⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.
multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.
synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.
cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.
notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.
this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.
The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back.
This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light.
You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?
jinx.
♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.
♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours.
♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.
♱ that was the beginning.
♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.
♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.
♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.
♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.
♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.
♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.
♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets.
♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.
♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.
♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.
♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left.
♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.
♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it."
♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."
♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close.
♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.
♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red.
♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.
♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.
♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.
♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time."
♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.
♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.
♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you."
♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.
♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.
♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”
♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.
♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses.
♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair. “stop waiting."
♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."
♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.
♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings.
♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”
♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.
caitlyn.
♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind.
♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.
♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.
♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there."
♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.
♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years.
♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.
♱ she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.
♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.
♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.
♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much.
♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."
♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face.
♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers.
♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.”
♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."
♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying.
♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."
♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry."
♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.
♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in.
♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."
♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like."
♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch.
♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"
♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed.
♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"
♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness."
♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"
♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass."
♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.
♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.
♱ "next time," you say, "come inside."
♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met."
♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.
♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.
♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you."
♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”
♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.
ambessa.
♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.
♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest.
♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.
♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record).
♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.
♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees).
♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.
♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.
♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing.
♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no."
♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers.
♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes.
♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”
♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness.
♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.
♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy.
♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.
♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired."
♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.
♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”
♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."
♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name."
♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.
♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.
♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow.
♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."
♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.
♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.
♱ (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)
♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels."
♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."
♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."
♱ she moves differently after that.
♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.
♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."
♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."
♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent.
♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."
♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.
♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."
♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.
♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.
♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.
♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.
♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.
♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."
♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.
♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."
♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.
♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it.
♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy.
♱ you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?"
♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.
sevika.
♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen.
♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.
♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing."
♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack."
♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.
♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you.
♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."
♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.
♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.
♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies.
♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"
♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."
♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide.
♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."
♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."
♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."
♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both.
♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"
♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end.
♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”
♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds.
♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.
♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."
♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.
♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."
♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."
♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.
♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.
♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.
♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."
♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.
♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence.
♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.
♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."
♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.
♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.
♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.
♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.
♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.
♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?"
♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.
bonus: vi.
♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.
♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that.
♱ she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush.
♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.
♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself.
♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.
♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.
♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.
♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.
♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.
♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.
♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.
♱ when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.
♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart.
♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.
♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry
♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.
♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves.
♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”
♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.
♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."
♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”
♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge.
♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"
♱ she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.
♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.
♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.
© hcneymooners.
Hi!!!! I was wondering if we can have some dark BG3 but with Karlach.. if you can because ohhhhh I love your stuff for her literally every time I read it I fall in love THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING BTW
Ah thank you so much !
oooo okay y'all I'm writing this as a one shot, she's not being added to the list (for now), I will most likely add her when I'm adding the cambions which will be when requests are finished. This is gonna be set when she takes control of the nether brain.
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The infernal glow of Avernus spread before you like a sick parody of a sunset, blood-red skies choked with smoke and ash. The smell of brimstone clung to everything, a constant reminder of where you were and what you had become a part of. Karlach stood at the edge of a jagged cliff overlooking the battlefield below, her fiery mane whipping in the hot wind. Imps and cambions swarmed around her like moths drawn to a flame, eager to do her bidding.
You watched her, your heart aching. This wasn’t the Karlach you had fallen in love with—the one who had fought so fiercely for others, who had carried a blazing heart of courage and compassion. But you understood how she had come to this. Her pain, her rage, her betrayal by the people of Baldur’s Gate—it all made sense. And that was what hurt the most. You understood her too well.
When she turned to you, her eyes were wild with fury and determination, but there was something else buried deep within them. Something you could barely see but refused to give up on.
“They’ll all pay,” she growled, her voice like a low rumble of thunder. “Every last one of Zariel’s lapdogs. Just like those cowards in Baldur’s Gate who let Gortash rise to power. They’ll all burn.”
You stepped forward, hands trembling but held open in a gesture of peace. You were covered in ash, grime and splatters of blood that belonged to those you called friend.
“Karlach,” you began softly, but your voice broke under the weight of what you were about to say. “You were one of Zariel’s servants once. Remember? There are people down there—innocents, just like you were.”
Her expression twisted, her lips curling into a bitter smile.
“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut as she pointed her index finger at you. “Don’t you dare compare me to them. I escaped. I broke free. They don’t deserve your pity, and they sure as hell don’t deserve mine.”
You reached out a trembling hand toward her, desperation thick in your voice. “Please, Karlach. This isn’t who you are. You’re better than this—better than all of this. Be fair, give them a chance. Don’t let this place consume what’s left of your humanity.”
For a moment, you thought you saw her flinch, the barest flicker of hesitation crossing her face. But then her expression hardened, and she let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she said, stepping closer to you, her towering form casting a shadow over your trembling figure. “You’re trying to control me. Hold me back. You’re lucky I love you, babe! So damn lucky!”
She snapped her fingers, and before you could react, two cambions stepped out of the shadows, their claws digging into your arms as they grabbed hold of you. You struggled and cried out, but their grip was ironclad.
Karlach grinned, the flames dancing around her face making her look almost demonic. She sauntered up to you, cupping your cheek with a hand that burned hot against your skin.
“Don’t worry,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock affection. “I want you to see everything. Front row seat, just for you.” She turned to the cambions, giving them a wink. “Make sure they don’t miss a thing.”
The cambions dragged you toward the edge of the cliff, forcing you to kneel as Karlach strode back toward the battlefield below. Her war cry echoed across the hellish plains, and her army of imps and demons surged forward with savage glee.
Tears streamed down your face as you watched the carnage unfold, helpless to do anything but plead silently with the woman you loved—the woman you knew was still in there somewhere. You whispered her name, over and over again, a prayer against the storm.
Somewhere in the chaos, you thought you saw her pause. Just for a moment. A flicker of something human—a memory, perhaps, or a feeling she couldn’t quite extinguish. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep your hope alive.
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y'all how dare you force me to do that to my baby girl.. jk jk i can't lie making her evil was very fun. I hope you guys enjoyed these dark karlach scraps, i think there is another dark karlach request in the queue so y'all will be fed again at some point - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
Omg im so super done with fragile helpless reader!!! Pls do sevika and reader freshly dating or even just seeing each other, they’re still still getting to know each other and sevika being herself she LOVES to tease and annoy reader and show off her strength and stuff expecting reader to be to be helplessly weaker than her, however when reader get fed up enough they start fighting back ^playfully^ and sevika making a mental note to not take readers warning for granted🙏🏼 basically reader unexpectedly humbling sevika
Challenge Accepted
"Look me in the eye and say that again." You said in a more gravely voice that usual as you shifted into a better sitting position, glaring daggers into Sevika's gaze.
This wasn't the first time Sevika underestimated your strength or wit. She had the habit of doing that because of the sheer fact she was so darn old and had seen a lot.
You admitted it, yeah she'd seen some shit in life but that didn't automatically mean she was untouchable.
"I dont think you'd be able to take me in a fight." Sevika repeated and put out the cigarette she was smoking in the ashtray on the bedside table.
"Oh, yeah?" You repositioned yourself so you were now over her thighs, straddling them. "Are you challenging me?"
"Why yes, sweetheart." Sevika stared at you with amusement, one eyebrow raising.
"Challenge accepted." You whispered and got off her.
Sevika blinked in mild shock before slowly getting off the bed too, to stand in front of you.
Sevika easily towered over you. But that didn't faze you really, you'd come to terms with the fact you were short as fuck compared to her.
"You really wanna do this?" Sevika asked as she crossed her arms, both flesh and mechanical arms flexing as she did so.
"You scared?" You taunted as Sevika flexed her flesh bicep purely to annoy you non-verbally.
And it worked.
It ticked you off.
You charged at her, but Sevika being taller than you took advantage of her height.
She scooped you up with ease, pinning you to the wall. "Angel, just accept it. You're weaker than me." There was no heat behind her words as she said it though. It was more playful than anything.
You simply gave her an amused look before locking your legs around her waist and grabbing her flesh hand, pressing down on the shoulder nerve making her wince and pull her arm back.
Because she did so, she let go of your frame giving you the opportunity to push her on the bed with all your strength and pinning her hands down with both your legs.
You grinned victoriously at her.
"Gremlin." Sevika whispered under her breath. You let up and let her get out of your grasp, Sevika flexed her mechanical arm and it's fingers before letting out a soft sigh.
"Fine, you win."
You smiled and laid back down in the bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight.
"Wipe that look off your face." You pulled Sevika close.
"Hmph."
She was clearly sulking. What a sore loser. But that's fine. She was yours after all.
As you laid down beside her, Sevika wrapped her flesh arm around you. You grinned a little and wrapped both arms around her, squeezing her making her chuckle.
"Even though I am prideful, I correct my errors if I notice them." Sevika kissed your forehead, it was a silent promise of always respecting your strength. That's all you needed.
