#when durge tries to bite him

[grapecaseschoices]

some of the extremely supportive but slightly[?] unhinged things wyll can say to the dark urge as they fight the wyll [haha] to peel off his face.

#wyll x durge #my favorite not included is that he just says: 'shit' #when durge tries to bite him #wyll ravengard #he's so funny and so fucked up #it's just so like 'welp. this is bad bad. huh?' #yes wyllyam. tis. #kaeliana x wyll #bg3 #whew #cracked up so much from his reactions #like on a level it says so much about him. but on the other im dying bc ffs wyll. #the last is what he says when durge GROWLS at him???? #wyllyam. we need to speak. #baby #like i know -- you spent your seven years in the wild just fiends and monsters as your company. but -- #the first makes me sad and givesme so many feelings about wyll. 17. having to rise up and meet the gazes of what meant to hurt his city. #gaze of the devil who entrapped him. the gaze of the father who scorned him

[baldursgat3]

the people have spoken they demand hurt/comfort and I seek to provide. this one was supposed to be short but it got away from me so instead it's 3.6k

i call this one So You've Fucked Up A Resist Durge Saving Throw

Astarion was in love. He wouldn't admit it, yet, not even to himself, but it was true. You were just so perfect. Gorgeous and funny and sweet and a little bit murder happy but that was all right. He didn't mind. He understood a bit of bloodlust. You were really just so kind to him. You made him feel safe and warm and happy in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever experienced before. It had been so long since he trusted someone like this. So long since he felt loved. He tried to pretend he wasn't but you were so good to him. You stood up for him, you didn't force him to bite that repulsive drow. You kissed him so sweetly and held him without any expectation of something more from him. Fight it all he liked, he was head over heels. Which, of course, made it all the more devastating when you finally turned on him. He should've seen it coming.

Astarion was in love. He wouldn't admit it, yet, not even to himself, but it was true. You were just so perfect. Gorgeous and funny and sweet and a little bit murder happy but that was all right. He didn't mind. He understood a bit of bloodlust.

You were really just so kind to him. You made him feel safe and warm and happy in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever experienced before. It had been so long since he trusted someone like this. So long since he felt loved.

He tried to pretend he wasn't but you were so good to him. You stood up for him, you didn't force him to bite that repulsive drow. You kissed him so sweetly and held him without any expectation of something more from him. Fight it all he liked, he was head over heels.

Which, of course, made it all the more devastating when you finally turned on him. He should've seen it coming.

He was pulled out of his trance by a vague pressure. As he quickly woke up, the world came into focus. You were straddling his chest, eyes wide with an unfamiliar frenzy. A moment later his senses registered and he realized what was happening.

Both of your hands were wrapped around his neck, squeezing with intent. He didn't need to breathe as a vampire, but that didn't stop a strangled gasp from escaping his lips. The suffocation might not kill him, but you were still crushing his throat. It hurt like hell and he was terrified.

Had he done something wrong? Something so wrong that you wanted to kill him over it? He had thought everything was going so well, he didn't understand.

His hands flew to wrap around your wrists as he coughed and sputtered - reflexes he no longer needed but ones that lingered regardless. Despite his best efforts, you were stronger than him, even under normal circumstances, he couldn't pry you off.

You looked borderline feral as you loomed over him, leaning all your body weight into his neck. Was this what all your victims saw before they died? Why were you trying to kill him?

He frantically searched with one hand for the dagger he always kept close by. A new horror dawned in his eyes as he realized you must've gotten rid of it. His legs kicked helplessly out as he tried to scream, only succeeding in making a small, gurgling sound.

All he had left were his hands. He sunk his nails into your shoulders, dragging them down with the intent of doing as much damage as he could. It didn't seem to faze you. He tried to claw through the fabric of your shirt, not finding enough purchase to do damage.

He stared up at you, eyes wide with fear. There was nothing familiar there, only a maddened bloodlust. A shiver ran down his spine as the thought came unbidden. “Is this what Alfira saw?”

You had destroyed the girl so violently, he had honestly felt sorry for her. You had expressed guilt after, though. Said that it wasn't you. Perhaps this wasn't you either?

It didn't matter. He felt as your fingers tightened against the back of his neck, lifting his head up off the ground before slamming it back down with a dizzying crack. This would absolutely kill him.

He really only had one line of defense left. He was so hesitant to use it though, especially if this wasn't you. You crashed his skull into the ground again, tearing a shredded gasp from his lungs. He didn't have a choice.

Despite fighting for his life, he still balked just a touch. Once more he sunk his claws into you, this time aiming for the eyes. Your gorgeous eyes that usually looked at him like he was the only man in the world. He knew he should just try to jam his thumbs into both sockets but he simply couldn't. Instead, he settled for carving deep gashes in your perfect, lovely face. Judging by your reaction, that was enough.

The sound you made as you pulled back, clutching at your right eye was animalistic. A loud, pained howl that instantly woke most of your companions.

Astarion scrambled backwards, clutching at his neck and coughing. His head throbbed, he didn't need to feel it to know his hair must be matted in blood already. The world around him spun as he sat up on his knees.

He saw you lunge towards him, only to be intercepted with a full tackle by Karlach. The whole camp was alive now, people shouting and calling both his name and yours. Did anyone else know that this wasn't really you? Was it really you? Were they going to kill you?

His entire body ached, his head felt like it was splitting in two. Maybe it was. He coughed again, doubling over as he felt the tingle of magic at the base of his skull. He felt Shadowheart’s hand on his arm, heard her say something to him but the healing wasn't enough to quiet the ringing in his ears.

Gale hurled a spell at you and, for a moment, Astarion's heart lurched in his chest. Just for that split second, he was certain they were trying to kill you.

There was no fire or burst of necrotic energy, though. Instead, the magic seized your limbs, pinning you effectively to the ground. Karlach had already done an efficient job of keeping you face down in the dirt but you weren't going down without a fight. You finally stilled though, despite the way your muscles tensed in protest. Karlach finally got off, taking a few steps away as everyone simply stared.

At least in this moment, they weren't trying to kill you. That realization, coupled with the healing from his cleric, finally calmed Astarion's nerves enough for him to pull himself back into the present. Honestly, he almost wished he hadn't.

Despite being held tight by the spell, you still were very active. Whatever in you that was driving this frenzy clearly wasn't stopped by a simple spell. You growled and tensed and writhed like a trapped animal. All the while your gaze was fixed on him. You had to kill him, had to feel his blood on your hands, you needed it like oxygen, you needed it, needed it needed it needed it.

“Well what do we do?” Karlach broke the tense stillness that hovered over your camp. “This is kind of a lot.”

How astute. Astarion finally moved, crawling the few feet that separated the two of you, despite a tepid warning from Wyll. He didn't care, he was certain none of these people would understand what he knew about you. Admittedly, though, he was realizing he didn't know as much as he thought.

“Darling…” He tried, softly. You only snarled in response. Your movement was so restricted, your body twitched and spasmed as it tried to break free of the spell. He could see the way your jaw tensed, he could hear your teeth clacking together as though you were trying to bite him.

In the soft moonlight, he finally got a good look at the damage he'd done. The blood was drying on your face already but he'd carved several deep cuts into your perfect skin. It was hard to tell if your eyes were narrowed in your rage or because he'd injured them.

He could hear the rest of the camp talking behind him. It was a little frustrating, actually. They didn't seem nearly as concerned by your distress as he was. Perhaps they didn't see this as distress.

He tried a few more times to quietly break through to you before Lae’zel entered his view. As much as he wanted to stop her from binding your limbs, he didn't exactly have a better alternative. So far his option of ‘Gently Urge Whatever Is Controlling You To Stop' was not exactly panning out. Perhaps if he wasn't recovering from a severe concussion he might've been able to come up with a better idea.

Of course he volunteered to stay up to watch over you. It really only made sense. He didn't really need to sleep anyway and he was worried sick about you. Besides, he figured Lae’zel knew how to tie a pretty good knot. You didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Gale had dropped the spell and, despite straining and thrashing against them fiercely, your bonds held strong.

Slowly, and with a good deal of uncertainty, your companions returned to their tents. Suddenly, Astarion found himself alone with you again. He sat nearby, though squarely out of your reach.

Whatever had your mind in it's grip didn't quite seem to care how tightly you were restrained. The idea that you wouldn't break free didn't seem to occur to you, you just struggled and fought and snarled. He kept waiting for you to stop, to calm down enough that perhaps he could talk you down from this but you never did. You just thrashed about until, finally, exhaustion overtook your body and you collapsed.

~*~*~

You awoke to a quiet camp as dawn's first rays struck you. Your head pounded and your vision was foggy. Your limbs felt cramped and sore. Your face hurt and your vision was blurry and… were you laying in the grass? Why were you out here and not with-

Astarion.

Oh gods, oh fuck. The memory of your conversation with Sceleritas hit you like a bull. With a jolt you sat up, tugging against your restraints as you frantically searched the camp for any sign of your love.

You felt your whole body relax as you spotted him standing just a few feet away, basking in the sunlight. Some of the perfect curls near the nape of his neck were stained red and slightly matted together.

He hadn't seemed to notice your shuffling and scrambling. He was alive so… what happened? Oh gods did you kill someone else?

“You're awake.” Oh, maybe he had noticed you. You couldn't read anything from his voice.

“Astarion… are you… okay?”

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes awash with emotion but mostly just sadness. “I'm not sure.” He could've just stabbed you, that probably would've hurt less.

“What… happened…?” You spoke so slowly, you were so scared to know the answer.

Astarion sighed, walking back over to cut you out of your restraints before sitting beside you. “Well, I'll admit, I didn't care for any of it. I'll say that much about this urge of yours.”

You flinched, drawing your knees up towards your chest. “I- I tried to warn you. I was going to wake you up but… I don't remember anything after that.”

“You woke me up, darling, I can guarantee that.” He scoffed, staring at the ground in front of him. “I thought I'd fucked up terribly, you know. I woke up to you trying to choke the life out of me, I had no idea what I'd done wrong.”

Guilt seized your heart and you had to stop yourself from trying to reach out to comfort him. Gods, you were so afraid of yourself. “You didn't do anything wrong…” The words came out as barely a whisper.

He sighed quietly, turning to look at you. “Is this what happened to the bard?” You nodded. “You don't have any control over it?” You shook your head. “It doesn't have anything to do with something I did?” You shook your head again.

It took him a moment, you could watch him running things through that clever head of his. Before you had a chance to worry, though, his face softened. “Come here, little love.”

You fell into his open arms immediately with a soft sob. What had such a wretched creature like you ever done to deserve someone like him? You curled into him, quietly sniffling against his chest as he held you tight.

“I'm not angry.” He whispered, dropping a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I know what it feels like - to have your will stripped away from you like that.” It was a feeling he wouldn't wish on anyone, let alone the single most wonderful person he'd ever met.

You couldn't help the choked out sob that escaped your lips as you curled up tighter. “It could happen again, though.” You didn't understand this evil compulsion that was able to so thoroughly consume you. You had no way of knowing when it would strike you.

“I'm not afraid.”

“You should be. I am.” Your voice was so fragile. You hated this chant in your head that screamed for his blood. Over and over again visions of his corpse flashed through your mind. It turned your stomach the way your heart fluttered at the thought of holding his lifeless body in your arms.

