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panthera-tigris-venenata · 9 months

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All my friends are heathens

A song–inspired piece of Writing about Audrey meeting some of the Isle kids with Anthony Tremaine.

Good news: I finally figured out a plot.

Bad news: That took me 2,5k words to do. So there might be a second part.

Enjoy?

Gods know why Audrey agreed to this.

(Actually, hopefully they don’t; however, the gods are nosey bitches. As are the fey. Audrey has had enough fey and magic for quite some time, thank you for asking.)

So she just wrinkles her nose as she sidesteps some flasks and a piece of cloth on the sidewalk.

„Why are we here again?“ she asks Anthony Tremaine, who walks besides her and who invited her along.

„Because you wanted to get to know my– you wanted to get to know other Isle kids, if I so recall,“ he says.

He’s correct, of course. She did want that, as a bragging rights if nothing else. That’s her go to excuse, anyway: „It’s good for my public image; the Isle kids need help. It’s my duty as the princess of Ulstred and Auroria to help them on their journey, just as our king does!“

A sound reasoning her grandmother shouldn’t argue with. (She does anyway.)

All in all, Anthony is correct. He just has no right to say that out loud.

„I meant,“ she sniffs and turns her nose up, „Why are we here?“ she gestures around the dark aley, screamed-out part of the Capital and the higher circles of society pretend doesn’t exist. Harsh notes can be heard if one listens, and raised voices; glass shards glisten under neon lights.

„Any problem, princess?“

„Yes! No– What are you doing in this part of the town, Lord Tremaine?“

„Why, Audrey dear,“ he smirks at her, „This place reminds us of home.“ Us – the Isle kids. He gestures around with the same fake smile and counts on his fingers: „Dark and rotten, just like home. This place sells alcohol for cheap, and with no ID. No one cares. Besides,“ his smirk widens, „It’s not like any other place would have us.“

Audrey has the decency to look sorry for that, and enough wits not to actually apologise. Instead, she sniffs hauntingly and says: „I see how it is.“

Anthony opens the door for her and holds it open: „Why, is this beneath you, Audrey Rose?“

„Absolutely,“ she agrees as she walks around him and steps into the bar; noises and smells assault her senses. If that alone wouldn’t stop her, his hand on her elbow would.

„You ready?“

„Yeah, of course. How bad could your friends possibly be?“

It’s not like they’d kill her. Right?

He shakes his head. „I don‘t think you understand. All my friends, as you call them – don’t do that, by the way, – are heathens. Only one of the bunch who has any sort of manners is Harriet, and, well. She won’t bother. So, for the love of whatever is dear to you, take it slow. And don’t make any sudden moves.“

No sudden moves. That’s not unnerving at all. Absolutely not.

„Let’s go.“ He offers her his arm as they walk down the few steps into the bar. Pub. Whatever. They weave through the tables and Audrey tries to ignore the sticky floors under her shoes; she looks down at it in distaste. Which is probably a good thing, because she misses the stares directed at her and how quickly the eyes snap away when Anthony glares at them.

All eyes but two pairs.

Audrey and Anthony stop in front of a table in the corner, because of course it’s the corner table. It makes sense in Audrey’s mind, something about Isle kids and watching their backs.

She raises her hand to wave at the people there, all of which are rather obnoxiously ignoring her, but Anthony swats her arm down. „Absolutely not–“ he hisses.

„Excuse me for trying to be nice,“ she hisses back.

„You’re excused,“ he says without missing a beat, and Audrey gasps at the audacity, not exaggerating in the slightest.

Then Anthony goes round introducing everyone: Harriet Hook, who just looks at her with icy cold eyes that she shares with her brother and that make Audrey click her jaw into place, earning her a small nod of approval.

Beside Harriet, Ginny Gothel, who blows her an air kiss and gets back to pulling at her curls; „Ginny–“ Anthony sighs at that, but moves along, introducing Mad Maddy next.

Audrey isn’t too sure if she wants to know why she’s called Mad, but she is quite certain she’ll find out anyway.

Last person sitting at the table is Sammy Smee, who actually nods at Audrey in greeting. Audrey smiles at them.