Could I request firefighter!Sevika HCs or a Drabble? She’d be so hot 🥵
sorry the reqs are taking so long! I’m in the middle of my finals rn, so bear with me for like another week or so ❤️🩹
I wholeheartedly agree anon and have been thinking about firefighter!sev since @kissingmilfs fic bc omggggg
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❀ does daily pushups in your bedroom because she found you staring once and now wants to make sure you can see her workout as often as possible
❀ adding onto that, she will for sure tease you and flex her arms cockily
❀ will also be picking you up either bridal style or over her shoulder when she sees fit (which is a lot more than necessary - but you don’t complain)
❀ ADORES coming home to a hot meal. whether you stay at home or work full time, and whether you make dinner every night or once a month, she will NEVER take it for granted
❀ bonus points if you cook food from her culture - she’ll legit fall to her knees
❀ doesn’t take anything for granted actually. being a firefighter she sees a lot of loss, so she feels very privileged for everything she has
❀ makes sure to tell you this + how lucky she is to have found someone like you pretty much daily
❀ I feel like firefighter!sev is just the biggest softie
❀ like “Sevika ‘I Love My Wife’ Arcane” type shit
❀ is the type of romantic to kiss the back of your hand
NSFW
❀ uses her strength to her advantage in bed
❀ even though she’s usually gentle and sweet, she knows how to fuck
❀ like…FUCK
❀ like this woman will have you screaming, legs shaking, can’t walk the next day
❀ but she’s great with aftercare <3
❀ big fan of edging and overstim but cracks easily
❀ for sure has a praise kink and can get off just from pleasing you + encouragement
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(also currently thinking of your kid running around giggling in sev’s helmet that’s far too big for their head)
I really want to take care of her sooo badddd 😭🖐️ give her all the love she deserves!! She deserves princess treatment!! She deserves all the hugs and kisses!! She deserves tasty home cooked meals!!she is such under appreciated character by the creators.......
Omw to ven in c.ai
cw: sub-bottom vi. pervy fem-reader. masturbation. voyeurism? strap-on referred to as cock. 1k words.
synopsis: you masturbate to the sounds of vi getting fucked.
you assumed vi would be the one doing the fucking. she has those smoldering blue eyes, bad girl persona, inked skin, domineering and sarcastic humor. so you’re surprised when you get home at half past two, exhausted from a late shift, only to hear the rhythmic creak of vi’s bed frame through thin walls.
frustration flickers first—so much for a good night’s sleep—but beneath it, curiosity stirs. vi never has girls over when you’re home. did she forget what time you said you’d be getting off work? is she so desperate for an orgasm that she just doesn’t care?
that’s when you hear it—soft at first, but unmistakable. vi is whining—breathless, whimpering like a bitch, blubbering about how much her pussy is being stretched.
”unghh! t-too big, holy fuck—it’s too big!”
your stomach tightens, heat coiling low in your belly, and the wind is promptly knocked out of your lungs.
you shouldn’t be listening to this. you should walk away, crawl into bed, put your earbuds in—do anything else—have some respect for your roommate. but your feet move of their own accord, carrying you closer to vi’s bedroom door, slow and heavy. there’s a weightlessness to your steps, like you’re drifting through a dream, disoriented and hazy from exhaustion—or maybe it’s something else entirely. maybe it’s the thought of vi getting her cunt fucked open in the next room over.
”please—fuck, please—slow down, i can’t—!”
vi, begging? you almost don’t believe it. she’s ordinarily so self-assured, so bossy—giving orders, not taking them, and certainly not asking.
there’s a muffled response, low and firm, but you can’t make out the words. whatever’s said only makes vi whine louder, high in her throat, like the bleat of a baby lamb. the sound is impossibly needy—it‘s whorish and raw, so utterly vulnerable, and unlike any noise you’ve heard vi make before—and, guiltily, you realize there’s a sharp pulse of heat ringing through your clit, molten-hot desire buzzing underneath your skin.
”i’m gonna—gonna cum again, unghhh! shit, shit, shit! baby, please—“
belatedly, you realize just how loud vi’s being, and it poses the question; is this why vi never brings girls home when you’re around? maybe it was never about privacy, but instead, so you wouldn’t hear the way they fuck her until she cries? how she squeals like a pig every time their cock bottoms out against her cervix? how she breaks under the right touch?
a sharp slap cuts through the air—skin against skin—and vi yelps. your mind races instantaneously. you picture her hookup smacking their hand against her pert ass, and the thought alone fans the flames of your imagination. is vi on her hands and knees, getting fucked like a dog, while her fat, round ass ripples from how roughly she’s being used? are her ass cheeks covered in red handprints? is she going cross-eyed and brainless from how well her pussy is being filled?
the bed frame slams against the wall, hard enough to rattle a picture frame in the hallway, and you nearly moan aloud at the thought of vi being pounded into the mattress—with zero mercy, at that. the imagery of it all is so vivid, so obscene, that you don’t even think—your hand is already slipping past the waistband of your pants.
fuck, you need this. it’ll be fine. vi will never know.
your hole is already immensely slick where your index finger dips inside. you drag a wet, sticky line up to your clit and apply teasing pressure—enough to make you shudder.
“hnnggfff—fuck, fuuuuck! ahh, ahh, ahh!”
vi’s keens are like a siren’s call, drawing you closer, until you have your ear pressed against her door like a degenerate. everything is clearer now—the sharp hitch of vi’s breath, the schlick sound her cunt makes as it sucks on their cock, the plap, plap, plap of vi’s ass colliding against their bare skin. it has your cunt leaking like a sieve into your underwear.
and, god—her ass.
you’ve seen the way vi’s ass looks in her airtight jeans, how it jiggles against the cotton fabric of her workout shorts, but you’ve never witnessed it bare. it would be unequivocally pornographic, you imagine—the fatty tissue of her bubble butt rippling as her cunt is repeatedly fucked open. fuck, everything in you aches to just crack the door open and gently peak inside, to see it for yourself.
with your head tilted close to the door, you catch the wet, deliberate sounds of vi’s hookup kissing along her neck—most definitely sucking dark marks onto her pale skin. a sick part of you feels unbearably jealous at the prospect of vi being covered in someone else’s claim, but your pussy gets wetter when you hear the way vi whines in response—high and nasally.
she must have such a sensitive neck. you can almost see it—her squirming on their cock, torn between pulling away and pressing closer to the tingly sensation, how she shivers when their tongue traces the love bites.
abruptly, vi squeals like she’s been scorned, all pitchy and girlish, ”ahhh, you’re so—deep! deep in my fucking stomach—hnnghhh!”
every muffled plea she makes burrows deep under your skin like a thorn. your tender clit thrums with a solemn ache, yearning with a quiet, insistent need. your pussy is crying out for vi, desperate for her in a way that almost feels unbearable.
but how will you ever be able to look at vi the same after this? after you know how raspy her whines are while she has her pussy played with? how she gasps like a balloon losing air—staccato and squeaky—while her tiny hole is stuffed to the brim?
every sound she makes stabs right into your core and you finger the little bundle of nerves faster, rubbing your clit with the urgency of a flame flickering in the wind. you feel fuckdrunk and high off their sex, despite being an unbidden listener.
and, albeit quickly, vi orgasms again—
“i’m—i’m cumming! ohhh, ohhhh, fuck! mmmghhh!”
it’s as if you’re tethered to her, like a switch flipping inside you, because you follow in suit, coming in harsh, overwhelming waves. you’re gasping and squirming like a fish out of water, trying to muffle your noises behind the palm of your hand, while your other hand cups your crying pussy.
your legs tremble, weak and unsteady, like a baby calf’s and you barely manage to stay upright as you ride out the rest of your release. somewhere in the haze, you register the damp heat between your thighs, how utterly soaked your underwear is.
once your orgasm subsides, clarity sets in—how could you do such a thing? you’re standing with your ear pressed against vi’s door, fingers sticky and pruned, realizing you just got off to the sound of your roommate being fucked. shame and exhilaration twist in your chest like a pretzel.
but even then, vi’s moans linger in your mind like a ghost. shame prickles at the edges of your pleasure, but so does something else—something darker, and your fingers twitch with the urge to do it all over again.
Being touch starved and touch repulsed at the same time is such a weird combination, as if two totally different entities reside within me, one part loves hugs, holding hands, etc, another part is scared to even give a simple high-five.....like how do I deal with it I want a partner to hug her, give her hugs and kisses but at the same time i am like ew humans ew :( such a dilemma
I don't want to be a party pooper but the lesbian community still has so much fatphobia and lookism to unlearn, it's genuinely sad. I always want to elaborate but every time this topic comes around it feels like screaming at the wall.
Learn to love fat femmes. Not "because they are soft", not because there "is more to bite". Love and respect fat femmes for who they are.
Same goes for fat butches, they are not only lovable because "they are beefy" or "they can put their weight on you" or some other shit. They are lovable because they are themselves, just like you are you.
You don't have to make us feel better about ourselves with all these backhanded compliments. Just make us feel like everyone else and start viewing fat bodies as normal and desirable ones without making it weird.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Karlach:
The quiet of the night was shattered by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jolted awake, heart pounding, as the noise continued with an almost frantic urgency. Glancing at the clock, you realized it was well past midnight. Your child, already asleep in their room, was oblivious to the commotion. You hurriedly dressed and made your way to the door, the unease in your chest growing with every step.