“Hey.” Astarion's voice pulled you out of the spiral you were beginning to fall into. “Don't get lost on me now, love.” He cupped your jaw, gently turning your head until you were looking up at him.

“We're going to make it through this.” He planted the softest, sweetest kiss on your lips. “You promised me that first, you know. That we would save my mind from Cazador's control. I'm happy to return the favor. We're going to break you free of whatever has a hold of you, my darling.”

It was so sweet. You didn't deserve it. The cruel, twisted thoughts that plagued your mind. The extreme violence you were capable of. You were dangerous, you knew that. He wasn't safe with you. “I'm a monster…”

“No more a monster than I am.” There was a touch of sorrow to his voice, nearly imperceptible. Something about it made this all feel so much more… genuine.

You didn't believe he was a monster, he told you you didn't know what he was capable of. Now here you were, roles reversed and you understood how he felt. He struggled to believe you and you felt the same.

Perhaps you were both monsters. Perhaps neither of you were. Whatever you were, though, it had to be the same. You two were the same. You each knew the other's hunger, understood the agony of losing control of your own body. So many atrocities had been committed by your hands for the will of someone else.

Your hand clutched the fabric of his shirt as you took a few deep breaths. His skin was cold but, still, you felt so warm in his arms. He kissed the top of your head again as he waited for you to gather your thoughts.

“My face hurts.” You whispered, finally, gently playing with the fabric between your fingers. Astarion stilled just a bit at your words, held you just a bit tighter.

He hesitated just a moment too long before answering. “I'm sorry. Can you see all right?”

You hadn't actually noticed, you'd been a little preoccupied with other things like crying and feeling sorry for yourself. Now that he mentioned it, though, things were a bit blurry. You knew there was dried blood on your face, it was probably stuck in your eyelashes.

You brought your hands up to scrub at your face. Only for a moment, though, before a shock of pain shot through your spine. Astarion felt you recoil and only tightened his grip on you further.

Ever so tenderly you brought your hands up to rub at your eyes. The left one was fine, covered with dirt and blood but nothing a good wash wouldn't fix.

The right one ached at even the slightest pressure, though. A wave of panic washed over you. You had already lost so much of yourself with your memories, it was hard enough to cope. The only thing you ever truly knew was how to kill. Losing your vision meant losing your depth perception meant losing your usefulness in combat meant losing the only thing you were good for meant-

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love…” Astarion's gentle words pulled you back from the brink of despair once more. His voice was laced with a heavy sadness as he pressed countless little kisses to wherever he could reach.

You were smart enough to put the pieces together. You had attacked him, he was defending himself. The alternative was letting him kill you. You had no one to blame but yourself.

Even still, you couldn't suppress the shaky sigh that betrayed how close to tears you were yet again. “Please- please don't cry, little love.” Astarion held you so tight to his chest as though he were afraid you would try to break free from his arms at any moment.

He couldn't help the guilt that crept up his chest as he clung to you, desperately. He never wanted to hurt you. Gods, hearing the sad little sounds of distress you were making was going to crush him. It was his fault, he hurt you. He could've taken another hit or two, should've taken them. He could've been louder, could've tried to use his legs instead. Could've done anything but hurt you like this.

Maybe it was temporary, maybe you would heal. He had to hope but… what if you didn't. Would you resent him? If he was the reason this wonderful, perfect- well… whatever it was the two of you had. If he was the reason it ended, because he had hurt you, he wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself. As it stood, he wasn't sure if he could right now either.

“I'm so sorry I hurt you.” They were words that should've come from his mouth, yet it was your voice.

“Wh- what?”

“I don't know what happened. I know I hurt you, though. You've got blood in your hair, that couldn't have come from me.”

“I thought I got that out…” A sigh of annoyance escaped his lips before he could remember himself. “But-

“Maybe…” You interrupted, as you leaned all of your weight into his chest. “Maybe we just… both be sorry.” There was a lighter tone to your voice. You were trying to brighten the mood just a bit. Even now you were still trying to be so sweet and perfect. It was a shame the undertones of sorrow and guilt betrayed you.

Still, he leaned his cheek against the top of your head, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Mm… I'm very good at feeling sorry for myself.”

You couldn't help a small, teary giggle at that. “I think today is a good day to send everyone else out for supplies. We both need a chance to recoup after last night.” Still making plans for the day, despite all this. Gods he was so glad you had been made the de facto leader. He would've hated it. It was made ever sweeter that you let him attach himself to your hip.

Then he had to go and fall in love, didn't he? It didn't matter that you tried to kill him. Or that whatever it was that had tried to could wrest control from you again at any time. That wasn't you any more than he was Cazador.

You were the person in his arms right now, quietly rattling off a list of supplies the camp needed and who should find them and where. You were so smart, so thoughtful, so kind. He couldn't stand it.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, interrupting whatever you were talking about with the smallest gasp.

You stilled in his grip for just a second before you pulled back, just far enough to look at him and not an inch further. “I love you.” Your voice breathless and soft. “So much.”

He pulled you in, closing the small gap between your lips. He had to kiss you and you had no objections. It was warm and soft and perfect. It was almost overwhelming.

He loved you. And you loved him. Now you both said it, it was out there. It felt like a weight lifted off his chest. This ever quiet voice that whispered that you were only using him finally stamped out with just a few soft words.

“I love you.” He whispered again, against your lips. He should've been saying it this whole time. He meant it with his whole heart. No one had ever cared for him the way you have. No one ever captured his cold, fragile heart in their delicate, warm embrace.

“I love you.” You repeated, just as desperate. You had no idea who you were, what you were doing, or what in the hells you were going to do next. You yearned to spill blood endlessly and yet this clever, funny, gorgeous man trusted you enough to love you. Maybe he was a fool but so were you.

I love you. I love you. I love you. The words filled the quiet dawn in between breathless kisses. Said over and over as though they would be forgotten the instant after spoken.

You could've stayed like that for hours. Perhaps you did, you would have no real way of knowing. But time marched ever onwards, your serene moment slipping into the past as the sound of your companions waking cut through the gossamer thin world the two of you had woven.

“Perhaps…” Astarion was the first to speak, though his lips never left yours as he stole more kisses between his words. “Perhaps we should stop.”

With a deep sigh of resignation, you bore the burden of breaking the kiss. Admittedly, seeing the look of adoration in your darling's ruby red eyes was enough consolation to ease the pain. Besides, “We'll have plenty more time once everyone leaves for the day.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3

[admirxation]

unfaithful | leon kennedy oneshot

pairing: older!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

summary: the reader cheats on their partner with their partners dad, leon.

disclaimer: this fic will deal with sensitive topics like cheating. this is a piece of fiction and i do not condone everything i write, cheating is a horrible thing to do and you should always communicate with your partner and shouldn’t hurt them. this is just fictional where real people cannot get hurt, cheating irl has its consequences and reflection of you as a person.

cw: slight mention of an age gap (both parties of age//18+), cheating (mentioned partner is gn), oral (f receiving), nipple pinching & sucking, neck kissing & biting, fingering, begging, p in v, edging, praising, unprotected sex and creampie.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this was the most voted wip that people wanted posted so i have delivered, im thinking of either working on my krauser wip or a gortash x durge (bg3 oneshot) alongside the perpetual chase. please engage if you like this and check my pinned post for any info on me or writing status, mwah mwah mwah xoxo

Another night in your partner’s room, lying on the soft covers as you watched their face as they drifted into a dream world, unaware of all surroundings — unaware of your unfaithfulness. You were thankful for how much of a heavy sleeper they were, watching as their messy hair framed their face, the occasional strand neatly dangling in the middle of their forehead; you could tell they were content, the perfect opportunity to fulfil a long-concealed secret. This was routine now; you would wait for your partner to fall asleep first, guaranteed if you could sneak a bit of caffeine before bed without them knowing, but more times than not, the adrenaline of knowing you were going to be with Leon helped you wait for them to fall asleep.

You knew Leon — your partner’s father — was waiting, so you slowly moved to enter the room of routinely secrets. You couldn’t stop thinking about him whenever you went over, having to wait every night for some fun. Leon was the one who started all of this; he was the one who watched you intently every time you came over; these looks that started the deceit. You continued to watch your partner as you tiptoed out of your bed and moved to the door where you always left a smidge open so the latch never made a sound, praying the floorboards wouldn’t creek and releasing slow and deep breaths when slipping away. While walking outside the room, you always had an excuse prepared, just in case they had awoken; it ranged from getting a glass of water, going to the bathroom, or even getting a snack. There was a part of your conscience that kicked in and made your heart feel heavy for a moment, but like every single time, excitement and adrenaline overrode your morality and helped you continue your route to Leon.

You and your partner had only been dating for a few months — meeting each other at college — but there was something off with them. The first night you laid together and shared each other’s bodies, you were expecting to feel excited, elated, and lovestruck, but you felt unfilled, even empty, after it was done. You thought this was just a one-time thing where you needed to get used to each other, but it kept happening; no matter how many new things you introduced, you only felt religion when you shared an intimate moment and tried to avoid it — but you never dared to express how you were truly feeling. You thought maybe it was a sign of your body rejecting them, telling you that you weren’t supposed to be together, but you tried to silence and push rationality away into an unconscious that would only intrude on an absent thought or dream. You knew you were a bad person; you never tried to twist this into you being the good guy, but you also had a selfish desire not to push them away, afterall they stopped your loneliness for a while. It was selfish, deceitful, every word in the book to describe this, but being with them was the ticket to a distraction for you and the route to Leon’s bedroom.

You felt the carpet against your feet as you made slow and calculated steps that inched closer and closer to Leon’s door, which was already opened a crack — the perfect signal of invitation. As you pressed your hand on the wooden door, you remembered when you first met your partner’s family. They were friendly and welcoming, and you were happy to be accepted in the family, but Leon was not just giving you the friendly and welcoming looks; no, his stares were a look of longing and lust as he stared at your frame, visually objectifying and seeing you as a vision of temptation. When you first met him, you admitted to yourself in a thought or two that he was a very attractive older man who presented himself well and even had that alluring mystery and darkness that made everyone want to get to know him, to break away that tough exterior front. The night you met him, you felt a tingling within your stomach that continued every time you shared a night. Still, that night, you two were in the kitchen, starting a suggestive conversation that turned to intimate touches on your thighs, then your waist, him whispering every compliment and dirty thought into your ear — and it only continued from there.

You quickly moved to close the door behind you and quietly locking it, releasing a heavy breath inside you as you sneaked around. Eventually, you turned to look at Leon; he was sitting in only his boxers, like he always would, looking at you up and down with the same playful and expecting smirk that would wait for your arranged nights together.

“Thought we agreed at 3 am?” he showed you his phone, showing the time was 3:15, playfully teasing you about your poor time management.

“They were taking forever to sleep,” you said, moving onto the bed beside him. Leon then pressed his hand on your thigh, starting an early tingle of excitement within you, “You know that I do come to your room… Eventually. When have I ever backed out?”