„Where’s Dulcia?“ Anthony complains, „She said she’d be there. Dulcia – my eldest cousin,“ he adds for Audrey’s benefit. She remembers both Anthony and Dizzy talking about some Dulcia, but hasn’t met her yet. Neither had Chad, probably, but that’s hard to tell. He’s too busy complaining about Anthony anyway; and Audrey hadn’t spoken with Queen Cinderella in quite a while. Ever since her Queen of Mean episode, to be exact.

She should probably do that, instead of meeting with vaguely stabby looking Isle kids in a bar with neon lights and a name that’s more of a curse than anything else.

She ignores that thought and instead sits at the chair Sammy pointed out for her just as Ginny pipes up: „Yeah, Dulcia’s over there, playing poker with the Gaston twins.“

„Dulcia!“ Anthony raises his voice, „Come greet our guest!“

„Can’t, cousin dearest,“ she shouts back at him, „I’m a bit busy right now, and I’m winning!“

„You’re playing with the Gastons.

„Shut up, Gothel; are you jealous?“

„Why would I be?“

Audrey tones out the rest of the conversation for her own sanity. (She didn’t need to hear that much crude innuendos in such a short time, thank you for asking.)

…And also because Harriet Hook is leaning towards her and staring at her, and Audrey finds herself suddenly quite afraid for her own life.

„Didn’t expect a royal visit today,“ Harriet Hook states, not bothering to make it sound like a question. She has a half empty glass of whiskey in front of her.

„Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?“ Audrey says idly and straightens her skirt. She should have listened to Anthony and worn trousers tonight, or at least a longer skirt.

Harriet just narrows her eyes at her, dragging her fingertip round the trim of her glass. She looks as if she’s just been grievously offended and Audrey doesn’t dare guess how. Harriet’s glare doesn’t lessen a bit when Ginny basically climbs into her lap to make room for Anthony who slides next to them, or when the two of them kiss. Or when Anthony kisses her cheek.

It would be almost impressive if it hadn't been so– Audrey finds herself making a face at the display.

„You’ll get used to it,“ Sammy says with a resigned tone as they clasp her shoulder for a brief moment, and Audrey doubts that, really.

„Get a room, you three!“ screeches Maddy, and now, that sentiment Audrey can get behind.

Unfortunately, it only encourages the three of them to make out more. Exhibitionists. In turn, that causes Maddy to screech more, both the trio and at any onlookers.

Ginny shows Maddy the middle finger, and says: „Only getting a room if you’re paying, sweetheart.“

„Absolutely NOT–!“

„Or the princess her could pay,“ Ginny suggests slyly, and honestly, at this point Audrey is tempted to agree.

„Excuse me?!“ she protests anyway.

„Yes, Ginny, have some manners,“ reminds Anthony, tugging at Ginny’s hair, and Audrey quickly looks away, „We have a royal visit.“

„You didn’t care about manners much few moments ago, Lord Tremaine,“ Audrey reminds him in the most haughty tone she can muster.

„Oh, I like this one,“ Harriet cackles, „She has a bite! But really, is she paying?“

Under normal circumstances, Audrey would be insulted over being talked about as if she weren’t here, however, she quickly decides, it’s better than being glared halfway to hell. She doesn’t deem it worthy of an answer, though.

Dulcia and the Gaston twins walk over and settle themselves at their table too, which hasn’t got nothing to do with the motion of possible free stuff, Audrey is sure.

„Move over,“ Dulcia nudges her cousin and Maddy, while the twins just steal chairs from a neighbouring table. Good for them.

One of them also moves his chair entirely close to Audrey’s for her liking, and she leans away a bit–

„Don’t even try that, Junior,“ Anthony snaps, and the boy moves to respectable distance.

„When will you learn that not everyone likes you, really, Junior?“ Ginny Gothel sighs, leaning further into Harriet, and great, now she and Dulcia are arguing again. Both Gaston twins look completely dumbfounded by the situation.

„You want a drink, princess?“ Anthony ignores the ruckus, and, why, yes. Audrey could do with a drink. She nods.