When you finally opened the door, your breath caught in your throat. There stood your child's absent father, a man whose presence had long been a source of pain and disappointment. His disheveled appearance and haggard expression were a stark contrast to the composed demeanor you remembered from the past.
“What are you doing here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s the middle of the night. My child is asleep.”
He pushed past you, ignoring your protest. “I’m here to see my child,” he said gruffly. “I’ve come to make things right.”
You stepped in his way, blocking his advance. “No. You don’t get to waltz back into their life whenever you please. You had your chance, and you squandered it. Now, you need to leave.”
His face reddened with anger, and he sneered at you. “So, you think you can just keep me away? You’re nothing but a petty little obstacle. It’s my right as a father to see my child.”
Before you could respond, you heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind you. Karlach, ever vigilant and protective, had come to investigate the commotion. Her presence was like a storm rolling in, radiating an aura of fierce, unyielding strength. Her eyes locked onto the intruder with a look that could melt steel. Karlach stepped forward, her voice low and menacing.
“You’re in no position to make demands, buddy” she said, her tone cold and dangerous. “This is a warning. Leave now, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a veteran’s wrath.”
The father’s eyes widened in shock as he took in Karlach’s formidable presence. She was a force to be reckoned with, her imposing frame and battle-hardened demeanor making her a terrifying figure. He took an involuntary step back, clearly unnerved by her.
Karlach continued, her voice like gravel. “I fought in the Blood War. I’ve faced demons and horrors you can’t even imagine. Do you really think you want to test me now?”
His bravado crumbled under the weight of her words. He stared at Karlach, then at you, and finally, with a defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and stumbled away into the night, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering anxiety.
You closed the door with a trembling hand, your heart still racing. The fear that had gripped you was slowly giving way to a profound sense of gratitude. Karlach’s fierce protection had ensured that your child remained safe from harm, and her presence had been a steadying force in a moment of distress. Turning to Karlach, you took a deep breath and let out a shaky sigh.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with both relief and admiration. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Karlach’s expression softened, though her fierce demeanor remained. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “I’d do anything to keep both you and the little one safe. You don’t have to face this alone.”
You nodded, feeling a wave of appreciation for her unwavering support. “I know,” you said softly. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Truly.”
Karlach’s lips curled into a mile. “Well, then,” she said with a hint of her usual fire, “let’s make sure that anyone who tries to come near you both knows that they’ll have to go through me first.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her resolute tone, feeling the last of your tension dissolve. As you made your way back to your child’s room, Karlach followed close behind, her presence a comforting shield against the uncertainties of the night.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Minthara:
The night was calm and still, the kind that promised peaceful rest, but that illusion was abruptly shattered by the sound of frantic yelling. You jolted awake, heart pounding, and glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight. The cries and shouts came from your daughter’s room, and your immediate concern propelled you out of bed.
Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook Minthara awake. Her eyes snapped open, her expression shifting from drowsy confusion to alert determination quicker than light. Together, you raced down the hallway, the sounds of the confrontation growing louder with each step.
Bursting into your daughter’s room, you were met with a sight that filled you with dread. Your daughter, barely able to contain her fear and anger, stood her ground against her father, who had somehow managed to infiltrate the sanctuary of her room. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his presence was both unsettling and unwelcome.
“Leave me alone!” your daughter shouted, her small voice trembling but filled with determination. “I don’t want you here!”
Her father, a grizzled mercenary with a hardened demeanor, looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.
“You’re not in a position to make demands,” he sneered. “I’m your father, and you will listen to me.”
As you and Minthara entered the room, your daughter’s eyes met yours, and she bolted towards you. You wrapped her in a comforting embrace, holding her tightly and whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured. “I’m here.”
Minthara’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the intruder. Without a word, she strode purposefully towards him, her demeanor cold and menacing. With a swift, practiced motion, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with a strength that left no room for argument. The mercenary struggled, but Minthara’s grip was unyielding. He attempted to boast about his exploits, his voice full of bravado.
“I’ve fought in countless battles,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. “I’ve taken lives, dealt with worse than you—”
Minthara interrupted him with a harsh, mocking laugh. “Please. You’re nothing can even compare to me,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.
Your daughter, still clinging to you, looked up with wide, fearful eyes. “Can you make him leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
You looked over to Minthara and gave her a slight nod, the type that Minthara takes as nothing is off limits. Minthara glanced at your daughter with a reassuring nod, then turned her gaze back to the mercenary.
“You heard the child,” she said, her tone cold and final. “It’s time for you to leave.”
As the mercenary started to raise his voice again, Minthara’s patience snapped. With a swift, decisive blow, she knocked him out cold. His body slumped to the floor, and she turned to your daughter with a gentle, reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’ll deal with him.”
Your daughter’s face brightened with relief as she held onto you tightly, nodding her head eagerly at Minthara. Minthara gave you a curt nod before she dragged the unconscious mercenary outside, her expression a mixture of determination and satisfaction. As she left, you held your daughter close, whispering soothing words of comfort.
When Minthara returned, she found you and your daughter in your shared bed, your daughter nestled against you, her tiny frame trembling slightly from the recent ordeal. Without a word, Minthara climbed into bed beside you after, of course, washing off the grime from her... excursion. Your daughter, still shaken but comforted, immediately latched onto Minthara and snuggled into her, finding solace in her presence.
You watched as Minthara, despite her usually stoic demeanor, gently stroked your daughter’s hair, her expression softening as she comforted the child.
“There, there,” Minthara murmured softly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Your daughter looked up at Minthara, her eyes heavy with sleep but filled with trust. “Goodnight, Mother,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and curling up closer.
You smiled softly at the sight, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and warmth. Minthara’s actions had been more than protective; they had been a testament to her unwavering dedication and love for both you and your daughter. You reached over, careful not to disturb your daughter and took Minthara's hand, giving it a soft squeeze in thanks, forever grateful for her.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Lae'zel:
At home, Lae'zel had been adjusting to her role as caretaker, the initial discomfort giving way to a surprising degree of warmth. Your son, now peacefully napping in his room, was nestled under a soft blanket, completely unaware of the impending danger.
The tranquility of the house was abruptly shattered by a soft but deliberate creaking of the door. The estranged father of your child, driven by a mixture of unresolved feelings and a twisted sense of entitlement, had managed to break into your home unnoticed. His presence a dark shadow against the peaceful setting as he made his way to the child’s room.
With a furtive glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped inside. The sight of your sleeping son stirred a pang of something akin to remorse in his eyes, but it was quickly overridden by a sense of possession. He reached down and scooped up the toddler, cradling him in his arms. The action was abrupt and rough, causing your child to stir and awaken with a frightened whimper.
The sudden disturbance woke Lae'zel from her own moment of repose. Her heightened senses detected the commotion in the room, and her instincts immediately went on high alert. She could tell immediately that this was not your son's ordinairy fussing, she moved swiftly to the source of the noise, pushing open the door with a forceful shove. Her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the man holding your son against his chest.
Lae'zel’s expression hardened into a fierce scowl as she took in the situation. Her hand moved to the weapon at her side, and with a practiced flick, she drew it. The blade glinted ominously in the light.
“Put the child down!” she commanded, her voice a growl filled with righteous fury. The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and defiance.
“This is my son,” he declared with a scoff, his tone dripping with contempt. “I have every right to him.”
But the reality of the situation was starkly different. Your son, still half-asleep and disoriented, immediately began to fuss and whimper, reaching out with tiny, pleading hands towards Lae'zel. The distress in his voice was unmistakable as he called out, “Mama! Mama’zel!”
Seeing the child’s evident fear and his desperate need for Lae'zel, the warrior’s resolve hardened. She took a step forward, her weapon poised with deadly precision. “You are not taking him. He needs to be with someone who cares for him, that is not you.”
It seemed the father had suddenly realised that danger he was in now he was at the blade's end of a Githyanki silver sword. In a panic and with a final, reckless gesture of defiance, the man threw your son into the air. The sudden action was shocking, and Lae'zel’s heart raced as she watched in horror. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her sword and leaped forward, catching your child with a protective embrace as he fell. Her fierce determination was evident as she cradled him close, her blade still held firmly in her other hand.
The man, seizing the opportunity bolted for the door. Lae'zel’s focus was on your son, and as she made sure he was safe, she allowed the man to escape. She did not let her guard down, but her priority was to protect the child, and the man’s escape was a calculated risk she was willing to take.
Outside, the commotion had drawn attention. As Lae'zel made her way to the front of the house, her eyes fell on the scene unfolding before her. You stood over the unconscious form of your estranged partner, your knuckles bruised and bloodied from the confrontation. There was relief in your expression as you looked up to see Lae'zel, your son safely and happily in her arms. Lae'zel approached you with a careful but determined stride, holding out your son to you.
“He is safe now,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “He was frightened, but I kept him close.”
“Thank you, Lae'zel,” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion after pressing a kiss to Lae'zel's cheek “You saved him.”
Lae'zel nodded, her face a mix of weariness and satisfaction. “It was my duty,” she replied simply. “I will always protect him.”