You both kept a whispered hush in your tone of voice, secrecy adding to the thrill that would conquer the guilt that momentarily manifested inside of you, but never Leon, from the seems of it. Leon continued to graze his fingers on the soft plush of your inner thigh, moving his fingers further upwards to your tingling and expecting core before tucking the tips of his fingers under the band of your underwear, using his free hand to place them on your cheek, his thumb grazing on your cheek to admire your beauty before he leaned in for a sweet kiss. A kiss that grew in passion, movement, and speed as he moved from your soft lips and made his way to your neck to place tender kisses, closing your eyes as you released your deep breaths and felt Leon’s soft lips and warm breath on your delicate skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as you were a little hesitant in your movements, “Are you not feeling up to it tonight,” he said in a deep, silky voice.

“Nothing… Just a moment of guilt,” you confessed.

“I think you should be over this guilt… Face it… You’re mine now, you won’t be going back to them… Now, be a good girl,” he placed his hands on the hem of your shirt, waiting for your answer before taking it off.

“True,” Leon smirked at your acceptance, removing your shirt and throwing it to the floor, now met with your perfect frame and naked upper body for him to admire.

He gently pushed you onto the bed, your back feeling the cold soft covers, then a sensation of warmth from Leon as he climbed on top of you, his knee tucking underneath your left knee and moving to separate your legs as he placed himself neatly in the middle, leaning in to continue kissing your neck. You released laboured breaths and soft moans as he nestled his soft lips on the skin of your neck, occasionally biting you, sending a thrill coursing through your body and grabbing onto him a little harder from the sudden but frequent surprise. Moving lower and placing sweet and small kisses as he moved to your exposed breasts, using his tongue to swirl around your erect nipple, his hand giving attention to the other as he squeezed the bud as he licked and sucked the other.

“Fuck,” you released in a hushed whisper, arching your back the harder he would have fun with your body, that previous guilt melting away as you closed your eyes and let Leon take you into a sea of concupiscent sensations, “mmmhh,” you continued to share your thrill through the exchange of noise.

“Such a beautiful girl,” he said in that deep, rich tone that growled possession over you, the voice that made you forget every moral and every memory of your partner. You were Leon’s for tonight and every other time he desired you.

He moved his hand down from your breast, sliding it down your torso, making his way to your already pulsating core that was getting wet just waiting for Leon, his fingers now at your clothed pussy, him smirking with already being able to feel the damp patch, rubbing circles before removing the clothed barrier, dragging your damp pants down your legs and carelessly dropping it on his bedroom floor. You gasped at the contact of his flesh on your centre, causing you to instinctively grind onto his fingers; he looked at you with that lustrous darkness in his eyes as he gently slid his index finger along your folds, teasing you with only the tips of his fingers, asking for entrance then shying away; he continued this and played with your expectations, getting harder the more you held your breath ready for his entrance.

“P-please, Leon… Please,” you begged.

He smirked once more before gently sliding his large fingers inside your wet pussy, your walls of warmth surrounding them and causing his cock to twitch inside his pants as he saw you squirm under his control and the feeling of your heat; he moved them in and out, keeping a steady rhythm before picking up the pace, making you release laboured and deeper breaths. He watched your pussy, hungrily as you closed your eyes and bit your lip, clutching to your bed covers as he roughly manipulated your senses.

“Such a beautiful girl,” he said under his breath, making you blush and feel warm as he complimented you and made you feel like your body belonged under Leon’s.

He watched you intently as he continued to ram his fingers inside you, watching your chest rise and collapse under your breathing patterns, waiting for when you were going to release yourself; just as you were about to release, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, seeing a blurred vision — but then it all stopped. Disappointed, you opened your eyes and looked at Leon, hungry for more. You were disappointed when you were so close; it felt cruel not to allow you that sweet release.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart… I won’t leave you like that,” he cooed as he lowered himself to have his face align with your wet pussy; he felt his hard cock press against the bed.

He teased you with small licks along your slit, causing a shiver to run down your spin, biting your lip as you waited for more; Leon then pressed his lips on your puffy clit, sucking the sensitive bud that made your squirm under his manipulation, your unfaithfulness was something your forget about with the waves and tides of pleasure and sensation. His fingers went back inside to feel your walls as he continued to suck and pump his fingers, you clenching onto the covers again. But he stopped again just as you were grinding your hips into his mouth.

He loved to toy with you.

You saw that smirk he had as he raised himself and took his pants off, revealing his hard and throbbing erection that was begging to be inside of you; you blushed and felt a wave of warmness slide within your body before he pressed his tip along your slit, teasing you more and more with pressing only the head inside you, then moving out. In and out, he continued, and a jolt of arousal spiked within Leon as he saw your expecting face and your disappointment every time.

“How much do you want me?”

“S-so much, p-please… I want you so bad,” you whimpered.

“Come on, sweetheart; you can beg a little better than that… Start again,” he continued to slightly move his hips as he teased you with the tip of his large cock.

“J-j-just fuck me… Please, I’m all yours; just do it already,” you continued to beg, feeling agitated and wanting to feel what you had come over for; you liked and hated how much control he had over your desires.

Leon loved how much control he had over you; you were his; you were only your partners in social titles, but your body was connected with Leon, and he hoped you would remain connected through your need and desire to be consumed by your appetite for him and his body. Just when he had felt like you begged him enough, proved you wanted, no, yearned for him, he forcefully rammed his length inside of you, causing you to release a high-pitched yelp and the causation of your eyes squeezing shut as you tried to grow accustomed to his length.

“Shhh, shh, shh, not a sound out of that pretty little mouth of yours… We don’t want them to know,” he cooed to you as he placed his rough, calloused hands on your waist and thrusted himself inside your cunt.

“Mmmh,” you continued, moaning and trying to keep your level of noise to a minimum, not wanting the night to be interrupted by the secret being known.

You felt the tip of Leon’s cock kiss your cervix, feeling like it was getting bruised with his handling of you and the length that he pumped inside and out. Immoral unfaithfulness felt so good; it was wrong, and this shouldn’t happen, but it all slipped away when Leon had his way with you. Lost in your sensations when giving your body to him freely and letting your walls clasp around his member, an intimate embrace that begged for Leon never to stop and never to leave you wanting more.

The room was full of the sound of your sweet moans, Leon’s deep and laboured breaths as he pumped himself deeper and deeper into your sweet pussy.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he continued to praise you, watching as your tits bounced with every thrust he pounded into you; he saw you as a vision of beauty and temptation he needed to indulge himself into every time he was in your presence.

Just as he was lost in his admiration for you, you rolled your eyes to the back of your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you bit your soft bottom lip, gripping your hands on his arms as he continued to fuck you senseless, finally being able to release that built up arousal from him constantly teasing you. He could tell by how your body tensed up and how your face seemed like it drifted off into another world; he took this as an invitation to release a pool of warmth inside you, leaving you both to gasp for air as you finished and left to process how good it was to share each other’s company.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x you #fanfiction #leon s kennedy x reader #older!leon kennedy #leon kennedy infinite darkness #infinite darkness leon #leon s kennedy x fem! reader #older!leon kennedy x fem!reader #cheating #read the warnings

[bloodycyrano]

Here's what Team Tadpole would do for you for valentine's day!

Karlach: She would get you the absolute BIGGEST plushie she could find, and chocolates. Post-upgrades, she would cuddle the plushie for a few nights beforehand so it smells like her. She'd probably bring you to a carnival- One that *isn't* infested with shapeshifters this time -and try to take turns winning each other prizes.

Wyll: Wyll Ravengard spares no romantic gesture. He brought you your favorite flowers and decided to take you out dancing! He wanted to finish off the night with a romantic walk on the beach, but Mizora crashed your date, and now the three of you are playing board games because she wouldn't leave- Which Wyll isn't exactly happy about, but he's content as long as he gets to spend time with you.

Gale: Gale would probably make you a home-cooked meal in his tower back at home and absolutely shower you with affection and little magic tricks to dazzle the eyes. He's constantly seeking that approval, so you'd better believe he's going all out.

Halsin: Halsin would take you on a picnic in the prettiest part of the woods he could find, and surprise you with a special wild garden bed of your favorite flowers. He'd also have a whittled duck for you.

Shadowheart: Shadowheart would bring you a single night-blooming flower and a bottle of wine. She'd probably take you somewhere dark and secluded where you could simply spend the night enjoying each other's company, away from the rest of the world.

Astarion: Astarion is happy to do almost anything as long as he's with you. You stopped by his grave to leave flowers- A cute gesture he's likely become accustomed to. Perhaps he takes you out to dinner, or to a play he knows you've been wanting to see, but the real treat is when he takes you back home to cuddle and read together. Horror novels and shocking favorites only.- You wouldn't expect it, but he does voices for the characters if you get him to read out loud. His faked accents are awful, but it's cute.

Ascended Astarion: Awe, you didn't think I'd leave you guys out, did you? So. He's likely to do something flashier. A wine tasting, or maybe take you to get a new outfit tailored to fit you perfectly. It doesn't match anything you'd actually choose to wear, but it paints the perfect picture of the vampire consort trophy spouse he's decided that you are. He keeps setting up little things that you feel are supposed to make you happy, but it's filled with a harsh coldness and an empty stare. You've all but given up hope that the Astarion you know and love is still in there until the night comes to a close, and he brings you home. He's being strangely affectionate and sweet. Cuddly. At first, you take this as a sign of better days - until he won't stop biting you, no matter what you say or do. Eventually, he's taken so much blood that you pass out; and you wake up in your locked chambers alone with a pretty, expensive necklace and roses. No note. It doesn't even matter if roses are your favorite flower or not. He doesn't care.

Lae'zel: She didn't know Valentine's Day was a thing. She can't pronounce it and literally had no idea why everyone was making a big deal about the holiday, etc. She was, however, very surprised when you brought her a gift. She tried to seem uninterested in the whole "mushy, romantic stuff," but you could practically see her heart melt when you made a romantic gesture. You spent the rest of the day together - She probably tried to bring you out hunting or sparring.

Durge: Durge would either give you a mortal heart in a jar or a vial of their own blood, and disturbing poetry they wrote for you. They might try to get you to get matching tattoos with them, but they won't push you if you'd rather not. Aside from that, they might take you to a cemetery or a long lost ruin to bask in the macabre beauty of the space. They'd also bring brownies they made themself.- They were going to pack a picnic, but they didn't want to smother you; and they're really better at baking than they are at cooking.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate meme #astarion #bg3 durge #dark urge #gale dekarios #baldurs gate tav #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #halsin #karlach #valentines day #bg3 scenarios #scenarios #ascended astarion

[astarionslittletreat]

Eat You Alive

Gortash x female Durge/Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 1k

Tags: smut, sex, piv sex, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, biting, bondage, domination, threats of violence, threats of murder, sadism, masochism, unhealthy relationship, established relationship, dub-con, unethical use of magic, cock warming, forced orgasm

Author's Note: This is not meant to depict how a relationship should function in any way. Neither character posses any redeeming qualities or are meant to be idolized. This is a work of indulgent fiction. Please read the tags before proceeding.

Summary: She's returned to him, his Bhaalspawn. After vanishing from him without a trace, he's got her exactly where he wants her. Tied up and waiting for him with murderous lust.