„Well, what do you drink?“

„What do they have?“ Audrey is fairly sure they won’t have her favourite drinks here. Or any cocktails at all, or champagne.

And sure enough, Harriet starts reciting the drinks-menu, which so far consists of various shots of rum and whiskey. She seems to have it memorised.

„Do they have any long drinks?“ Audrey interrupts her.

„Sure,“ the pirate Captain scoffs, and she’s definitely judging her, „I suppose they could make you some.“ She kicks back the rest of her whiskey.

Anthony nudges her to play nice, and she starts listing the drinks: Vodka-soda. Rum and coke. Vodka with juice, though she isn’t actually sure if they have juice. Gin and tonic.

„Could they give me pink gin and tonic?“ Audrey interrupts. Aesthetic, you see.

„Anything for the princess, sure,“ drawls Harriet, moving Ginny’s curls around her shoulder. Audrey feels judged again.

„I suppose you want a drink too, Captain?“ Anthony continues without missing a beat.

„You know what I want,“ Harriet smiles at him, more teeth than anything else, and Audrey looks away. Just in time, because they kiss again. Of course they do.

„I’ll try to get your pink stuff, Rose,“ Anthony says over his shoulder as he walks away. Audrey doesn’t bother yelling out her thanks over the ruckus around.

„You’re not drinking?“ she asks Sammy, as they’re the only one who doesn’t have a drink, or aren’t yelling at Anthony to get them one.

„Can’t,“ Sammy shrugs, „Not when this one is drinking. Gotta make sure she doesn’t murder anybody.“ They gesture to Harriet, hands mostly under the table, but she seems preoccupied again. „Or hurt herself. You know how it goes.“

Audrey doesn’t know. „Surely it can’t be that bad,“ she says anyway.

„Oh, you don’t know half of it,“ Sammy laughs, „She’s a Hook.“

As if that explained everything.

One of the Gaston twins nods, as if it really did.

„I mean, I know her siblings…“ Audrey trails away.

„See?“ gestures Sammy, and yeah. Maybe she doesn’t want to. Have they considered that?

They have not considered that. Obviously.

No one really cares how Audrey feels, but at least this time it isn’t personal.

„Anyway,“ Ginny announces to the table, „Going out, be right back. Maddy, Dulcia?“ She stands up, letting Harriet’s lingering hand fall down, and Audrey isn’t looking at that.

She’d like to know where are they going, though.

„Trois, go with them,“ says Harriet when the trio of the girls is already halfway through the room.

„Absolutely not!“ Ginny spins around to glare at the pirate captain and at Gaston the Third too.

„I said!“ snaps Harriet back.

„I don’t need a bloody bodyguard!“ yells Ginny. Said bodyguard gets no input at all, and Maddy and Dulcia linger by the door.

A knife plunges deep into the table and Audrey flinches away violently. She looks at Harriet’s hand on the weapon, white knuckles and all, and barely hears Ginny as she reluctantly allows Trois to come with.

Audrey blinks a few times: What just happened?

„So sorry about that,“ Harriet says, not sounding sorry at all, „Now, I heard something about my siblings? What did they do?“

„Yeah, but,“ Audrey struggles with her words and gestures around, „Where did they go?“

„They just went for a smoke,“ says Sammy Smee, unconcerned.

„Yeah, and they wouldn’t share, bloody bitches.“

„…Why wouldn’t they share cigarettes?“ asks Audrey, mildly confused. Smoking is not pretty, but it’s not a crime, and it’s something social. Not that Audrey would know, of course.

„Audrey, honey.“ Anthony gets back with their drinks, „They have weed at the very least, and the mighty Captain Hook here isn’t allowed that. Isn’t that right, Harriet?“

Sammy just solemnly nods while Harriet mutters something like „I hate you and I will kill you painfully,“ and yanks her glass from Anthony, downing half of it at once. He just kisses her hair before sitting down, and Audrey can’t help but stare at the entire scene, utterly bewildered.