You took your child into your arms, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. As you held him tightly, Lae'zel’s eyes softened with a rare gentleness, she had faced a thousand horrors but nothing was as terrifying as the thought of your child, her son, getting hurt.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Shadowheart:
The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the farm, where Shadowheart and your young daughter were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. The fields were alive with the joyful sounds of chirping birds and playful animals. Your daughter, her face alight with happiness, was darting around the farmyard, feeding the animals and laughing at their antics. Shadowheart, her demeanor relaxed and gentle, followed closely behind, occasionally helping with tasks and sharing in your daughter’s exuberant joy.
The scene was idyllic: cows mooed softly, chickens pecked at the ground, and your daughter’s gleeful giggles blended harmoniously with the sounds of the farm. Shadowheart’s protective nature shone through as she tended to the animals alongside your daughter, clearly enjoying the role of caretaker.
But this serene moment was abruptly interrupted when a familiar figure emerged from the edge of the farm. Your daughter’s father—who had been absent from her life—appeared with a look of determination on his face. His eyes scanned the farmyard until they landed on your daughter. Relief washed over his features as he strode forward, his expression a mix of desperation and authority.
“There you are!” he called out, his voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve finally found you. Come here!”
Your daughter’s face went pale as she spotted her father. She immediately bolted behind Shadowheart, clutching at her skirts. Her small voice quivered as she looked up at Shadowheart with wide, frightened eyes. “Mama, make him go away! I don’t want him here!”
Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed, her protective instincts kicking in immediately. She placed herself between your daughter and her father, her stance firm and resolute.
“You need to leave,” Shadowheart said, her voice steady and commanding. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
Your daughter’s father scoffed, clearly irritated by the interruption. “Oh, come now. She’s my daughter. She needs to come with me, I want to spend time with her.”
"She doesn't need to do anything." Shadowheart’s jaw tightened. “No. I will not allow you to upset her further. Leave, now.”
The father’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but he disregarded Shadowheart’s command. He took a step closer, his intent clear—he was determined to take your daughter regardless of Shadowheart’s interference. As he reached out a hand toward your daughter, Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and decisive.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Shadowheart drew upon her time spent as a Sharran. Her movements were a blur as she executed a series of precise and powerful strikes. Your daughter’s father barely had time to react before he was struck down, collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious and defeated. Face first in the mud.
Shadowheart stood over him, her breath coming in measured gasps as she surveyed the scene. She turned to your daughter, concern etched across her face.
“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Your daughter’s initial shock quickly transformed into awe. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shadowheart, a mixture of admiration and excitement shining through her fear.
“That was amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that? Please? Pretty please!”
Shadowheart’s concern softened into a smile as she saw the spark of admiration in your daughter’s eyes. She knelt down, placing a comforting hand on your daughter’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “But learning how to fight and defend yourself is not something to take lightly. You have to practice lots and lots.”
"I don't care!" Your daughter’s enthusiasm remained undiminished. “I want to learn! I want to be strong like you! That was so cool!”
Shadowheart’s smile broadened, touched by the girl’s resolve. "Okay, okay, little fighter, let's go ask your mother about it and see what she says, okay?"
Your daughter sprinted off, bellowing your name, the previous incident seemingly forgotton. Shadowheart couldn't help but chuckle and then sighed as she looked at the father's crumpled form. With a hand on her hip and a snap of her fingers a portal opened. Shadowheart was sure that he would have a much better time in the neighbouring farm's fertiliser tub. Maneure was so good for crops this time of year.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Gale:
Your daughter’s school fete was abuzz with excitement, the large open park filled with the chatter and laughter of parents and children. The annual talent show was in full swing, and each performance was met with enthusiastic applause. It was a time for the students to showcase how far their wizarding skills had developed. You couldn't tell who was more excited, your daughter or Gale.
You and Gale stood near the front, eagerly awaiting your daughter's turn to showcase her magic. The weeks of practice and preparation between Gale and your daughter had culminated in this moment, and both of you were a mix of pride and nerves.
Gale was showing signs of his own anxiety—fidgeting slightly, his eyes darting to the stage and then back to you. It was clear that he cared deeply about how this would go for your daughter.
Just as your daughter's name was called out to get ready to go on, she began making her way to the backstage area to prepare, until her face suddenly fell. You turned to see what had caused the abrupt change in her demeanor, and then you heard the unmistakable voice of your ex—her estranged father—cutting through the ambient noise of the school fete.
“Hey there, little one! Where’s my hug?” he called out, his tone laced with a mixture of familiarity and condescension.
Your daughter hesitated, her small frame visibly tensing as she reluctantly approached her father. With a forced, apprehensive smile, she gave him a quick hug. The look of discomfort on her face was evident as she pulled away, and with a quick look of worry to you, she darted to the backstage entrance where she began to prepare to perform with the other kids.
Confident your daughter was out of sight and earshot, you felt a surge of irritation and disbelief. You hadn’t expected him to show up here, let alone disrupt your daughter’s big moment. Turning sharply, you confronted your ex, your voice edged with frustration.
“What are you doing here?” you demanded, crossing your arms. “Why show up now?”
His face remained a mask of faux innocence. “I’m here to support my little girl, of course,” he replied with a shrug, but his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker as he glanced at Gale. “Had to make sure that new boytoy of yours isn’t a bad influence.”
Your eyes narrowed, and you were about to launch into an argument when your daughter's teacher approached, her expression soft but serious.
“Excuse me,” the teacher said, addressing you and Gale. “Your daughter has developed a case of stage fright, bless her, and has asked for her father.”
Your ex immediately stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he assumed the teacher was referring to him. But the teacher’s next words made it clear they were talking about Gale.
“I'm sorry, but I’m actually referring to Mr. Dekarios,” the teacher clarified, gesturing toward Gale. Gale’s face brightened, and flashed your ex a smug smirk, only for it to fade into concern as he followed the teacher, catching sight of your teary daughter waiting nervously backstage. She ran over to him, looking up at him with a mix of hope and distress.
“Gale!” she said, her voice trembling, “I need your magic!"
Gale knelt down to her level, his expression softening. “Sweetheart, I can’t help you with the performance,” he said gently. "I promise you will do amazing, you've been working so hard and-"
"-No, I need your magic to make him disappear!" Your daughter sniffed and Gale realised what she had meant.
"Ah, well that I can do," Gale whispered with a smile and your daughter’s face lit up with relief, and she threw herself into a hug with Gale.
“Thank you, dad!” she said, her voice now full of gratitude, those tears gone and a smile plastered on her face. With a renewed sense of determination, she ran back to the stage, her earlier anxiety replaced by a brighter, more confident demeanor. Gale watched her go, then returned to your side, where you will still arguing with your ex in hushed whispers. At the sight of him, you both quietened, keen to hear what had happened.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “But there's something I have to do.”
With a subtle flick of his fingers and a murmur of arcane words, Gale cast a spell. Moments later, your ex’s face appeared puzzled as he was enveloped in a shimmering aura, his protestations fading as he was magically transported away. Gale turned back to you, his face reflecting a blend of satisfaction and affection.
“One less distraction for her,” he said, giving you a warm smile.
You felt a surge of gratitude and admiration for Gale and without warning grabbed him, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I adore you, you know that".
"Not as much as I adore the both you," Gale assured you, “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”
You both watched your daughter take the stage with a confident smile was a moment of pure joy, made even more meaningful by the support and love surrounding her.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Astarion:
The schoolyard buzzed with the end-of-day excitement as children and parents alike gathered to leave. Astarion, impeccably dressed as always, stood near the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of aloof interest one might expect from him. Today, he was tasked with picking up your daughter from school as you ran an errand.
As Astarion waited, he noticed a commotion near the gate. Your daughter, spotting him through the throng of people, waved frantically and beckoned him over with an urgency that immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. His instincts, honed by years of surviving in a dangerous world, quickly jumped to the worst-case scenario.
With an exaggerated flourish, Astarion swept toward the commotion, his cloak billowing behind him like a cape of night. He shoved parents and children alike out of the way, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination as he approached the source of the disturbance.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Astarion demanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority that was both commanding and melodramatic. His gaze fell upon a man who was arguing heatedly with one of the teachers. The man’s expression was a mix of frustration and entitlement.
The teacher looked visibly relieved upon seeing Astarion. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! This man claims to be your daughter’s father, but he’s not on the approved pickup list.”
Astarion’s eyes narrowed in disdain as he took in the man’s appearance. “Really now? And just who do you think you are, daring to disrupt the well-being of a child? My child.”
The estranged father, clearly unperturbed by Astarion's theatrics, argued back. “I will have you know that, I am her father! And I have every right to pick her up.”
Before Astarion could retort, your daughter bounded over, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of her Papa. She launched herself into Astarion’s arms, who caught her with practiced ease.
Astarion beamed down at her and gave her a subtle wink before pretending to hear something you had said and then looked on to growing crowd with feigned surprise and distress. “Oh dearest, what have you told me, my little one? Did he say he was going to do something terrible?”
Your daughter, catching onto the game, nodded vigorously, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yes, Papa! He said he was going to kidnap me!”
Astarion’s eyes widened in exaggerated horror, and he tightened his hold on your daughter, pulling her close to his chest. There was a concerned murmur among the other parents as they looked at your daughter's father accusingly. “Oh, my gods! We mustn’t let him near you then. Neither should you fellow parents! Come, we’ll have to leave immediately!"