Wrists and ankles shackled by purple translucent magic, the Bhaalspawn strains against the spell holding her down. Muscles tensing, she flexes her arms, tries to kick her spread legs but to no avail. She cannot break free. It’s not explicitly uncomfortable. She’s naked, true, exposed to the dark room and her surroundings, but the silk sheets she retrained on have been freshly laundered. The spell curling around her extremities is warm and radiates the feeling of pure magic that sends shivers down her spine as she tries to pull away. She’s of two minds at the moment. The Dark Urge that usually slumbers like a dragon in the back of her mind is wide awake–demanding to be freed. Ordering that they be let go this instant and repaid in blood and flesh and bone. The other part of her mind, her true self, her weak self, nearly lost. Drowning in the madness of her carnality. Aching, wanting, dripping for her lover to touch her. To unburden her of her desires–every single last one of them.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like that–” Lord Enver Gortash’s dark eyes grow hungry as he watches his Bhaalspwan arch her back in a futile attempt to break free. “Spread out like a good girl who just wants to be eaten.” He purrs. Taunting her until she’s so filled with rage, Enver can feel it radiating off her bare skin. “Look at me.” It’s a command tinged with magic, and the Bhaal babe meets his gaze. For the briefest–shortest moment her eyes go soft. It’s so quick, he would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring directly at her because it instantly vanishes.  Consumed by the fire burning through her veins. Her murderous rampage simmering in the pit of her stomach. Enver’s cock throbs at the sight of his dark and demented love.

Her eyes dart back and forth across his bedchambers. A feral animal caught in a trap. Searching for a way to get out. To get to him. Restrained as she is, the Bhaalspawn flinches as Enver traces the scars on the inside of her thighs with his fingertips. Some he recognizes, some are new, requiring him to catalog her body once more. She trembles at his touch with a rage and bloodlust that makes Enver grow hard. His cock swells as he palms himself. Stroking just enough to take the edge off as he lowers himself to the bed. Drawn in by her tender fury he moves to worship his lover. To take her into his mouth and press his lips against every new scar she acquired without him by her side.

A sinful mix of Infernal–and possibly Abyssal, if Enver heard correctly, falls from the lips of the Bhaalspawn. Spit like venom. Sung like hymns. “That’s right my love,” Enver praises the words he doesn’t fully understand, but knows all the same. He knows exactly what his love needs before biting down, hard. Blood blooms over Enver’s tongue and the Dark Urge moans in delight.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” She threatens beautifully. Spitting and hissing in the common tongue for Ever to understand.

He chuckles, “I sincerely hope so, my love.” He had thought himself dead once already. He certainly hadn’t been alive these past few months at the very least. Not when she had disappeared. Gone, without word. Without trace. Without any explanation that was due to him. Of course, he knows now what happened, but the bitter sting of life without what made Enver whole had scarred him. Changed him. A piece of himself vanished when his love disappeared. Abandoning their well-laid plans, the city–him. The fury and indignity at being left behind after so long never quite left. Orin’s death helped, true, but this– this is so much sweeter.

“I’m going to break every bone in your worthless body before I filet you alive!” Spit coats her lips as the Dark Urge screams, and her body fails in painful delight. More–she wants more. She needs Enver now instead of him taking his sweet fucking time.

Evner doesn’t spare her the prep time. She doesn’t need it, doesn’t deserve it. Between her scarred and bleeding thighs, Enver presses the head of his cock to her entrance before pressing in in one long stroke. Settling himself until he’s fully seated inside his love. Oh how he’s fucking missed this. Her mewling gasps of his name. The drool sliding past her lips. The way she tightens, squeezing him as he presses his thumb to her clit. Circling and toying with her. Forcing her into a breakneck speed while he sits there. He spits on her clit for good measure. There will be time for pain later. Right now, the only thing he desires is to feel the Bhaalspawn breaking apart around him.

“Wait!” Panic. “Stop, I can’t–”

“You’re going to fucking come, now.”

Another command, bold but dangerously quiet. Tinged with venom and love. She doesn’t need a spell to obey this time. His familiar heavy weight, his clever hands working her body better than her own self knew how. It was inescapable. Her release surges through her body as she clamps down hard. Her body strains against the magic holding her down, her muscles taught and aching as she tumbles recklessly through the pleasure forced upon her. It hurts. It hurts and she likes that it hurts. That it’s messy and quick. That her legs are weak and she can feel wetness seeping out of her cunt where Enver is still seated and hard. She gasps. Gulping down air as she falls from her high. Her mind floats. The Dark Urge temporarily calmed like a wild beast to music.

Enver allows her a few seconds respite. She had earned that much at least. But the night was young, and he still missed his deadly little Bhaalspawn. He waited until her gasping died down just a bit before he began to circle and toy with her now oversensitive clit. “Another, my pet.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gale 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #enver gortash x dark urge #gortash x durge #gortash x dark urge #the dark urge #gortash smut #enver gortash x durge #prompt request #astarionslittletreat

[sky-kiss]

Best Served Cold

A/N: I want the record to show that I love Haarlep. Spoilers for Patch 5.0 Epilogue. Using it for evil. Hiding under a gif. Maybe don't read if you don't like. Sex and violence. Short bit of something.

Haarlep/Durge (GN), Raphael/Durge GN: Best Served Cold (18+)

Oh, the spoils of war are ever so sweet. 

The thought flits through Haarlep’s head, a disconnected spark lost amidst a sea of pleasure. The incubus grips their lover’s hips tighter, fucking up into them as if it’s their last night in Hell. Raphael’s treasured pet comes to take their pleasure from the cambion’s form one last time. Torrid, debauched, and so blessedly delicious. 

I wondered when you’d visit me, my godling, breathed into the hollow of their throat. They’d shivered, eyes widening in wonder and lust—Haarlep’s favorite combination. The incubus bathes themselves in the bhaalspawn’s hunger. You seemed so fond of my little brat. 

“Oh, look at you.” Haarlep breathes. Raphael’s voice, dark and heady, fills the chamber. The bhaalspawn shivers. “Made for his cock, weren’t you? More’s the pity: you were never disappointed by the real thing.” 

They ride him harder, snarling into the frozen air. Haarlep laughs, shifting their touch inward, fingers splayed low on their belly. He likes the contrast of their skin, devil-red against mortal flesh. Haarlep licks their lower lip and thrusts his hips up. There is something so debauched about the way the godling takes him. Furious, punishing, oh, it’s good. Nails bite into his shoulder. The bhaalspawn dips their head, licking the hollow of their throat.

Teeth graze over their pulse. 

And then they bite. 

Haarlep groans, a rush of blood and heat as they break the skin. The bhaalspawn turns their head to the side, hissing into the ruined flesh. There’s pain, but they’ve had far worse during their tenure in Cania. And they still clench around him, move. 

“Mmm, hungry for him, were you?” 

The godling laughs, nosing the underside of his jaw. “No. No, sweetling, that was just for you.” 

They purr, “I’m flattered, pet.” 

“Dreamed of it.” They groan, pushing up and impaling themselves on his cock. Haarlep spreads their legs wider. They want to watch. “Dreamed of this.” 

The incubus chuckles, rocking. “And is it everything you desire?”

“Almost.” They tip their head back, mouth falling open in rapture. “Raphael!” 

Haarlep hisses, pushing up under them. “No. No, pet, you call my name.” 

The godling laughs, rolling their hips. “Raphael.” 

Any response dies on the incubus' tongue. The voice is as familiar as breathing, so much a part of them after centuries of life. Haarlep’s blood runs cold. “You called, little mouse?” 

Haarlep thrashes, suddenly needing to get free, get out. Raphael is there. A mangled reflection of himself, but still alive. His left eye is milky, flesh badly burned and scarred. The right corner of his mouth curls up in a sneer. The godling clenches around them, moaning.

“Oh, Haarlep. Whatever’s the matter? You were so keen on using my form before.” 

The bhaalspawn’s grip is more sure than death itself, tearing through the flesh, leaving long stripes of blood across his pecs. Haarlep hisses, pitches, gets no further. They try to speak, but the damned creature kisses them, swallowing the words along with their air. Raphael closes the distance between them, hands clasped at the small of his back. Dispassionate. The once prince strokes a hand down the godling’s back. 

Fear settles low in the incubus’ belly, coiling alongside the rush of pleasure. So close to the end. A feverish weight at the base of their spine. 

Raphael strokes Haarlep's cheek. His one good eye narrows. 

“Once upon a time, you left me to our little beast…” the bhaalspawn groans, reaching out to fist a hand in Raphael’s robe. “...and I am a cyclical creature. An eye for an eye, hmm? Only fair I return the favor.” 

“Raphael…” They choke out his name, vision blurring. The godling’s teeth are back at their throat, biting, tearing. Haarlep tries to catch their hands, but they are brutally strong. 

Their little brat chuckles, bending and pressing a chaste kiss to their mouth. “Adieu, darling. It’s been…unforgettable.” 

And Haarlep screams. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x durge #haarlep #haarlep x tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 smut #my writing #SORRY HAARLEP #HAARLEP I'M SORRY

[banes-favourite]

I was thinking about how childish Gortash can be sometimes (kicking tav/durge in the shins if they whack him, "not if I kill you first" to Karlach, etc.) and initially, that seems odd for a man you would assume would want to keep a more dignified air

And then I thought maybe that's something he picked up from Raphael (aka Mr. "Listen here, pipsqueak"). Or maybe is a result from him not being able to really mature emotionally growing up in HoH. Maybe both.

Hell yes my brother, I've been thinking of this for so damn long.

Gortash tries to appear dignified and all but the little cracks in the foundation show he's just a little traumatised, childish boy.. There is absolutely no shot he developed any sort of emotional maturity during HoH. Most likely his development got stunned, if anything, so he feels everything at 100% like a child would. He's just gotten super good at hiding it.

Bc he absolutely gets so mad over someone, say, getting his name wrong by accident. A Banite not "kneeling right" when he passes by. A random citizen just looking at him "the wrong way." He doesn't show it in the moment but he's biting his pillow at night about it and sending assassins to punish whoever he hates. I just bet he's petty and petulant and childish af.

#one does not grow up around raphael and walk away normal ☝️ #bg3 #enver gortash #gortash #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 gortash #asks #anon

[lillotte17]

I just woke up, so good morning, let me see if I can string any words together in a coherent pattern. This has actually been on my mind for weeks. Slowly driving me insane.

200 years. Two. Hundred. Years. 2 HUNDRED years.

That amount of time is literally incomprehensible to us in terms of personal memories and trauma. We can barely remember anything collectively as a species for that amount of time without losing bits and pieces of it. It is more than 2/3 of the time that Astarion has been alive. Well, "alive."

I am currently in my mid thirties, it would be like if I had died when I was 7 or 8 years old and then had to try and remember everything about my personality and my family and my morality from that time period. I do remember it, of course, but a lot of it is pretty vague. A lot of things that I know happened, or that I know I did, I remember because there are other people in my life who knew me then. Astarion wasn't a child, of course, but time still has it's way with things, and there is no one in his life he knew from before he became a vampire, with the possible exception of Cazador, and he's hardly a reliable source of information. Trauma also damages memories, and he has spent more that 2/3 of his life being constantly starved and beaten, and abused in pretty much every possible way a person can be.