„Hopefully they’ll be less snappy when they come back,“ Anthony says, and: „Didn’t have any pink stuff,“ as he slides a glass to her. Audrey takes a sip and almost chokes on the vile oleum-like liquid, earning a mean laugh from Harriet and a pat on the back from Sammy.

She drinks again.

„I’d like to hear it too, what CJ and Harry are up to,“ Anthony says.

„Well, last time I saw Harry, he tried to kill me,“ Audrey says. To be fair, she was very much trying to curse him at the time, so, she can’t really blame him. She tries not to blame him, at least. Before she can add the context, though, Harriet nods, sipping her drink again, and says „Yeah. Yeah, he does that,“ with a bloody smile.

And, excuse me? Is she smiling about her attempted murder?

„Excuse– Sorry?!“ Audrey sputters, „I just said he tried to kill me!“

„And I said he does that. Ma’s fault, totally, and Uma’s too. He’d fistfight a god if he thought he’d like it.“

Audrey is way too busy trying to process the words „Ma’s fault,“ to worry about anything else. Here she was, thinking that Captain James Hook was the dangerous parent, but apparently not.

„And Calista?“ Harriet interrupts Audrey’s thoughts.

„Hmm?“

„Calista Jane. CJ. Little, blonde, wears red, likes to threaten death to people?“ lists Harriet.

„Kidnapped the king at the Neon Lights Ball?“ adds Anthony helpfully.

„Yeah no I know who that is.“ Audrey shakes her head to get her thoughts straight, „She’s been over there for ages, she’s a menace– I think she keeps stealing my grandma’s tiaras.“

„Sounds like CJ, alright,“ mutters Sammy Smee, dodging a lazy blow at their shoulder by Harriet. „You know I’m correct, Captain.“

„They are, Ettie,“ agrees Anthony, sipping his own drink. He leans away as Harriet swats at his shoulder too.

„Anyway,“ Harriet leans closer to Audrey, „Any chance you’d be up for babysitting that menace?“

„Please, say yes–“ Sammy. If Audrey would have to guess, she’d say they’re the one forced to babysit CJ normally.

„Isn’t she like fourteen now?“ Audrey asks instead.

„Yeah, and? Would you?“

„…I’ll think about it,“ answers Audrey, because the night is young and because she still has her drink, and because honestly?

It’s not like she has anything better to do.

#disney descendants #harriet hook #anthony tremaine #audrey rose #tw alcohol #isle kids are not okay #I finally figured out a plot #so there MIGHT be a second part #ginny gothel #mad maddy #sammy smee #a trio of sex repulsed aces gets trapped in a room with a bunch of exibicionists. And if the younger two Hooks show up it’s gonna get worse #aro ace Audrey Rose #because she sparks joy like that and Im definitely not projecting or anything like that

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elvirable · 9 months

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Instincts

[ Astarion x f!Reader/Tav ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.7k | status: complete themes/tags: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light angst at the end, you know the sex scene after the tiefling party?, yeah so this is it, with astarions pov, already catching feelings smh, smut is halfway through, just skip to after all early dialogue

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

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his simple plan crumbling apart.

In other words: Astarion has been struggling to balance century-long instincts with newfound feelings, an undeniable connection. He carries out his simple little plan as intended, but meets complications he didn't quite expect. ----------- A/N: so i hung up my cod medals of honor to write this.. i've been playing for a month now. originally posted without proofreading, but its now edited for grammar and some terms -----

It was hard not to have fun around you.

Something of a child-like giddiness would buzz through his nerves whenever you sauntered over, his marbled red eyes wouldn't dare to miss a beat of the vision you were. Swaying hips and that deceivingly coy face. Of course, you were strikingly beautiful – a wickedly delectable sight – but that wasn’t the only source of his carnal anticipation.

It was just you, the enigmatic little thing you were.

Admittedly, Astarion believed he had read you like an open book the moment he laid eyes on you. It was an instinct of his: gathering a cerebral repository of notable ticks and body language, facial twitches, and octave changes in those around him. Watchful, constant observations.