The father, growing increasingly agitated, protested loudly. “This is absurd! I’m her father! I am not trying to kidnap her.”
With a smirk, Astarion began walking away, your daughter securely perched on his hip. However the father began to follow the two of them. At this Astarion called out over his shoulder with a dramatic flair, “Help! Someone call the authorities! This man is stalking us!”
Your daughter, struggling to suppress a giggle, chimed in, her voice a high-pitched wail. “He’s following us! Help!”
Astarion shot her a playful but stern look. “Shush, darling. We mustn’t blow our cover!”
Despite her best efforts, your daughter couldn’t entirely suppress her laughter, and Astarion had to shush her with a gentle but firm hand on her mouth.
As they made their way towards the school gate, Flaming Fist had arrived, drawn in by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, and the paretns quickly took Astarion's side. He was the one afterall who would pick her up from school, he was the one who would begrudgingly sew the costumes for the school play - even when no one asked him to. He was the one your daughter called papa, not this stranger.
Astarion, still holding your daughter close, offered a graceful nod to the Flaming Fist as they dealt with the situation. With the father now in custody, Astarion made a clean getaway, carrying your daughter away from the scene. Once they were safely out of the school’s vicinity, Astarion finally allowed himself a genuine smile as he set your daughter back down on your feet. “Well, that went rather splendidly, didn’t it?”
Your daughter looked up at him with adoration, her earlier anxiety completely forgotten. “Thank you, Papa!”
Astarion’s expression softened as he looked at her, . “You’re welcome, my dear. Just remember, I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”
As they walked hand in hand away from the school, the sunset painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, a perfect backdrop for a day’s adventure turned into a cherished memory.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Wyll:
The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices and simmering sauce as you and Wyll busied yourselves preparing dinner. Your son sat at the kitchen table, deeply engrossed in his coloring book, his small tongue sticking out in concentration. The evening was shaping up to be a peaceful, if ordinary, family affair.
The pleasant hum of conversation and the clinking of pots and pans were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Before anyone could move, the door swung open, and your ex, carrying an impressive stack of brightly wrapped presents, barged into the kitchen. His arrival was as abrupt as it was unwelcome, and his presence brought a palpable tension into the room. You braced yourself, a tight smile forced onto your face as you faced him.
"What are you doing here?" you asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. The birthday for your son had been last month, and you had hoped that was the last of these unscheduled visits.
“Better late than never,” your ex replied with a nonchalant shrug, as if the delay of several weeks was an afterthought.
Wyll, standing by the stove, appeared taken aback but quickly regained his composure. He extended a hand, offering a polite greeting. “Hello, I’m Wyll. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Your ex ignored Wyll’s outstretched hand completely, his focus solely on your son, who looked up from his coloring with a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Hey little man look what I've got for you! From your good ol' papa!"
“Thanks for the gifts,” your son said, his small voice full of genuine appreciation. “But I have a new dad now.”
Wyll’s face brightened with a mix of pride and relief and he placed a proud hand on your son's shoulder. “That’s right!... I’m his new dad now.”
Your ex’s face darkened, and he tensed visibly. “Wyll isn’t your real dad, kid. I’m your real dad.”
Your son, still focused on his coloring, paused to think. “Nope, Wyll is my dad. He picks me up from school, reads me bedtime stories, and he loves me. That’s what a dad does.”
Your ex’s face flushed with anger, and he started to call your son ungrateful. However, before things could escalate further, Wyll stepped in, his tone firm but calm.
“Let’s settle this outside,” Wyll proposed, his expression resolute.
Your ex, who was taller and bulkier than Wyll, agreed with a snort of disdain. You watched with a mix of apprehension and curiosity as Wyll winked at you before stepping outside with your ex.
You followed them to the door, your heart racing as you anticipated the confrontation. As the door closed behind them, you heard a sudden, odd sound—a poof of magic followed by the unmistakable bleating of a sheep.
Confused, you stepped outside to see Wyll standing there, looking smug and decidedly pleased, while your ex was transformed into a sheep, bleating in protest. Wyll turned to you with a grin, clearly proud of his handiwork.
“I knew I held onto that polymorph scroll for a reason,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
You couldn’t help but laugh, your tension dissolving into mirth. “What am I supposed to do with a sheep now?”
Wyll’s grin widened. “Well, you could always sell him to a butcher, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous.”
Your laughter rang out freely now, the absurdity of the situation breaking through any lingering stress. The evening’s peace was restored, and as Wyll and the transformed sheep made their way inside, you felt a renewed sense of warmth and relief. The family dinner would go on as planned, now with one less complication and a story for the ages.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Halsin:
The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. You and your son had spent a pleasant day foraging among the underbrush. Your son, his spirit as free as the woodland creatures around him, had been frequently shifting in and out of his wildshape, delighting in the thrill of his magical transformations. You watched with a fond smile as he scampered around, shifting effortlessly between human and animal forms, the laughter and joy in his eyes brightening the entire forest.
As you crouched to inspect a patch of herbs, the distant sound of wheels on a forest path reached your ears. Your heart skipped a beat, a gnawing sense of unease creeping up your spine. The sound grew louder, and you recognized the unmistakable clatter of a carriage—a carriage that seemed all too familiar. Your pulse quickened as you straightened and scanned the surrounding trees.
You spotted the carriage as it emerged from a narrow forest trail, its ornate design and gilded trimmings unmistakable. The insignia on the side confirmed your worst fear: it was indeed from your ex’s noble family. The wheels crunched over the fallen leaves, and you felt a cold wave of apprehension wash over you.
With a determined, but calm demeanor, you called out to your son. "Sweetheart, you need to go back to the grove right now. Run to Halsin and stay with him, okay? Mama has someone she needs to talk to."
Your son’s face, still flushed from his wildshaping fun, looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. "Mama, what’s wrong?"
"Just go quickly," you urged, kneeling to meet his gaze. "I’ll explain later. Go, now."
Hesitantly, he nodded and bolted down the forest path, his small figure quickly disappearing among the trees. As your son sprinted, his tiny feet pounding against the earth, the distant sound of the carriage faded into the background. The urgency in his heart spurred him on faster, each step propelled by a mix of fear and determination. His breath came in quick gasps, the forest blurring by as he made his way back to the grove.
The grove came into view, and your son’s eyes scanned the area frantically. He spotted Halsin, who was tending to a small group of the squirrels, and ran up to him, his face flushed and eyes wide with panic.
“Papa! Papa!” your son called out, his voice trembling as he urged himself forward. “Mama needs help! My evil papa is here!”
Halsin’s expression shifted from calm to concerned in an instant. He dropped what he was doing and knelt down to your son’s level, his eyes searching your son's face. “What happened? Where is your mother?”
Your son, barely able to contain his anxiety or catch his breath, explained hurriedly. “This big carriage came, and-and Mama told me to run back here and-and she said she needed to talk to someone, but-but I know it’s my evil papa who’s come. 'Cause I only see Mama that upset when- when he’s around.”
"Take a breath, little one, it will be okay. Stay here and stay safe, go play with the other children” he instructed firmly, giving your son's shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”
“No!” your son protested, his small fists clenched. “I’m coming with you!”
And as if to make a point you son clung onto Halsin's leg, Halsin looked down at him with uncertainty, he knew he would get an earful from you later, but your son really cared. Your son’s determination had won out. Halsin let out a sigh and nodded. “Very well. Hold on tight.”
Meanwhile, you continued to argue with your ex.
"So, here you are," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "I must say, I didn't expect to find you in such... rustic surroundings."
You squared your shoulders, fighting back the rising tide of frustration. "What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath.
A haughty smile curled on your ex’s lips. "My family is pressing me for an heir. The pressure is mounting, and I’ve come to collect my son. It’s time he fulfilled his role in our family’s legacy."
The words felt like a physical blow, each syllable carrying the weight of his disregard for your family and your son's well-being. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "You can’t just waltz in here and demand him like he’s some sort of accessory. You’ve been absent for years. You have no right to claim him now."
Your ex’s gaze hardened. "I have every right. I am his father, after all."
"You have no understanding of what it means to be a parent," you said sharply, taking a step closer. "You think you can just come and take him after all this time? You’ve done nothing but make his life more difficult."
Your ex’s face twisted into a sneer. "And you’ve done a remarkable job of corrupting him with your… unconventional lifestyle."
The words stung, but you refused to let them show. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "If you think you can just come in and take him away, you’re mistaken. He has a family here who loves him and a home where he belongs."
Your ex’s face twisted with disdain. "You think your little forest dwelling and its inhabitants can replace what I can offer him? He needs to be in a proper environment, one befitting his heritage."
The sharpness of his words cut through you, but before you could respond, the situation took a dramatic turn. The footmen who had been idly standing by suddenly turned aggressive, encircling you with threatening movements. Just as you prepared to defend yourself, a small, but fierce bear cub you recognised skidded into the clearing. It growled and snapped at the footmen, causing them to flinch and hesitate.
"It's only a cub! Kill the little beastie!" your ex barked, his arrogance masking his growing anxiety. He turned to retreat, but was abruptly met with a much larger, imposing figure.
A massive grizzly bear roared ferociously in your ex’s face, its powerful form blocking his escape route. The footmen, their bravery crumbling in the face of the beast, fled into the forest with cries of terror, leaving your ex isolated and vulnerable.