The main point being that it is simply not possible to make any firm assumptions about the kind of person Astarion was before he was turned. Maybe he was a horrible, power-hungry, back room dealing, lying, racist, POS trash-man who deserved what he got when that group of thugs jumped him. Maybe he was kind underneath all his bluster, and had a strong sense of justice, and he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most likely, he was something in between. But we can't know. And Astarion probably doesn't really know anymore either.

(I firmly believe that Cazador chose him specifically to be a spawn, and possibly even orchestrated the attack on Astarion. They might not even have really been Gur. Astarion would only have Cazador to rely on for confirmation about what really happened to him that night, and having a culture of people who hunt monsters and were likely already targeting Cazador himself be the same group that murdered Astarion seems pretty mmmm convenient.)

And for all that he is a chaos gremlin, prickly rat-bastard, dumpster fire of a man, it is honestly pretty astounding (and rewarding imo) just how much growth he can have over the course of the game, which is only a few months, tops. (assuming, of course, that you are playing a good aligned Tav/Durge) But even before that, after the first night he tries to bite you, he is the one who immediately promises that he's not going to feed from innocents, with no prompting at all from the player. He doesn't ask to keep feeding from your PC, and he only drinks from you if you offer it. (unless you direct him to in a fight, I guess, lol) That feels huge to me. He has been STARVING for 200 years. Part of being a vampire is that he's always kind of starving, but he doesn't want to be a slave to that hunger any more than he wants to be a slave to anything or anyone else.

I'm not saying that he's secretly a good man deep down, but even from the start, the potential for him to be better was already there. Which is AMAZING because, as I said earlier: TWO HUNDRED YEARS.

Like, imagine that you know absolutely nothing about yourself except misery and torture and losing things, and it fucks you up, and you KNOW it's fucked you up, and you are terrified that one wrong move could send you back to the place that you just escaped from, and you still say, "I'm still not going to attack the innocent people around me for no reason, though. Sure, I might laugh if they manage to get themselves killed in an amusing way, but it's not going to be my fault."

#Astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #fandom meta #i guess idk lol #this is a bit stream of consciousness oops #it's honestly impressive that he's not MORE of a dick tbh #my horrible little guy has me chewing through the bars of my enclosure

[davi-doo]

I think Gortash is the type who would get hyperfocus when he works and HATE being disturbed. He would be super cranky to borderline murderous to whomever stand by him in the workshop, even if he required them to be there for manpower or security reasons. Durge didn't know this early on in their relationship cuz all Gortash ever showed him at that point was the perfect conman fawning behavior. I can see Durge dropping by his office without a word of notice and sneaking up to a sleep-deprived Gortash to pull the classic guess who, only to get a dagger on their rib. The Bhaalspawn is thrown out of the room Tom and Jerry style with a shower of vulgar curses they thought was far below the ever eloquent Banite.

Though of course as soon as Gortash signed off the project and got his 10 hours sleep, his brain will rewire back to slut-mode again. Whether he acts like nothing happened or tried to love bombing Durge again are equally funny to me. But I'm sure Durge will feel extra hot in the groin once he knows the human can bite and call him slurs one can only get at the shappiest tavern in the Lower City.

#durgetash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gortash #enver gortash #durge #the dark urge #shitpost #headcanon #anything to remind you Gortash is not born noble

[dracobrooklyn]

Durge x Reader Part 2

When you really like the design of the Cannon DragonBorn and his voice is like butter making you melt. I was sad you can't romance him and your the playable character instead. So Here I am going to write Headcannons of what if he was a romanceable NPC that was in your party.These are my thoughts taking bits and pieces from the Cannon and putting my thoughts and ideas into Durge.

|| MDNI || 18+ this will contain Themes of Language, Violence, and of course Sexual Content. DO NOT READ!!

Cannon!Durge x Tav!Fem!Reader

This will be in a Fem!Reader POV!!

Word count: 1,237

Part 2: Getting Closer.

TW: Death, the Mention of killing, fantasizing murder, nudity, Smut, and Oral sex.

Durge being in a party after slaying the Goblins and saving the Teifling folk and saving them from the Druids grove (He honestly wish he would have burn their tree down, cause fuck those guys). Everyone seem to be having a good time... well he really didn't have a good time. Shall we list those reasons? Well for one thing, he tried so hard to distract himself trying to block out those images of his nightmare. But the wine wasn't doing anything for him, guess Durge would have to drink at least 6 barrels of wine... but that wasn't happening, the other thing he wasn't a huge fan of being with so many people. People cheering him as a hero! It was nice for at least 2 seconds... but then it got more annoying that each drunk teifling came up to him "You are a hero mate, cheers!". He was trying to find you in all this madness. Some sort of familiarity and safety. But finding you, he saw you talking to Astarion. He was about to step up a little, but he noticed that he was flirting with you, and you seem to like it a lot. Kinda broke his little dark heart.

Deep down Durge wanted to grab Astarion. He wanted to choke him, he wanted to rip him apart, just to see his head fall of his shoulders, just to see him dead onto the ground and rip his intestines out feasting onto him... Durge felt sick all of a sudden, what was that? Why was he thinking that way? He had to get away, he needed air. He needed distraction. He then bumped into a teifling. Pretty little thing, Durge found out her name was Alfira, she talked with him, telling him how brave he was against the Goblins. Asking on what Lyrics she should use for her song... oh she was a bard. fantastic. Durge also noticed you were staring... he looked back at Alfira and even tried at his hand on flirting, just to maybe... maybe make you a little jealous? Even offered to have a one night stand with Alfira. Of course she took it. Leading her away from prying eyes into the forest.

Durge didn't take his time with stripping off his clothes, getting on top of Alfira kissing her, marking her with hickey's and bite marks from his teeth. Gods this was a perfect distraction. A good ol fuck to pass the night. Durge has a pretty good size for his cock and yes, Durge has a knot. He is pretty good in sex, so Alfira did sound like she was enjoying it. How he trailed his nips, and licking towards her breast, to her navel and finally to her core. Tasting her nectar that was glistening on her folds. She did taste divine... but he couldn't help but replace Alfira's face with yours. What would you sound like if he went down on you... what would you taste like? How soft and warm you would be in his claws, how he would made you came into his mouth, into his jaws to taste your sweet release. "jacida nhee kiabil". It was a blur though... he was so lost in the pleasure he became so feral... and once out of his haze he smelled... blood. He shook his head and looked down seeing was the once alive Alfira... dead, with her intestines ripped out all over the place. Durge standing back and even looked down at his hands... oh gods it's on him... did he do that? Panic coursed through his body. What has he done?!! He has to hide the body quick! He did so throwing her down the river watching it float away feeling sick... dirty... fucked up. He wash's himself in the river to get rid of the blood on his face and hands. God he felt sick, he needed to get back to camp, he needed sleep.

Durge of course not being able to sleep, he of course goes to walk out into the night, away from the party. The Nightmares were not helping either. He didn't want to wake you either. He was too busy trying to piece together the images from his images. He did write into the Journal you gave him but it still wasn't making any sense. Until he see's a random stranger appear-- oh god it's ugly! Was it a Goblin? The creature claimed to be your servant. A servant? Wait... was he a prince? Oh no the joke was biting him in the ass now. The creature called himself Sceleritas, a one hell of a butler he puts it. He must know you. He kept calling you by your name Durge. It was nice... he guessed? He had so many questions, he asked a few. Learning where he came from, and was made to guide him and help... murder people? Wait kill people? "That's how I found you, I could smell the Bards dead stench from across the sea!". Oh gods Durge felt sick. He wanted nothing to do with him. Sceleritas was a little sad to see his faithful master dismiss him so soon. But he wanted away... he needed you. You felt someone shaking you awake, looking up from your sleep gaze, you could see Durge's face that was filled with dredge and fear. You asked him what was wrong. He asked if you both could be in his tent to talk... just to help him fall asleep. You agreed of course. Anything for your friend Durge. You guys did talk almost all night, he seemed to calm down. That was good. "So are you and Alfira together?" you asked Durge "What? No we uh... we just uh... had a one night stand is all." Durge replied feeling nervous all of a sudden. "Oh... I was hoping to spend more time in the party but you were gone for me to find you." you said to him. "...I thought you wanted to be with Astarion?" Durge asked "didn't he... offer to give you a good time?" "Oh he did, but I declined him." you said to him "He's not my type." "Oh." Durge was relieved. Thought you didn't need to know that... no. Besides you wouldn't want to be with a... memory loss murderer. No he can't let you find out about what he did no... it would be awful. He lose you in an instant. "Did you want to try and get some sleep?' You asked Durge tilting your head to the side. Durge definitely did blush, the way you looked at him made him feel butterflies in his stomach. Boiling within his very core. He was smitten with you. You rejected the pale elf and you wanted to be with Durge instead. Pride was welling inside him. Maybe he did have a chance... maybe... praying to the gods. "Thank you for the talk." He says to you "I feel more... refreshed, please get some sleep itov." "itov?" you asked him "Was that draconic?" Oh shit "uh yes, it means friend." he lied of course... and you fell for it thank goodness. You left Durge to rest telling him goodnight as you walk back to your bed roll. And Durge watching you leave as he says softly "mel'thurkear." as he curls up to sleep... to try and hope no more nightmares would plague his mind tonight.

Draconic Translation: jacida nhee kiabil- His Sweet Companion. itov-Love mel'thurkear- Goodnight.

#baldursgate dark urge #dark urge x reader #Durge #Durge x Reader #BG3 #bg3 bhaalspawn #Bhaalspawn #Bhaal #baldurs gate astarion #Baldurs gate 3 Alfira #Dragonborn #Sceleritas Fel

[bg-brainrot]

Astarion x Dark Urge, but every time Astarion tries to reveal his vampirism, Durge is like 'that's perfectly normal, what are you talking about?'

Astarion: I drink blood.

Durge: Me too.

Astarion: No, really I'm a vampire. I'm undead and my skin is always cold.

Durge: Same.

Astarion: Hells below, take me seriously. I know I can walk in the sunlight now, but I'm a creature of the night!

Durge: Tell me about it, I hate waking up in the mornings.

Astarion: I've lived hundreds of years.

Durge: Uh, duh, you're an elf, aren't you?

Astarion: Please, just look at my damned fangs.

Durge: Woah, that's cool. Are you part tiefling or orc?

During the act 1 romance scene, they let Astarion bite and bite back in kind. They think it's just a good time.

During the Araj scene, they offer to bite Araj in his stead, still not understanding what the big deal is, 'I bet I bite better anyway.'

When they get to Cazador's lair, Astarion is convinced Durge will finally believe him now...

Durge: Wow, this Cazador dude is a really messed up druid isn't he?

Astarion: ... Why are you in charge again?

Durge: I genuinely do not know. Now come on, let's kill your father.

Astarion: He's not-- oh whatever. As long as we kill him 😮‍💨

#astarion #astarion x durge #bg3 #bg3 astarion #fic inspo #for the act three romance durge asks if they could get a preemptive grave #astarion sighs and wonders how the hell he fell in love with such an idiot

[animentality]

"I don't want you to die. Please stay with me." post made me think of Gortash taking care of injured Durge (precanon). And that's the first time Durge is taken care of so it's like tending to a wild animal. Especially if it's default dragonborn Durge baring his teeth and hissing and wanting to leave and not to feel careful hands cleaning and bandaging his wounds. Not trusting Gortash not to hurt him when he's at his weakest.