He had chalked you up to a sort of stoic character at first. Graceful, to a degree, in your manner of subtly balancing the world around you. A stable composure, quick and quiet without brash or idle chatter.. unlike that Gale. You were a less flagrantly repulsive hero-type crafted in his mind – but he had still expected you to be oh-so predictable with a shallow drive for self-emaciating ‘justice’. Whereas the others wore their baggage like a garment, you held your cards close to your chest – like a chameleon suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Yet the sun rose and fell two or three times around the wilderness of Elturel, when he found himself pleasantly contradicted. He normally didn’t dedicate much attention towards someone he believed he so easily pegged, but his interest began to pique. Just enough to leave him sitting with an edge and a consuming desire to peer in closer.

Maybe it was the way your mouth twitched into a quiet smile during his verbal antics on the road or the firm passiveness you held from the blighted village to the drama of Emerald Grove; an intoxicatingly confusing blend of traits you harbored. The closer he watched you, the less blurred you became. You didn’t fear being authentic and enforcing boundaries to those who attempted to use you – but you weren’t cruel; you met the world around you just as it was, without discrimination. No unnecessary harm, no free handouts either.

Or perhaps it was your sarcastic remarks that stirred what little glee he had in him; an especially delicious and refreshing insight into your humor. While he could care to give a critical note or two on your lack of blatant cruelty, Astarion respected your compelling demeanor; he witnessed how all these companions turned their eyes so frequently to you with decision.

But what he did know for sure was the eye contact.

Gods, the first time your heads swiveled mid-strife and your gazes locked with a rich crackle – the memory alone was enough to stupefy him! Something strange stirred, something that didn’t sit comfortably. He didn’t know what to make of it.

With all this said, that same sensation boiled inside his stomach as he mulled over his every interaction with you. He recalled that moment of midnight – when all was still and you had caught him prepared to taste your throat. Your wary stare pierced through him, washing away briefly the desperate pangs of blood-thirst and left him feeling.. nervous.

Ugh, how he despised the feeling.

He was sickened when all those ledgers of observations caved in on himself, caught in his pale throat. He had taken such an overwhelming liking to you – to the extent, he had realized, that he was drawn to your guidance, your approval; a repulsive frustration at the time enough to coil through his cold veins. Without much to say, however, he was adamantly relieved when you conceded and soon regularly allowed him to drink from your slender neck.

His trail of thoughts glossed over your stifled grunts onto the following morning: when you came to his defense as everyone felt the need to chime in with their unfettered prejudices. And how his ease, his excitement around you became persistently potent – a fresh energy that filled him as you spurred on his teasings and whims. Astarion noticed your subtle release of your ever-strong walls, just enough so he could relish in your humor and affable side.

There was always a hesitation at doting on the sensation that rose inside him at these thoughts of you. He surmised he was merely back in the practice; where he spun honeyed words and charmingly guile eye contact, to wrap his target around his finger. Any little edge of control he could grasp onto, the familiar taste of influence he used to know so well. These habits of two hundred years were kicking in. He’d play the part and – sooner or later – this eagerness to please would be reversed onto you.

Whether it was his own willful denial or the culmination of fate’s ever-spinning thread, the first crumble began the night of the tiefling party.

Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful, pungent and tart like vinegar.

Astarion would’ve normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

How interesting, he thought as his eyes lapped up your squinted grin and eased laughter. It was helplessly infectious to see you so earnest, casually prattling on in conversation throughout the camp.

Red eyes followed while you made your rounds, encouraging the tiefling’s dancing lights spell and conversing with the bard. Astarion even raised a brow at the playful expression that washed over your face as you spoke to the hulking druid by the name of Halsin. When you strolled over to Shadowheart and he caught that carefully provocative glint in the raven-haired cleric’s eyes – a chord of jealousy grew taut inside his chest.

He had half the mind to feel insulted that you hadn’t wandered in his direction yet, but that was quickly dispersed when he noticed you dismiss yourself and head towards a wooden crate near the riverfront.