You let out a relieved laugh as you scooped your son up in your arms. He had shifted back to his human form, his face alight with mischievous joy.
"You’re safe now," you murmured, holding him close as he giggled.
The massive bear continued to roar, rising up on its hind legs in an intimidating display. Your ex, panicked and covering his face, braced himself for an attack that never came. Instead, the bear suddenly shimmered with a golden light and, in a swirl of magic, Halsin emerged from the transformation, his human form standing tall and resolute. His stance, however, was no less aggressive. Halsin’s eyes locked onto your ex with a steely, unyielding glare.
“You’re not welcome here,” Halsin’s voice rumbled, each word measured and threatening. “You are not taking my son. I suggest you leave before something unfortunate happens.”
Your ex, shaking with a mix of fear and anger, attempted to regain his composure. “This is outrageous! I have every right to take him. I am his father!”
Halsin stepped closer, his presence radiating a potent blend of authority and menace. “You have no right to disrupt his life after being absent for so long. He is my son, and you are trying to take him from his home, from the family who loves and cares for him. You have no claim here.”
Your ex’s bravado faltered as he looked around at the animals—deer, wolves, and other woodland creatures—gathering once more, their eyes fixed on him with a watchful, protective intensity. The forest itself seemed to close in around him, adding to his sense of encroaching dread.
“You can’t do this!” he shouted, his voice rising with desperation. “This is a matter of family legacy and honor!”
Halsin’s gaze remained unyielding. “No, this is a matter of what is best for my son. You are an intruder here, and if you do not leave immediately, you will face consequences beyond your understanding.”
Your ex’s gaze darted around, his composure crumbling as he realized the gravity of his situation. The animals’ eyes glinted with an unspoken threat, and Halsin’s unrelenting stance made it clear that he would not back down. With a final, resentful glare, your ex backed away, his movements hurried and clumsy.
“This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and stumbling back to his carriage. He climbed in hastily, his footmen still cowering in the forest, and the carriage lurched away with a trail of dust.
As the carriage disappeared from view, Halsin let out a long, slow breath, his form relaxing as the immediate threat passed. He turned to you and your son, his face softening with concern.
“Are you both alright?” he asked, his voice gentle now, though still laced with the remnants of his earlier fury.
You nodded, your heart still racing but calming with each passing moment. “We’re okay. Thank you, Halsin. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Halsin reached out and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “No need to thank me. We are a family, and we protect each other.”
As you all made your way back through the forest, the weight of the day’s events began to lift, replaced by a profound sense of relief and solidarity.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Rolan:
The market was a bustling tapestry of colors and sounds, a vibrant mosaic of stalls and vendors peddling everything from fresh produce to handcrafted trinkets. You, Rolan, and your young toddler son meandered through the market, enjoying the lively atmosphere. Your son, perched on Rolan’s shoulders, was giggling and pointing at the various sights and sounds, his eyes wide with wonder.
Rolan had a firm but gentle hand on your child’s legs, ensuring he was secure while still allowing him to enjoy the view. You walked beside them, occasionally glancing at the stalls, picking out small treats or intriguing items. The air was filled with the delightful aroma of fresh bread and spices, mingling with the cheerful chatter of vendors and patrons.
As you approached a stall selling brightly colored fabrics, a familiar yet unwelcome figure emerged from the crowd. It was your ex, looking disheveled and distraught. His clothes were tattered, and he seemed to be making his way through the market with an air of desperation.
“Please!” he cried out, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was choked with emotion, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he had once used. “Please, I’m begging you. I want to be a part of our child’s life. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m ready to make things right. Just give me a chance.”
You stopped in your tracks, your heart hardening at the sight of him. The memories of his absence and the pain he had caused surged up, making it difficult to maintain your composure. You took a deep breath, summoning all the resolve you could muster.
“You had your chance when our child was born,” you said firmly. “You walked away, leaving us behind. You don’t get to waltz back into our lives now just because it suits you.”
Rolan, standing close by with your son, nodded in agreement. His face was set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting the protective nature he had come to embody.
“You had no part in his life before,” Rolan said, his voice calm but unwavering. “And you’ve shown no effort to make amends until now. It’s not fair to our family to let you back in on a whim.”
Your ex’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “I’ve changed,” he pleaded, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t just shut me out like this. I’m his father!”
Without warning, he lunged towards you, a sudden movement fueled by desperation. The instinct to protect surged within Rolan. His eyes narrowed, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, he cast a thunderblast. The crackling burst of energy erupted with a deafening roar, sending your ex stumbling backward.
Your ex’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the spell hurled him through the air. He landed with a splash in the nearby fountain, the water erupting around him in a frothy surge. The sight of him floundering in the fountain, soaked and sputtering, was both dramatic and almost comical.
Amid the chaos, your toddler, who had been watching the scene unfold from Rolan’s shoulders, burst into fits of uncontrollable giggles. His laughter was a bright, musical sound that cut through the tense atmosphere, his tiny hands clapping with glee at the sight of the man he had only heard about but never seen in such a state.
You couldn’t help but smile at your son’s reaction, the tension of the moment dissolving into a shared moment of levity. Rolan, still standing tall and composed, watched as your ex scrambled out of the fountain, his dignity as drenched as his clothes. The crowd that had gathered looked on with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, whispering among themselves.
With a final glance at your ex, who was now pulling himself out of the fountain with an air of defeat, you turned to leave.
You and Rolan guided your son away from the market, his laughter still echoing in the cool evening air. The market’s lively bustle continued around you, but you walked with a renewed sense of security and unity.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Raphael:
The weight of the day’s stress seemed to settle heavily on your shoulders as you sat in the study of the grand estate, trying to focus on the papers spread before you. Your ex had reappeared in your life with a demand that rattled you to your core: he wanted to see your daughter more often, and, worse, he was insistent on having a greater role in her life. The mere thought of him attempting to insert himself into her world again filled you with a sense of dread and frustration.
Raphael, who had been surprisingly supportive of your emotional turmoil, took it upon himself to reassure you. Despite his usual aloofness, he had shown an unexpected level of concern. Yet, as you talked through your frustrations with him, you noticed a shift in his demeanor—a subtle, almost imperceptible pang of hurt hidden behind his devilish exterior. The notion of your daughter potentially calling another man "papa" seemed to strike a chord with him, even if he refused to vocalize it.
Of course he had to do something about it, somebody had to save your wretched little souls and why shouldn't it be the devil that loved you both?
One night as you held your daughter close to your chest, worst case scenarios tearing through your mind like a nightmare on repeat, Raphael took a seat necxt to you and placed a hand on your thigh.
“It's been dealt with, dearest,” Raphael said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “You needn’t worry about him any longer. He’s been… persuaded to leave you and your daughter alone.”
His words were confident, but you sensed an undercurrent of something more complex, though Raphael’s expression remained inscrutable. You chose not to press further, trusting that he had the situation in hand. Days passed, and true to Raphael’s word, your ex disappeared from the scene, making no further attempts to contact you or interfere in your life.
You couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and unease. The problem had been resolved with unsettling speed, leaving you feeling as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. One evening, as you and Raphael relaxed together, you finally broached the subject of your ex’s sudden disappearance.
“What exactly did you do to get him to leave us alone, my love?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, though a thread of curiosity laced your voice.
Raphael’s smirk was back in place, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. I made a deal with him.”
His casual response did little to quell your lingering curiosity. “A deal? What kind of deal?”
Raphael’s expression remained carefully neutral, his voice maintaining its smooth, unaffected tone. “Just a little something to ensure his cooperation. You know me, darling. I always have my methods.”
You couldn’t pry further, and Raphael’s words left you with more questions than answers. You did notice, however, that your ex was no longer a problem—an outcome that seemed almost too convenient.
Unbeknownst to you, the deal Raphael had struck was far from ordinary. Raphael had promised your ex immortality—a promise that seemed generous at first glance. In reality, Raphael’s “gift” trapped your ex’s soul in a form of eternal confinement, bound within the House of Hope—a luxurious prison within the estate.
In the House of Hope, your ex found himself a mere spectator, condemned to watch as Raphael embraced the role of father to your daughter. He was forced to endure the sight of Raphael’s effortless integration into your family, witnessing the tenderness and affection Raphael showed to your daughter, which he could never again claim for himself. The once-dreaded presence had become a ghostly observer, unable to interfere but ever-present in the periphery of your life.
Raphael’s decision, though cloaked in his usual bravado, was driven by a complex mix of feelings. The thought of another man being a father figure to your daughter stirred a pain he struggled to admit even to himself. Yet, by ensuring your ex’s permanent removal from your lives, Raphael had also managed to secure his own place in your family, albeit in a way you would never fully comprehend.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Oof this was a big one, I have been binge watching dexter which definitely inspired this. I hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
Vengeance (ft. Ambessa Medarda)
Important note: I don't write for Ambessa Medarda yet, but I WILL open the request slots and start writing fics for her soon.
~ @zthebean27 reblogged my initial post of Vengeance saying they need one like that with Ambessa, and reblogs help writers. Since you helped me, I'll help you <3
The air was thick with the scent of iron.