Let's forget healing potions work too well, I need them to have their sickfic moment

I also think Durge is the one to just wait till it heals naturally and they'd want to leave immediately. And Gortash goes "no way, the temple you live in is probably all grime and stale blood, so you are staying here for tonight"

anon this has the potential for comedy and tragedy, and it's brilliant.

on the one hand you have Durge snapping at Enver while injured like a mangy street dog and the man has to be very careful not to get bit, and maybe he even says behave yourself or I'll be getting the muzzle :)

and then they snarl at him and maybe the two do a silly little dance, where he tries to get at their bloody bandages and they try to both evade him and maybe get in a passing bite or two.

Vet Gortash could be hysterical.

but then the tragedy.

when you said.... the dark urge doesn't trust him not to hurt them at their weakest.

like since the dark urge killed their parents, they don't know how to be touched gently.

to be handled softly.

they don't trust caring hands because they've forgotten how to be taken care of.

and it's hard for them to allow someone close to them when they're hurt. they haven't done that in a long time.

but Gortash proves to them that he can take their pain away. that he can be trusted to help. that he is worthy of seeing them when they're vulnerable, and he will not take advantage of them.

he won't hurt them.

he will heal them, and make them feel safe.

and he's the only one who can do that.

anon can we kiss

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #Durgetash #durgetash fanfic #durgetash fic #enver gortash fic #enver gortash x dark urge #enver gortash smut #enver gortash #gortash smut #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #Gortash x f!durge #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x f!tav #Gortash #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #Gortash x female durge #dark urge #bg3 fic

[carooosa]

Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness

Part 3: Dissent

Part 2 Here

Word count: 1k Rating: Mature Pairing: Ascended Astarion x gn!AFAB Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: 18+ AO3 link: Dissent

Summary: Stressed from your duties, Astarion tries to help relieve your tension. It doesn't end well as he's forgotten something deeply important to you.

You pace back and forth in your bedroom, shifting between holding your arms and biting your nails. The anniversary celebration was in a little under two months and there was still so much left to get done. 

“My treasure, if you keep worrying about this you’ll burden your beautiful face with wrinkles,” Astarion said casually as he read a book while sprawled out on your bed.

You ignore him, choosing instead to find your journal that contains some of your notes. Quickly flipping through the pages, you try to see if there’s anything you could work on right now. Your head is so buried in the notebook that you don’t notice your lover get up from the bed. 

He snatches the book out of your hand and teases you, “My love, weren’t you the one who said ‘no work in the bedroom’?” You try to get the journal back, but it’s all in vain. As soon as you reach for it, Astarion grabs your hand and twirls you around yourself until your back is pressed against his body, his arms wrapped around you. “You need to relax, darling. Your shoulders are tensed and your jaw is clenched. And whether or not you meant it, I can feel your stress.”

You feel guilt for a second as you remember that after Astarion turned you into his consort, you were both able to speak silently to each other. You were also able to feel any strong emotion from the other, whether that be lust, despair, or in this case, stress. The guilt lasts only a second as Astarion is part of the reason you’re so stressed to begin with.

“Good,” you say with a bite, “it’s your fault I’m feeling this way.”

He releases his hold on you and spins you around to face him, and you look to the side to avoid his eyes. “What do you mean my fault.” He hooks a finger under your chin and moves your head to be facing his but you avert your gaze. “Love,” he says with a gentle sternness, “when I said that you would never need to worry or want for anything again, I meant it. Yet now you’re saying that I’m the one causing you despair?”

You sigh and pinch your brows, finally meeting his eyes as your hand falls to your side. To any other person, it would look like he’s looking at you with care, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that the concern he shows is due to his insecurity as an overlord. He gave you everything you’d ever want and anything you ever could want. He tended to your needs and would sometimes indulge you with domestic intimacy — handholding, caresses, and cuddles — anything to keep you happy. Although it’s not perfect, it’s his way of showing you love, and you appreciate it all the same.

“The planners don’t take me seriously and we’re a tenday behind schedule.” As you say this, a flicker of confusion crosses his eyes before it’s gone, replaced with a calculated smile. 

He leads you towards the bed, throwing the journal off to the side. “Little love, everything will fall into place,” he says while placing chaste kisses along your neck. “You don’t need to worry about this. Who cares—”

You push him off of you and stare at him incredulously. “Who cares? I care, Astarion. This anniversary banquet will be the first time all our friends will have the time to be together in a long time.”

He scoffs as he readjusts his night clothes. “We can always figure out another time to have your friends visit us. Besides, 17 years is a weird time to have any anniversary.” As soon as he finishes the sentence, his eyes snap up to yours as he feels the sadness from you, watching the tears start to form in your eyes.

“You’re unbelievable,” you choke out. He takes a step toward you only for you to take 3 steps back. Had he really forgotten?

“What? It’s true. Usually, anniversaries are every 50, 10, or 5 years. I’ve yet to see a celebration for a 17th anniversary, but since you were so insistent on it…” Astarion trails off as his eyes glaze over as if he’s lost in thought. His eyes are staring deep into your soul as you silently cry. It takes too long for him to remember, and as soon as he does, he looks genuinely fearful. “Our annivers-” he gasps.

You cut him off, making your way towards the notebook. “I need to be alone right now.” You push past him as he stands unmoving, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Don’t follow me,” you say as you slam the door behind you.

You quickly run through the hall, ignoring the questions from the servants. You make your way into the morning room that was recently turned into your own personal parlor. When you suggested holding the event planning meetings in the library, Astarion scoffed and brushed aside your idea. The next day, the room that received the most sunlight was bustling with servants moving furniture around. “What would everyone say if they saw my consort sequestered in that dreadfully musty library? Now, everyone will see your striking beauty as you command the room.”

You shake off the memory and make your way to your seat. Papers are strewn about the table, half of them containing illegible scribbles. You sit down and immerse yourself in the work until the dawn light starts to seep into the room. You decide to rest your head for a bit, your cheeks stained with tear marks and your eyes sore.

When you awake, there’s a blanket draped across your body and a glass of water on the table. You gulp down the water and shrug off the blanket before making your way to your changing room. You aren’t sure what time it is, but it’s surely almost time to meet with the caterers to finalize the menu. As you leave the room, you quietly thank the servant standing on guard for the blanket and the water.

He bows his head as he replies. “My apologies, Lady Ancunin, but it was not my doing. The Lord ordered me to keep watch after leaving the room.”

#astarion angst #ascended astarion #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x durge #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 durge #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #fics #astarion ancunin #bg3 #gender neutral reader #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion is astarion

[cringecannon]

So how about a Gortash that’s absolutely obsessed with you? Thinks you basically created the stars, worships the ground you walk on. And sure maybe it’s not in the healthiest way, but he needs to have you. But you don’t want that kind of attention from him… at least you think you do. You try to refuse, avoid any of the advances he gives, but he will not stop and pushes until you beg to give in. 

I really see this happening with a durge, especially one that’s trying to fight their urges. When you finally come face to face with the man, he’s ecstatic. Gortash has been clinging to the memory of what you had together, and he’s excited to pick back up right where you left off. You, however, are (rightfully) more than a little weirded out by this unknown man who stands far closer to you than any stranger has the right to.

When you aren’t jumping at the bit to work together, disappointment is an understatement. He was ready to open his arms and have you fall right back into your rightful place at his side. No matter. He always liked that you made him work for your affection, that’s no different now.

No matter how different you act, he can’t (or won’t) admit the person he loved died the second that tadpole crawled behind your eye.

You work with him only because you have to. In all honesty, the way he acts unsettles you. You still don’t even know yourself, so some stranger speaking about you so casually freaks you out. Not that he cares. As close as he says you used to be, you’re not sure he’s being entirely truthful about your past. You don’t trust him to be. It makes it easier to ignore him, anyway.

Given that he expected things to go right back to normal, whenever you don’t fit that mold it irritates him. You rarely agree with him, you avoid conversations that aren’t strictly business, and you refuse his generosity at every turn. He thinks himself a gentleman- dinner invites, gifts, an offer to stay in his castle- yet you refuse to bite. Most anyone in the city would kill to be seduced by him, yet you turn your nose up at every attempt. If you’re not going to play along, then he’s not going to keep playing nice.

You can be as professional as you want, if seduction won’t work he has other ways to break you down. Unsolicited, inappropriate tidbits about your past relationship are a favorite of his, especially in front of other people. As you’re trying to strategize over a map he slots himself in behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back as he reaches out to point at a spot near your hand. If you’re bold enough to complain his chest rumbles with laughter, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he apologizes. Force of habit. You used to love him behind you. It takes him moments too long to peel himself off of you, and your skin crawls even when he’s feet away.

The longer you let this go on, the worse he gets, but putting your foot down is no use. Stubbornness attracts him even more. Playing hard to get just makes him want you more. Don’t push him too far, though. His patience has limits.

Maybe you try to leave, or break off your deal. There’s no time to react before he grabs your head from behind, smashing your face down against his desk. You’re sorely mistaken if you think you have any say in what happens to you, dear. He tried to be nice, tried to give you time, but you refused to play along. You could’ve avoided all this unpleasantness if you just gave in. You’ve forced his hand, but he’s willing to set all that aside and let bygones be bygones. There’s a lot of lost time to make up for, pet. Best get to work now, before he really loses his temper.

#.enver gortash #.bg3

[nellyofthevalley]

bloodlust

astarion x fem!durge

rating: explicit content: dubcon, blood, knifeplay kinda sorta, spanking, fingering, piv, cunnilingus, porn without plot, some feelings, graphic violence in the form of threats summary: ‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through. 

Astarion holds his arm over her head and she opens her mouth in anticipation. He’s watching her as intensely as she watched him, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. Blood drips slowly down his arm, beading at his elbow before dripping into her waiting mouth, around her lips, over her face.

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

She comes to Astarion’s room one night in a panic, ready with rope. The urges have become easier to sense coming on. Most could be sated by a brutal kill of those who deserved it, but she knows a punishment is coming. Kills are never enough for Father, it’s not about the kills. It’s the savagery, the unnecessary cutting, twisting and maiming.

It’s an art form. 

She’d gone back for Isobel to sate her urges when they were most dire, a ritualistic offering to Bhaal, pleading for any relief. It sufficed, for a time. It was an honor to lead dozens to their deaths in the aftermath and an absolute delight to watch them be consumed by shadows, their souls ripped from this earth. For weeks, she remembered how they looked as the black possessed their bodies, and how their darkened blood stained the battlefield as far as eyes could see, torn between remorse and a sick fantasy.

‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through. 

She enters his room in a hurry and lets the door shut behind her, finding Astarion in his typical spot; in the chair, reading.

“What’s troubling you, love?” Astarion asks as he looks up. A silly question, he realizes it as soon as he sees the rope in her hand—they’ve been through this once before already. “Ah, you’re here to kill me again, I presume? And here I thought we’d moved past that.”

“It’s punishment,” she says, standing before him and shoving the rope in his hands. “I’ve not served him adequately. Tie me.”