Almost like a shadow, Astarion swept in your direction. Whether it was to merely take in your smile up close or to put his plan in motion, he settled on the latter. You were rifling through the crate that held what could barely pass as wine, muttering a quiet curse about the little tiefling probably pocketing a bottle or two.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence. “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

You swiveled at the sound of his voice, raised brow accompanying your hazy smile. The influence of wine lowered your usual wariness, and he caught the realization flutter across your face; there was no constitution in attempting to act reserved, especially with the rapport you two had grown. Amusement was written all over your face, hardly concealed – you had decided to play along.

“A little treat? You can do better than that.”

“Oh, I certainly can. It would be my pleasure.”

He leaned closer, half-lidded eyes darkening and breath heavy with a mischievous delight. You watched him expectantly, reveling in what would pour from his lips.

“How about this one,” he loosened his posture, as if you both were stowed away from the entire world instead of dawdling along the outskirts of the shoddy camp. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

Astarion watched the smile further spread across your soft lips, the wickedly sweet crinkle in your eyes while you crossed your arms. An exhilaration rose underneath his suave demeanor, even the bemused snicker invigorating.

“Is that the best you can do?” came your quick quip.

“Hmm, let me give it another go,” his voice was thick with arousal, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation – it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

His words clung to the air for a moment. The deliberate onslaught of poetic pleasantries laced with such ardent lust, the hum of the wine – Astarion studied your face swirling in thought. Heat had built up from the lower half of your body up to your cheeks, a quiet neediness wavering in your stance and threatened to boil to the surface of your skin.

Gods, you were thinking, it had been the longest time and you’ve been touch-starved.. more so under the urgency of all the trouble you had been thrust into. You never trusted a pretty boy, but you'd be damned if his flowered prose didn't stir something in you; you had never been the subject of such pursuits, real or not. Desire rushed through you, coiling in your stomach.

There was a beckoning in his eyes as they clutched onto yours, imporing you to draw closer, and his boyish features were even more alluring when caressed by the moon’s glow. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust those flowery words. They were tinted with an air of rehearse.

“Did these really work on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well, they’re working on you, aren’t they?”

A mild bashfulness buzzed through the warmth on your cheeks, as you couldn’t really deny it.

“How about if I said these little words… everyone’s favorite,” Astarion continued, pausing for effect.

“I love you.”

Sly amusement colored his face. He had succeeded in riling up the intrinsic urge, no matter how much you tried to conceal it. How adorable you were when your gaze fluttered briefly.

“Having fun, are you?” you observed, smile holding on your lips.

As he had mused earlier, he was. It was hard not to whenever around you.

Festivities settled down, the entire camp fast asleep once the wine crate had emptied and bellies were full. Only the chittering of crickets could be heard amongst the trees.

The forest, usually dressed in potent darkness, stilled beneath the moonlight. A serene, subtle beauty of the night – one Astarion was very accustomed to knowing, to living . He had done this so many times it had become second nature – the salacious rendezvous, the secrecy and fleeting thrill of them all.

He had contemplated before, the image of you melting in the throes of pleasure. He wondered whether you preferred his hands gentle or rough, what sounds would dribble from your lips – if they sounded as sweet as you tasted.

Though nothing could prepare him for the reality, which far surpassed fantasy; the pretty little thing you were, bare figure caressed by the lowlight, slowly making your way towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

You offered him a coy smile, cheeks still warm and rosy. An ache rushed between your legs at the sight of him sauntering forward, his well-formed broad physique. Lean, yet muscular – and the soft details of his appearance; the crease of laughter lines, the curl of his lashes. Just the anticipation of it all served enough to make you wet.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he leaned closer, desire coating every syllable.

“You don’t have me yet,” you matched the pulse of his words, emanating a playfulness to goad him on further.

Greedy lips suddenly met yours, and you were pressed against the tree trunk. His palms gripped the back of your thighs, swift dexterity almost catching you off guard. You instantly melted, like a puddle, in his grasp; your soft lips just as eager, skin aching and impatient for his touch. You never realized how sensitive you were, how truly touch-starved until you fought the gasp that escaped your throat.

Astarion didn’t waste a beat, carefully laying you onto the grass below while he drawled slow kisses along the curve of your neck. Fervent yearning permeated from your skin; you wanted more, and he was prepared to give you everything .