Your blood soaked into the silk sheets, a deep crimson stain spreading across the once-pristine fabric.
Your breaths were shallow, each one dragging fire through your lungs. You had managed to kill the assassin—his body lay crumpled on the floor, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. But not before his blade had found you.
Pain throbbed in your side, sharp and relentless, the warmth of your own life pooling beneath you.
The world swayed, the edges of your vision blurring, dark spots creeping in like shadows waiting to claim you.
The heavy stomp of boots echoed down the marble hall. Controlled. Powerful. Unhurried.
You knew that sound. "Ambessa..." You whispered the name, but your voice died before it could issue from your lips.
The doors to the private quarters were flung open with a force that made the walls tremble.
Ambessa Medarda stood in the doorway, framed by the flickering torchlight, her golden eyes burning with something dangerous. She took in the scene—the ruined bed, the dead assassin, the blood. Your blood.
Ambessa's blood ran cold.
For the first time, you saw something flicker across her face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath years of discipline and war-forged control, but you had seen it. A crack in the unshakable foundation.
She crossed the room in three strides. The scent of steel and spice clung to her, familiar and grounding.
A gloved hand seized your chin, tilting your face up. Her thumb brushed over your cheek—soft, just for a second—before she dropped to her knees beside the bed.
"Who?" Her voice was low, dangerous.
You forced a smirk, though it felt weak. "Didn't stop to ask." You managed to gesture at the tangles of what you left of the assassin.
She huffed a breath through her nose, unimpressed. But there was something in the way her fingers flexed against your skin, like she was restraining herself from gripping too hard.
Her gaze dropped to the wound in your side. Without a word, she tore off her gloves, hands moving with practiced efficiency as she pressed down on the injury.
White-hot agony lanced through you, and you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets.
"Stay awake." A command. No room for argument.
Her grip was firm, steady, keeping pressure on the wound as she reached for the dagger at her belt.
With a swift motion, she sliced a strip of cloth from your ruined nightwear, winding it tightly around your waist. It was rough, brutal, but effective.
"Get me more later." You whispered with a small breathy giggle. "It was my favourite set." You pouted a little despite the searing pain.
"You should have been more careful."
A reprimand, but there was an edge to it—one that wasn’t entirely anger.
Your lips curled into a faint, pained smirk. "You almost sound worried."
Her jaw clenched. "You're my wife." The words were clipped, precise. Like stating an undeniable fact. "No one touches what is mine."
Ambessa lifted you effortlessly into her arms, holding you against her broad chest as if you were something fragile—something worth protecting.
Her heart beat steady beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. And for the first time since the attack, you felt safe.
Ambessa carried you like you weighed nothing, her grip unyielding but careful, as if the very idea of dropping you was inconceivable.
Her body radiated warmth, a grounding presence amid the pain and blood loss clouding your mind. You could hear the sharp commands she barked to the guards as she strode through the Medarda estate.
“Lock down the premises. Find any other threats. If they breathe wrong, kill them.”
Her voice was steel, but the way she clutched you was something else entirely.
By the time she reached the estate’s private medical wing, exhaustion threatened to pull you under. The moment she laid you down, her big hands hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before pulling away. The loss of her warmth sent a shiver through you.
The medics swarmed in, but Ambessa didn’t leave your side.
She hovered, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching every movement with the lethal focus of a warrior on the battlefield.
When the lead doctor hesitated, she snapped, "If you let her die, I will personally ensure you regret it."
The pressure of bandages, the sharp sting of antiseptic—it all blurred together. But through it all, Ambessa was there, her presence an unshakable force.
By the time the medics finished, the pain had dulled into a bearable throb. The room had emptied, leaving only you and her.
You forced your eyes open, searching for her in the dim light. She was sitting at your bedside, elbows resting on her knees, her head bowed slightly.
The usual ironclad mask she wore had cracked, just enough for you to see what lay beneath.
Concern.
Relief.
Love.
When she realized you were watching her, she exhaled slowly and leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your cheek.
It was the softest touch you had ever felt from her—warm, steady, reverent.
"You scared me," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
You blinked, caught off guard. Ambessa Medarda didn’t admit weakness.
Your lips twitched into a weak grin. "You? Scared? The great warlord of Noxus?"
Her hand shifted, trailing down to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing gently over your pulse. "I would burn the world to the ground for you."
The weight of those words settled between you, heavier than any blade, sharper than any wound.
"You’re not losing me that easily," you murmured, tilting your head into her touch.
She huffed, something like amusement flickering in her golden eyes.
"Good. Because if you had died, I would’ve had to drag you back just to scold you for being reckless."
You chuckled, wincing slightly, and she immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead—a rare, intimate gesture that sent warmth spreading through your chest.
"Rest, love" she murmured, fingers threading through your hair.
"I’ll be here when you wake."
hey I wanted to send a request about the bg3 ladies discovering readers sensitive spot but I‘m not sure if it came through since my internet was really bad? 🥺
It did not come through but this did and I think this is perfect as revenge for the ladies after the biteable ear request aha
Karlach:
The trail was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the crunch of boots against dirt. You and Karlach had been ahead of the group for a while now, waiting for the eternally slow Gale and Astarion to catch up. The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and in the calm of the moment, Karlach had taken the opportunity to pull you into a cheeky little makeout session.
Her lips were warm—no, scorching—against yours, her body pressed close as her arms wrapped around your waist. Her hands roamed your back, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft hum of contentment. She grinned against your mouth, her teeth lightly grazing your bottom lip before she pulled back to look at you.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you teased, trying to catch your breath.
Karlach raised an eyebrow, her grin growing wider. “And you’re not?”
Before you could respond, her lips found a spot just beneath your jawline, a little to the side, and something unexpected happened. You let out an involuntary noise—a cross between a gasp and a whimper, utterly adorable and undeniably salacious. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as Karlach froze for a second, then pulled back to look at you with wide, delighted eyes.
“Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. “What was that?”
“N-nothing,” you stammered, trying to step back, but Karlach’s strong arms kept you firmly in place.
“Nothing, huh?” she mused, leaning in closer. “I think I just found something interesting.”
“Karlach, don’t—” you began, but it was too late. Her lips were back on that spot, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there, and you couldn’t stop the noise that escaped you. It was the same sound as before, and Karlach’s grin against your skin was downright wicked.
“Stop it!” you whispered urgently, trying to squirm out of her hold. “They’re going to catch up any second now!”
Karlach pouted dramatically, though her fiery eyes were still dancing with amusement. “Oh, come on, you’re no fun. Just one more—”
“No!” you protested, putting a hand on her shoulder to fend her off. But Karlach was relentless, leaning in again with mock innocence, her lips brushing your sensitive spot once more. Another involuntary noise slipped from you, and this time it was followed by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.
You froze, your heart sinking as you turned to see Gale standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. Behind him, Astarion wore his signature smirk, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Astarion drawled, gesturing lazily with one hand. “This is far more entertaining than anything Gale was rambling about earlier.”
Gale shot him a glare before looking back at you and Karlach. “Perhaps next time, you could save the amorous displays for when we’re not trying to traverse dangerous terrain.”
Karlach let out a booming laugh, unabashed as ever. “Sorry, Gale,” she said, though the grin she shot you was anything but apologetic. “Guess we got a little carried away.”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning in mortification.
“I told you they’d catch up!” you hissed at her. Karlach just shrugged, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
“Worth it,” she murmured in your ear, her grin as wide as ever.
As the group started moving again, Astarion sidled up to you, his voice low and dripping with mirth.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “that noise you made? Positively delightful. I might even be a little jealous.”
You shot him a glare, but his laughter trailed behind him as he strode ahead, leaving you to try and regain your composure.
Minthara:
The air between you and Minthara was thick with tension and heat, the playful sparring of dominance as electric as the charged atmosphere of a battlefield. Your lips clashed with hers in a heady dance, each of you vying for control, her sharp nails grazing your shoulders as your hands gripped her waist with equal fervor. There was a delicious push and pull to it, neither willing to yield but both relishing the challenge.
Minthara let out a low growl against your lips as you nipped her lower one, pulling her closer. But she was nothing if not resourceful. Her hands slid to your neck, tilting your head ever so slightly as her lips trailed downward. You had little time to anticipate what she was planning before she pressed a kiss to a spot just below your jawline, where your pulse thrummed steadily.
Your body betrayed you immediately. A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips, and you faltered, your grip on her waist loosening just enough for her to notice. Minthara froze for the briefest of moments, and when you glanced up at her, her red eyes were gleaming with unrestrained delight.
You pushed her off, taking a step back as you raised a finger, fixing her with a warning glare.
“Don’t you dare,” you said, your tone firm despite the heat still rising in your cheeks.
Minthara’s lips curved into a wicked smile, her fangs peeking through as she tilted her head like a predator who had just found a new weakness in their prey.
“Oh, my love,” she purred, her voice a mix of amusement and triumph. “How delightful.”
You turned, trying to put some distance between the two of you, but Minthara was faster. Her hands gripped your wrist and waist, spinning you back to her with a forceful tug that had you colliding against her.
“Going somewhere?” she teased, her tone dripping with mock innocence.