“Eager for this, aren’t you?” he teases, casting the rope aside. She huffs in response, annoyed by his light hearted demeanor. “I’m surprised. I imagined this must be a very unpleasant experience for you, to be restrained and rabid.”

“Don’t be stupid! Tie me, quickly, before I hurt you,” she begs, terrified of herself. She glances down at her hands, as if they may act on their own. She can picture it already, how they’d leap forward and claw into his lovely face, vigilant to spare his piercing red eyes. It’d be a shame to waste those, they’d make for a fine trophy.

“Do you think me so careless? I have all I need to survive you,” he says, pulling her on top of him and leaning back. “Unless you have a hidden blade to slit my throat with.”

No, but the bloodlust inside wishes she did. From the start, she thought he’d be the perfect pretty corpse—what a joy it would be to see the vampire’s essence spill and pool beneath her. A stake is a tired trope, and even a slit of the throat would be too clean for her tastes. She’d adorn him with cuts all over and make him watch her drink the life from him like he drank from her. 

She pushes her lips to his and he readily accepts her greedy tongue. Her impatient hands seek cover beneath his shirt, crawling all over his smooth porcelain skin, daydreaming of splitting it. He’s foolish and reckless around her. She could bite, rend, and gorge on his screams, if the urge willed it.

Maybe he enjoys the dance with death, she thinks as she guides the shirt over his head, picturing how his chest would look with slashes all over it.

With a sharp motion, he pulls her back by the hair with one hand. With the other, he restrains her comparatively small hands by the wrists as if to prove he holds more control. 

“Take me, when I’m no longer me. Show him what I think of this pathetic display of power,” she says with a fire in her eyes and Astarion feels another flourishing between her thighs. “He won’t own me.”

“You’ll never be his. You’re mine.”

The kindling in her ignites and she rocks her hips against him, smirking when a groan escapes him. Astarion keeps his grip on her hair tight but pulls her forward, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His fangs brush against her skin and she shakes in anticipation, waiting for that familiar, satisfying pierce when he breaks her skin with his teeth; instead, he gives her small, cautious bites that make her heart pound with a fury.

Astarion releases her hair and trails his hands along her thighs, up her sides and lifts her nightshirt up to her shoulders. The chill of his touch clashes with the fire that spreads through her whole body—her cheeks aflame as his fingertips roll over her perked nipples.

“Astarion,” she says. He’s dismantled her resolve so easily, leaving her too weak to argue with him further on the importance of his own safety.

She finishes what he started and lifts her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Cold hands slide down over her ribs and then behind to support her back as he leans forward, pressing little kisses from her shoulder to her collarbone. Her fingers tangle in his white curls, lightly stroking while he continues his work downward, pushing her back further and further until he’s supporting almost all her weight and his lips place a kiss between her breasts.

Astarion rises from the chair, and her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her to the bed, sitting her on the edge and standing between her legs.

“Hands,” he orders; she offers them and he ties them behind her back with rope.

If Astarion cared to be safe, he’d tie her feet and gag her mouth. She’s a dangerous one, but he never feels truly scared of her and he carries enough confidence to toy with his food first. Though she may try to separate herself from the urge, they both know her violent tendencies aren’t solely Bhaal’s ‘punishment’. It’s still her inside—he saw how she fought it before, and she will fight it tonight, too.

Astarion falls to his knees and grabs her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed.  He’s hasty to remove her bottoms, pulling them down over her legs and feet before settling his head between her legs; he drapes her thighs over his shoulders and holds them in place with a tight grip.

“Astarion, I—”

“Quiet, love,” he says, pressing his lips to her inner thigh now—intense, needy kisses that make her jolt, and tomorrow, will bruise her skin blue. “Relax for me.”

She feels sharp tips brush against her, a forewarning; she flinches, but quickly settles down, waiting patiently for his bite.

She groans when he pierces her flesh, loud—her cry and her delectable, hot blood gushing into his mouth elicit a moan of his own and rouse him; her blood traveling straight to his cock. She squirms under him and involuntarily squeezes his head with her thighs, and it’s fucking delicious.

He pulls away, mindful to not drink too much; she’s sure to spill more blood this evening, by both their hands. Arousal glistens on her cunt and leaks onto the bed—her body’s calling him, and it takes all of his self-discipline to not fuck her so hard the urge possesses her right then.

“Astarion, please,” she whines again, pleading with him to touch her. The only thoughts her hazed mind can produce at this point are all pure, unadulterated filth.

“You’re making this so difficult,” he says, drowning her in more soft kisses, everywhere except where she’s craving his mouth most. “Have patience, my dear. I’m savoring my meal.”

Finally, he’s dragging his tongue up along her folds, convincing her he’ll grant her the relief she craves. He’s quick to start, lapping up every last drop of her sweet arousal, but it’s not long before he slows to an absolutely punishing pace that rewards him with a frustrated moan from her mouth and increasing pressure on his ears.

His tongue flicks across her clit, delicate and controlled, expertly drawing out more of her wetness. Her body sings for him with its writhing and whimpering, while her mind starts to wander away from her.

Every part of her hungers for him—her hands rebel against their ties, trying to break free and pull at his hair, push him deeper into her cunt and fuck his face; her drifting mind fantasizes of how she’d suffocate him, if she could. She could crush his head between her thighs, she thinks, picturing his pale face turning ghost white under her, the screams she’d delight in, the crack of his skull; only then would she come for him, desecrating his face and plucking out his eyes.

Blissfully unaware of her rising desire to kill him while she fucks him, Astarion thinks of how he could stay here forever, ruining her and relishing it, but he forces himself to part from her, not allowing her to get too close.

Astarion stands and admires his work: her face flushed red, the dark puddle where he had her. He climbs on top of the bed, grabbing her waist to push her further back and covers her body with his.

“You look positively depraved,” he says before pressing his mouth to hers, ravenous and fierce, the taste of her arousal left on his lips and shared with her. She nips at his bottom lip, then parts hers to welcome his tongue—an invitation, a demand; he holds her face as he obliges, devouring her, like he wants to taste her throat.

She’s left gasping for air by the time he lets her free. He wipes the mess of her mixed fluids from his face with the back of his hand and licks it off as she stares. It’s filthy, it’s primal, and it’s the last she can take before fully losing her mind to her violent whims. Out of breath and lightheaded, she passes out.

When she wakes, bare with her hands and legs tied, she’s furious—she thrashes, tries to kick, screeches obscenities at the pale elf standing before her. She’s not herself. Her vision is clouded and washed with red; her brain repeats grotesque thoughts of brutal murder and horrific fantasies of dining on her victims’ innards. 

Not fantasies, she realizes—they’re memories of a better, brighter time, when she was free to kill and maim, and was rewarded for it.

“Darling, you’re awake,” he greets her in a sickeningly pleasant voice. “It’s not been long, but I missed you all the same.”

She imagines reaching her claws deep down his throat and shredding his vocal cords, sure that many would thank her. 

She spots a dagger on the table beside the bed. Determined to take it for herself and stab her captor with it over and over until he’s a bloody pile of unrecognizable viscera, she lunges for it. It’s useless with her restraints. Her actions are brainless, reminiscent of a creature driven by pure bloodlust. To anyone else, it would be terrifying; to him, it’s almost humorous.

“Can’t you be nice?” Astarion asks her in a petulant tone, like a parent scolding their child.

He catches her from behind in the midst of her tantrum and presses his body to hers, pushing her forward and trapping her tight between himself and the headboard. He wraps one hand around her throat; a loose but disciplined grip that’s just enough to crane her head towards him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his lips and the warmth of his exhale brushing against her ear. Whether she wants to not in her current state, all the way from her ears to her feet and her face reddens. 

He kisses along her ear and down her neck and it only infuriates her that much more; she tries to flail and escape him, but he’s prepared for her fight and the hand around her neck wins. His free hand reaches around her front, exploring every piece of her body he can get his hands on as he continues with his kisses on her shoulders and back. 

“Ah, you’re feisty,” he says, laughing when she tries to lunge and bite him. “Good effort, but as you can see, I hold all the power here.”

He moves his hand lower, along her hips and thighs, fingertips lightly trailing further in. Even in this state, arousal pools in her cunt as he touches her and the heat practically radiates off her body, sharing warmth with her lover.  

“Even like this, you crave me,” he taunts, fingers running over her folds, wet and sensitive for him already.

He slips a finger in her wet cunt, curling it forward, gently caressing her soft spot; she gasps and moans while he finger fucks her, and Astarion can feel the vibrations of her noises on his hand constricting her neck. 

“You’ll look—ah—so much prettier… after I’ve turned you inside out,” she hisses, hitching on her words, struggling between the moans his hand forces from her and the pressure on her throat. “I’ll—I’ll crush your dead heart and… feast on it.”

“I wish you could behave yourself,” he says, giving her throat a quick squeeze, to remind which one of them is in control.“We could have so much more fun that way.”

Astarion pushes another finger inside her, finding pleasure in her increasingly incoherent snarls and ragged breathing. Every time he thrusts into her up to his knuckles, her body twists and quivers; her mouth’s desperate to hurl another threat, but he’s fucking her faster and lazily rubbing his thumb against her clit, reducing her to nothing—she can’t find the words anymore. 

“You want me to fuck you so badly,” he purrs, curving the fingers inside her in a deliberate, slow motion. She throws her head back against his shoulder and tries to grind against his hand, feral and frantic, proving his claims.

A loud cry escapes her as Astarion withdraws, robbing her of release; a sound that goes directly to the erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

“I could end you right here, you know,” he goads, tightening his grip on her throat. “Crush your pretty neck like it’s nothing. Make you bleed out on this bed. How would you want it, if you had the choice?”

“I’ll gouge out your ruby eyes,” she chokes out. “Wear them as earrings.”

“Romantic. Not what I asked, though,” he says, shaking his head. “A shame.”

Astarion kisses her neck, along her jaw, her face—anything he can reach, loving her, even if she won’t love him back. He frees her from his grasp before he sheds the rest of his clothes, his cock painfully hard and tip dripping with pent-up anticipation.

“Ah,” he exhales as he presses against her, sliding along her sticky wet slit, covering himself in her wetness. “Gods, what have you gotten me into?”

His nails dig into her sides and threaten to draw blood as he enters her with an animalistic and uncontrollable groan. He’s rough with her, snapping her hips toward him with every thrust like he’s performing an exorcism by fucking the violence out of her. The combination of her wet, tight cunt embracing him with the pathetic, needy sounds falling from her mouth render him dizzy.

“I’ll—I’ll—” She tries and fails to speak, overwhelmed by how his cock feels like it could burst through her chest.

How he so quickly reduces her murderous urge to a pitiful, sweaty mess is a pleasure of its own, but fuck—he wants to kiss her, taste her, talk to her.

“You’ll what, my love?” 

“I’ll paint the city red with your innards!” she cries, dangerously loud. Astarion  covers her mouth with his hand—he would prefer their companions not get the wrong idea and interrupt. “They’ll all see your true beauty and bathe in it.”

“Your blood will paint my mouth red, and I will bathe in your beauty,” he says, a low tone against her ear.