He drank in the sight of your arousal, eager to please you yet potently roused from the position he was in: you were such a delectably pretty thing sprawled beneath his weight, completely bare and vulnerable. Wide eyes bashfully beckoning him to just taste you.

“Part those precious legs for me, beautiful.” He directed, his voice less of a growl this time – instead more sweet. Soft.

You could feel your face heat up further at his words, following his command without hesitation. Tender hands trailed along the soft skin of your thigh, his intense eyes briefly leaving yours to watch his fingers lingered over your folds – you were glistening with slick , fevered arousal.

“Oh my, you’re already so wet for me.”

His voice was almost a whisper now, as a keen excitement rushed through his veins. A twitch pressed against his briefs, his cock already hard and eager especially when his eyes darted towards your rosy. So willing, ready to indulge his every whim. For a moment, he settled in your vulnerability – a sight he didn't expect to see. You were always full of such delicious surprises.

He shook the thought from his mind, allowing a sly smile to return to his lips.

“Who knew you were so needy?”

Your cheeks flushed, timid lips scrambling to form a defensive retort before he slipped two fingers inside. Only a quiet gasp left your mouth as your soaking warmth struggled to adjust, tightening around his digits. You were barely able to comprehend the words he said, instinctively bucking your hips.

“ Astar ..” your breath hitched before you could even finish, when his fingers began a slow pace. Teasingly slow, you would beckon, but there was nothing you could even fathom whispering anymore. Your walls began to clench, eager to receive his unwavering attention.

Hums of pleasure pulsed through your every nerve, rapidly as he fastened the curling pace of his fingers. Every hitched and quiet whimper encouraged him, his palm soaked with your slick. He relished the sight of your round breasts rising and falling feverishly, your heat clenched around him – his cock further hardened, precum no doubt pooling on the fabric of his briefs.

All you could manage was to focus on the pleasure mounting between your legs, thighs now quivering with anticipation. His thumb slid up to your swollen clit, never breaking pace, to draw teasingly slow circles. He adjusted his weight to lean closer to your face, the sudden attention causing an overwhelming shyness to press your eyes shut. Your thighs trembled more now while his fingers beckoned and lured your pleasure to spur closer and closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard.

He couldn’t place the sensation – of feeling entranced in a sense, when whimpers of pleasure fumbled from your beautiful lips. Astarion almost felt lost, nearly mesmerized, when you kept those pretty eyes trained on his. He could feel his eyes soften at your vulnerable stare, and all at once everything inside him craved to slide into your warmth. To feel you melt into him, to hit every right spot to make you sing, for every sweet prayer cascading from your lips to be for him.

“Mmf..” You were left in a sudden foggy haze, a mix of pleasure and confusion when he abruptly withdrew his fingers. You couldn’t fathom any words to speak, only furrowed your brows in a hazed and disorientated manner.

“I’m sorry, love.” His breathless laugh seemed dazed before the low, heaviness returned to his tone, “You were practically just begging with those lovely eyes of yours.”

He leaned downwards to plant soft, reassuringly delicate pecks across the nape of your neck; each a mantra to affection, leaving a buzz in their wake. Carefully he peeled down his briefs with a wasted moment to rub his eager cock against your slick warmth.

Your moans sounded even sweeter closer to his ear, and a delighted sigh pressed from his lips onto your skin. His throbbing cock was met with some resistance as the length and girth was suffocated by your tightening walls, warm spasms at the sensation being filled.

A guttural, low moan hummed from his throat. Fuck, you were so perfectly tight.

His cock pulsed at the sudden attention, aching with pleasure and a warm buzz radiating through his skin. He paused for a moment, needing to relish every second it felt to be now pressed so deep inside you. The softness of your skin, delicate cues of pleasure washing over your face, how your warm walls enveloped his cock.

You moaned as he pushed more of his length inside your needy warmth, tears beginning to well up in the corner of your eyes. Pleasure and slight pain blurred, the tip of his cock almost pressed against your soft cervix and a rouse of heat traveling up your spine.