“Minthara,” you began, a weak protest, but she cut you off by leaning in, her lips brushing over that same sensitive spot again. The shiver that coursed through you was uncontrollable, and you hated how easily your body betrayed you. Another whimper escaped, this one louder, and Minthara chuckled, low and sultry, the sound vibrating against your skin.
“Ah, there it is again,” she murmured, her lips lingering as her hands tightened their hold on you. “So sweet. So vulnerable. Do you think you can hide this from me now?”
You tried to push her away again, but the strength in her grip—and the unyielding press of her body against yours—made it clear you were at her mercy. Not that you could complain, not really. Especially not when she tilted her head to get a better angle and kissed the spot again, and your knees threatened to give out entirely.
“Minthara,” you gasped, your voice shaky as you clung to her arms for balance.
“Yes, my love?” she replied sweetly, though the smirk on her lips made it clear she was anything but innocent.
“You’re evil,” you managed, though the words lacked any real bite.
“And you revere me for it,” she countered, her voice brimming with confidence. She leaned in once more, her lips ghosting over your neck before she captured your mouth again, her dominance in full display now that she had you so thoroughly at her mercy.
And, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t exactly mind.
Lae'zel:
The private sparring session had left you both breathless, sweat glistening on your skin as you and Lae'zel faced each other in the secluded training ground. The clatter of swords and the grunts of exertion had long given way to something else entirely—a different kind of intensity, one born of passion rather than combat.
Lae'zel had pinned you down in the final moments of your match, her body pressing against yours, her wild grin triumphant. What began as a taunt over her victory quickly escalated as her lips found yours, fierce and unyielding. The heat between you was undeniable, and before long, the lines between sparring and intimacy blurred entirely.
Her lips trailed along your jawline, down to your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Then, as if guided by instinct, she found it—the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The noise that escaped you was half gasp, half whimper, completely involuntary and utterly revealing.
Lae'zel froze for a moment, her sharp gaze locking onto yours. You braced yourself, certain she was about to tease you mercilessly, perhaps mock you for such a "weakness." But instead, she sat back slightly, her expression thoughtful and serious.
"You must keep this spot guarded," she said firmly, her golden eyes narrowing. "It is a vulnerability. An enemy who finds it would have undue advantage over you."
You blinked, caught entirely off guard.
"Lae'zel," you began, your tone both baffled and amused, "I don't think I need to worry about an enemy getting close enough to discover that spot, let alone knowing what to do with it."
Her frown deepened, the warrior in her unwilling to dismiss the matter.
"Complacency breeds defeat," she said sternly. "If I found it, others could as well. You should practice evasion—"
You couldn’t help it. You laughed, cutting her off mid-lecture. Her earnestness, while endearing, was misplaced in this particular context. You reached up, your fingers brushing her cheek as you leaned in to kiss her. The contact silenced her, her lips parting against yours as the fervor between you reignited.
When you pulled back, your grin was playful, and you could see the faintest hint of a blush on her usually stoic face.
"How about I make it my mission to find your sensitive spot instead?" you teased, your voice low and full of promise.
Lae'zel raised an eyebrow, the spark of challenge returning to her gaze.
"You may try," she said, her tone filled with the kind of daring that only fueled your resolve.
"Try?" you echoed, leaning in closer, your lips just grazing hers as you whispered, "Oh, I'll do more than try, Lae'zel."
And with that, the sparring session took a decidedly different turn.
Shadowheart:
The battlefield was a cacophony of noise—clanging steel, guttural cries of goblins, and the occasional victorious roar from Karlach. You and Shadowheart had found yourselves in a relatively quiet alcove, shielded from the chaos, though you both knew it wouldn’t last long. Lae’zel and Karlach had the goblins under control for now, giving you and Shadowheart a rare moment to steal for yourselves.
Shadowheart’s back was pressed against the rough stone wall, her lips locked with yours in a fervent kiss that felt almost scandalous amidst the battle. Her hands gripped the front of your armor, pulling you closer as if the world could crumble around you and she wouldn’t care so long as you stayed right there.
It was in the heat of this stolen moment that Shadowheart, seemingly guided by instinct or devilish intent, let her lips trail along your jawline before finding the spot just beneath your ear. The effect was immediate. A tiny, utterly unguarded squeal escaped your lips, your body stiffening at the unexpected jolt of sensation.
Shadowheart pulled back slightly, her lips curving into a wicked smile.
“Oh, what was that?” she teased, her voice a low purr that sent a shiver down your spine.
You tried to regain your composure, shaking your head as if to dismiss it, but her grin only widened as she leaned in again, clearly intent on exploiting her newfound discovery. Her lips brushed the spot once more, and this time, you couldn’t suppress the soft, involuntary sound that escaped you—a mixture of surprise and helpless delight.
The noise, however, was louder than either of you intended, echoing out into the chaos. A cluster of goblins, distracted by the commotion, turned their attention toward your alcove. Shadowheart noticed them first and let out a sharp sigh.
“Look what you’ve done,” she chided, though there was no real heat in her words.
“Me?” you protested, fumbling for your weapon. “You’re the one who started this!”
Before either of you could argue further, the goblins rushed forward, but they proved no match for the two of you. With quick, practiced movements, you dispatched them all, leaving the alcove strewn with their fallen forms.
As you wiped your blade clean, a shadow loomed behind you. Lae’zel’s scowl was enough to make you stand a little straighter.
“Are you so undisciplined,” she snapped, “that you cannot focus even amidst a battle? A moment’s distraction could cost lives!”
Shadowheart, ever quick-witted, raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
“I was simply administering medical attention,” she said, her tone prim and proper, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “It’s hardly my fault they found it… distracting.”
Karlach, who had joined Lae’zel, snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Oh yeah,” she said through her chuckles, “looked like real thorough medical attention to me. Sure you weren’t checking their… vitals?”
You groaned, your face heating as Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Shadowheart, however, seemed unbothered, her smirk growing as she gave you a sidelong glance.
“Let’s hope the next battle doesn’t require quite so much… care,” Lae’zel grumbled before stalking off.
As Karlach followed, still chuckling, Shadowheart leaned in close, her voice low and teasing in your ear. “You squeal so adorably. Perhaps next time, I’ll see what other noises I can coax from you.”
You shot her a playful glare, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed your amusement. “Not in the middle of a battle.”
“We’ll see,” she replied, her smirk now entirely victorious as she turned and strode off to rejoin the others.
Jaheira:
The camp was alive with the buzz of Jaheira’s fellow Harpers, strategizing and organizing as they prepared for the next phase of their operations. Amidst the activity, you’d managed to steal her away under the guise of needing her counsel on something urgent. It wasn’t entirely a lie; you did need her—but not for strategy.
You led her to a quiet spot under the boughs of a large oak tree, far enough from prying eyes and ears. Jaheira had crossed her arms, giving you a skeptical look, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed her amusement.
“You are nothing if not persistent,” she muttered, though she made no effort to leave.
“Persistent enough to get you alone,” you quipped, stepping closer and resting your hands gently on her hips. She rolled her eyes, but when you leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted into it, her hands slipping up to rest on your shoulders as she returned your affection.
The kiss deepened, growing more fervent as the moments stretched. Her fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer with a surprising intensity that made your pulse quicken. Despite her earlier protests, Jaheira was nothing if not passionate, and her hunger matched your own as you lost yourselves in each other.
But then, in a moment of teasing exploration, Jaheira’s lips trailed to your jawline and down to the curve of your neck. Her attention lingered at a particular spot, and when her lips brushed it, a soft, helpless sound escaped you before you could stop it. The sensation was electric, and your reaction was immediate—your body stiffened, and your breath hitched.
Jaheira froze for a moment before pulling back, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“What was that?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and mischief.
“Nothing,” you lied, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “Just caught me off guard.”
“Hmm.” Jaheira’s gaze lingered on you, and a sly smile spread across her face.
Without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to the same spot again. The jolt of sensation was just as powerful, and this time, a soft, involuntary whimper escaped you.
“By Silvanus,” she murmured, her voice a low, amused growl. “You’ve been hiding this from me.” Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of delight and frustration. “If only I had more time with you—I would make you regret ever revealing this weakness.”
You laughed, though your voice was still slightly breathless. “I didn’t exactly reveal it. You’re the one who went snooping.”
Jaheira scoffed, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked at you with mock exasperation. “Snooping, you say? I call it careful reconnaissance. A skill you should appreciate.”
You couldn’t help but grin. “Careful reconnaissance, huh? What exactly do you plan to do with this newfound knowledge?”
Her lips twitched in amusement, but then her expression softened.
“Sadly, nothing at the moment,” she said with a sigh, glancing back toward the bustling camp. “Duty calls, as always. But don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Forgotten what?”
She raised an eyebrow, her fingers trailing lightly over the sensitive spot on your neck, making you shiver.
“This,” she said simply, her voice low and teasing.
You couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that bubbled up, though you quickly caught her hand in yours to stop her.
“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your voice warm with affection.
Jaheira leaned in for one last kiss, her lips lingering on yours before she finally pulled away.
“You are an infuriating distraction,” she said, her tone affectionate despite the words. “But I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
With that, she turned and walked back toward the camp, leaving you standing there with a smile on your face and the faint, lingering warmth of her touch on your skin.
This was so fun to write and I really hope you guys enjoyed it! -Seluney xox
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