He settles his face in the space between shoulder and neck and gives her harsh, bruising kisses that make her legs tremble and her breath catch before breaking her skin with his fangs and forcing a whimper from her lips. The movement of his hips pauses as he drinks her in, intoxicated by her essence. It sucks every last bit of his senses until all he can hear is her blood flowing onto his tongue; until he tastes, smells,  sees, and feelssolely her life’s dark red.

Astarion pulls away from her, wiping away the thick red streaks smeared all over his face, and doesn’t waste a single second before burying himself to the hilt in her again, drunk in the coppery scent that lingers in the air. Her, too—it’s tantalizing, it makes her want to force out all the blood in her body and fucking drown him in it. 

“I’ll hold your head by your eye sockets and fuck you until you bleed out,” she growls, and he can’t help but laugh; how comical, for her to lash out at him with her face shoved against the wall, scraping her cheeks with every thrust. 

He fucks her until she can’t speak again—until her body is shaking, her voice whittled down to heavy breaths, and he’s close to finishing. She cries such a sad sounding moan when he pulls out, it’s almost sufficiently convincing to make him think she’s come around to the idea and misses him inside her.  

“I’ll open your skin and wear you like a coat,” she seethes.

“Sure you will, darling. You’re so very scary with your hands and feet bound,” he says, brushing her off with a hand motion. “Be still, you’re being ridiculous.”

As soon as he backs off, her body falls onto the bed and throws itself around again trying to break free. It’s obvious it’s involuntary—every convulse hurls her against the wall and makes the rope rub her skin raw.

“CHOKE! DIE! YOU’LL BEG ME FOR MERCY!” 

“I hoped to avoid this,” he says as he picks up another piece of rope, destined for her mouth. "But you won’t keep your damned mouth shut. And frankly, I’m getting tired of your little outbursts. It’s unbecoming.”

Astarion ties the last bit of rope around her mouth, gagging her. She does her best to spew more obscenities at him, but they come out as miserable, muffled noises that satisfy him in his work.

He pushes her over onto her back and lifts her tied legs up to his face to place soft pecks along her ankle and calf. Her body fights it, kicking her feet as if it tickles so much it’s worth killing over. He spreads her legs to fit his head between them and rest her thighs over his shoulders. The heels of her feet beating at his back are weak and sad, not fazing him at all. It’s cute, really.

“My sweet, sweet love with the dark heart,” he muses, stroking her hair. “What else would it take to get you to behave for me?”

She strikes when he pulls his hand back from her hair—her tied hands claw at him and she manages to swipe his arm just right with a pointy nail, splitting the skin.  A decent injury; a cut between his elbow and wrist deep enough to bleed. And she cackles hysterically, even with her voice buried under rope.

“Gods damn it.” Astarion looks it over before lifting his arm and showing it off to her, like it’s a prize she’s won. “Look what you did.”

She loves it. She watches the red run down his arm attentively, hypnotized by it.

He holds her hands firm against her stomach and frees her of the gag. It’s a surprise that she’s too preoccupied by the sight to speak, and her body’s violent spasms have calmed. Perhaps he should wrap his arm, but the cut isn’t that bad, so why not have a bit of fun with it first?

Astarion holds his arm over her head and she opens her mouth in anticipation. He’s watching her as intensely as she watched him, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. Blood drips slowly down his arm, beading at his elbow before dripping into her waiting mouth, around her lips, over her face.

She sloshes it on her tongue and truly tastes it before swallowing; she opens her mouth wider and pushes her head forward, trying to collect as much of it as she can. 

Is this how he looked when Cazador made him beg for dead vermin?

“You’re sick,” he says, delightfully scandalized, but he can’t take his eyes off her and he doesn’t stop feeding it to her. “Vile. A true degenerate.”

His insults make no difference to her, she’s lost to the literal bloodlust. 

She’s nauseatingly hot like this. The messy streaks of red around her mouth and dripping down the sides of her face, the way she drinks his blood how she tastes his cock, the fact that he can feel her getting wetter and wetter—it’s so fucking good. He can hardly hold back from tasting hers again, his body tense and mind tempted by the view and the aroma wafting in the air.

If only he hadn’t already drank from her twice.

“You’ve had more than enough fun, dear.” Astarion pulls aways as the bleeding slows to a trickle and fits the rope back into her mouth, knowing she’ll refuse to keep her quiet as soon as he’s done indulging her. “I can’t let you go unpunished. I’m sure you understand.”

He moves and turns her until she’s on her knees, face down, his palm pushing on her upper back to hold her there. She looks lovely, he thinks; her head shoved into the pillow, angry eyes staring back at him, sweat running down her face and unable to speak. 

With his other hand, Astarion trails his fingertips down the dip in her back and over the curve of her ass. He extends his palm, and with a swift movement, strikes her. She jumps, but tolerates it well—and he can’t have that. Again he hits her, harder and less disciplined, and still she endures in silence, though her hateful glare talks on her behalf: she’s livid. He’s gotten under her skin.

“You’re resilient,” he notes, “but even you can be broken.”

He strikes her more—harsh and with purpose, drawing out dulled wails from her at last, determined to beat the fiend that possesses his love.

Astarion knows very well how it feels to lose your body. To be owned by another. It’s a memory that haunts him and resurfaces old anger—how dare this thing tread upon his lover’s will, rob her of her body and him of her affection? 

His next strike lands harder, with an audible slap against supple flesh. 

Her skin turns pink and tender as he continues, then red; she’s chewing at the rope in her mouth and her bound hands clench into fists, nails scratching at her own skin–desperate, but her efforts are all in vain. Astarion pauses for a short moment before landing one final, unrestrained smack on her ass that draws out a far louder, far more satisfying cry from her mouth.

A single tear runs from her eye to her nose and into the pillow.

She’s not unfamiliar with pain, far from it; she’d been taken apart and put back together many times. She has no memory of it, but they learned she tried to strangle Kressa with her own intestines, and showed no pain or weakness doing it. Why shed a tear now? Was it wept by his little love inside, gnawing at her brain for escape?

“Don’t cry, my love,” he says, almost mocking her. “I hate to see your pretty face weep.”

Astarion takes the dagger he’d left bedside and waves it in front of her. It may as well be a treat dangling from a stick for his rabid pet with the way her eyes light up and follow it.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster as he penetrates her, pushing in until there’s no room left, struggling to hold his composure. 

He holds the blade to her neck, making shallow, trivial cuts as he thrusts into her and she thrashes against him, her will too strong to let a little blood stand in her way. She’d bled rivers over the years, and finds her own just as sweet as her enemies’.

“Watch yourself, love,” he warns. “You can’t soothe your need to kill if I’ve killed you first.”

He wields the blade well, careful to not let it cut too deep, but when her convulsions are too wild for him to keep up with, he’s forced to withdraw the dagger. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he permanently scarred her, even if she is trying to send him to his final death. But he wonders—how animalistic is the urge when it consumes her this way? How far would he have to go to bring her under control?

Would she allow herself to bleed out before she’d beckon to his will?

Astarion brushes his fingers across her neck, collecting the paltry amount of blood weeping from where she’d been cut and licks them clean. It’s delicious and sweet like her, but it’s not enough; it only leaves his taste buds dreaming of more and missing his kinder-hearted lover.

The frustration and anger spreads through his body like a parasite, crawling through his veins and bones until it’s all that’s left. He grips her hips for leverage, pulling her towards him with all he has for every thrust and burying himself in her so deeply, she whines under him. He doesn’t let up; he moves his hands further along her back and up to her shoulders, leaning over her and pulling her in. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Astarion’s angry, or furious, rather; he’s fuming that she’s not here with him.

And then—something changes. Her cries become quieter, her eyes stare back at him differently. It’s unsettling. All but exhausted from using her body like that, he wipes sweat collecting on his forehead and stops, watching her intently.

He pulls the gag from her mouth.

“Astarion,” she says, hardly a whisper as she finds her voice again. “Shit.”

He’s practically starstruck, frozen, like he can’t believe this. He didn’t expect it. He pulls out, silent, and she looks right at him. He sees her. He recognizes that face.

“Gods.”  He turns her and picks her up, arms around her waist, and brings her into his lap. “I missed you.”

Astarion pushes his lips to hers, holding her face in his hands; he slips his tongue in her parted mouth, finding hers and tasting every piece of her he can until she’s forced to pull away and breathe. He runs one hand through her hair and lingers there, massaging circles into her scalp while she returns to her body, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes half-open. 

“I missed you,” he says again, all he can think of, though these three little words pale in comparison to the relief he feels.

She smiles and holds her hands up for him. “Can you untie me?”

He nods and laughs as he cuts through the rope—so distracted by her returning to him, he didn’t think to free her. If she hadn’t already rubbed her skin raw on the restraints, he might’ve told her no. 

With her limbs free, she supports herself on his shoulders and spreads her legs to straddle him properly, his cock nudging against her wet cunt.

“More, give me more,” he demands, drawing her closer for him to kiss along her collarbones and down between her breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue. “I want all of you, until I can’t see straight.”

She adjusts and lowers herself onto his length, forcing a low groan out of him. He doesn’t avert his gaze from her for even a moment, eyes feasting on the faces she makes when she starts to ride him. Her body aches, sore from the bloodthirsty beast’s unforgiving temper, but every noise she coerces from his mouth encourages her; she fucks herself on him until her legs shake and she loses her stamina, showering him in apologetic kisses.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises her, kissing along her jawline, her neck, anywhere he can reach. “Beautiful, my love.” 

He grips her waist by the sides and arches his hips up into her, moving her body for her. She can’t keep quiet, moans escaping her mouth every time he thrusts back up into her, her warm exhalations pooling against his skin. Astarion’s sure the sound travels past their walls now, but at least no one would dare interrupt.

“Astarion—”

“You’re going to come for me, pet?” he asks, daring her to. “Close your eyes.”

She obeys, giving up sight and focusing all her senses on him. He pauses and she’s tempted to look again, but before she can, she’s being lifted and pushed into the bed, onto her back. She feels Astarion position himself between her legs before entering her wet heat once more, his thrusts impatient and just as relentless as he was before. 

Astarion presses two fingers to her mouth and she welcomes them, coating them in her spit; he lingers on her tongue for a moment, admiring how perfect she looks with her mouth open, her disheveled hair, her body splayed and swallowing his cock so eagerly. He rubs her clit with his wetted fingers, his motions frantic and messy as he gets closer and closer to climax.

He leans forward and kisses her, drinking in her every moan and cry as hungrily as he does her blood—like he’s parched, fucking dying of thirst and her ecstasy is the only thing that can quench it. And when she tears into his skin with her nails, her cunt contracting around him and his name leaves her mouth as she comes, it’s divine, sweeter than any heavenly nectar.

She wraps her legs around his back and tugs him towards her until it feels like they’re melted together and there’s no space left. Astarion shuts his eyes and succumbs to the pleasure drowning him, riding the high and spilling inside her; she holds his face as he shudders and curses, praising him with the thoughtful gestures of her hands and her nose grazing his. 

He collapses on top of her after her body’s extracted all he can give, spent; exhausted after spending all night fucking the cruelty from her body. 

She embraces him, fingertips gently tracing up and down his back, writing signs of her devotion. Her lips kiss his cheek and whisper words of adoration in his ear, so sweet it almost makes him sick. The darling little love he missed so much. 

It’s like night and day.

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