His hands gripped the globes of your ass to adjust his leverage, slowly but deliberately digging his hips against yours with each thrust. His body was achingly ready, alive with frantic urge. He was incapable of any pretty words to whisper, tangled groans replacing his usual velvet tongue.

As he pounded quicker into your warmth, your pulsating soft walls sucked his cock tighter and deeper with each buckle. He nestled his head into the nape of your neck. Sweat formed on his pale forehead as he wrestled with his restraint, his cock stroking in and out, hitting pleasure points you never knew existed and relishing in your shameless cries – desperate for him.

Soft, warm pleasure unraveled across you in hot waves. If you had the mind, you could only hope that no one could hear you two – the sounds and wet smacks of his skin colliding against yours – but all you could do was turn your pleasured cries and whimpers into soundless gasps.

Your lips parted, hips bucking before your back arched from the ground. Every fiber of your body attempted to get closer to him, and his to you. Of some act of grace, your hand caressed his face, lifting him to face yours.

Oh, how he wanted to melt right there.

Eager eyes met each other, brows furrowing together into a soft, tender stare. Astarion’s hips began to buck erratically for a moment as he struggled to regain his resolve. Once steadied, he continued to bury deeper into you in every perfect way. You were clenched so tightly, so divinely around him while his name trickled as a whisper from your lips.

“You – fuck .. “ you couldn’t be bothered to form a proper sentence, every whim of comprehension overwhelmed by new heights of white pleasure. You were lulled into a stupor, and his grip tightened at your garbled pleas.

“Thaaat’s it,” Astarion practically begged, voice ragged, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face as it twisted with sweet expressions. An eagerness gnawed inside him, to push you to the edge of your pleasures. You were so perfect while you cried his name, taking all of him so well.

“Come for me, sweet girl –” Hushed and delicate was his tone, only causing you to surrender any inhibition.

Heat wound tightly in your abdomen, lashes wet with the tears trailing down your warm face. Every nerve was wound so tight, finally snapping into a rush of white hot pleasure that left your skin flushed and tingling. You tried to whine out his name, but it spilled out into broken gasps as you reached your fingers to grip his silver curls.

His hips began to stagger, riding out your pleasure until he could no longer postpone the succumb to pleasure. They lost their rhythm, and a low moan rumbled from his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of your tightening walls, pressing into you.

You could feel his cock throbbing in you, as your nerves are slow to fizzle from the glowing buzz, and it swelled. Your slick walls were overstimulated nearly by his desperate, choppy thrusts before a cry escapes his lips – his cum flooded into you, thick and hot. He felt waves of warmth, so real and alive. So helplessly right.

The air was silent, as you both collected your breaths in hurried gasps. Astarion peeled his weight off of you only to roll onto his back, by your side. Your body felt light and completely slack, almost boneless as you sunk into the earth underneath you. Aftershocks of pleasure still rippled throughout your nerves.

Both of you laid sweaty, flushed, exhausted, lacking the energy to care. You broke the silence with a wobble in your voice.

“Fuck, you came inside me..” you stated the obvious, reeling from pulsing nerves and vision hazy.

“I’m sure the druids have something that’ll take care of that..” Astarion said breathlessly, extending an arm to wipe the sweat glistening off his forehead.

He waited for a quiet laugh or a retort, but neither came.

Turning his head, he was met with the vision of your exhausted figure fast asleep. Slowly your chest rose and fell, face at ease – a vulnerability he had only seen when you were in deep sleep, if you weren't tossing and turning.

The quiet sat with him while he attempted to gather his thoughts, his experience. He had seen an entirely different side of you – exposed delicate. Part of his conscience pooled with guilt.

He had a plan. A nice simple plan. It wasn’t foreign to casually bed strangers, seducing and manipulating them into following his every whim. Hells, this had been routine for two hundred years . The count was lost on how many nights he spent using people like ragdolls, only to be lured back into the hands of Cazador.

Astarion returned his gaze to the stars glistening above, attempting his best at reducing it to the odd circumstances or perhaps he was simply out of practice.

Regardless – even if it was more than a fluke – he had already fucked things up. The thought felt tainted now, uneasy and riddled with remorse.

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his plan crumbling apart.

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