “tell me, whatever is the matter?”

Before he can interrogate you further, his eyes harden and wrench away, bitter and unkind. Punitive, strident banging rattles the estate’s prodigious door on its hinges.

Astarion groans, trawling his hand across his face, “It’s for you,” he murmurs, irritated.

Your brows scrunch, and your body laments as you sit up with Astarion’s assistance, “How do you know?”

Astarion stares at you cold as a winter pond, “It’s the wizard.”

Gale? No, no, no! Fuck, not now, not here.

I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to read/kudos/comment, etc. It gives me the confidence to keep the story going, and I hope you enjoy reading it as it unfolds!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

Small Notes: - Well, Astarion has been exceptionally pleasant for a little while, but how will he react to Gale showing up and how will poor Tav deal with it? - Tav learned some new things in this chapter. Looks like we have a lot of different things we have to explore! - The Blood Merchant... Really, Astarion?

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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