#/ WOUND TENDING

[honeyedclementine]

be more careful

sevika x f!reader, fluff, pre-s1, wound tending, assassin!reader, getting together (one shot, 2.1k words) ageless blogs, minors, and men dni

reply to be added to my tag list ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

content warnings: violence, blood

when silco needed someone taken care of, there were two options he had. sevika or you. sevika was all brawn, there to knock teeth out and leave a bloody heap of anyone who dared to cross silco. this approach had its benefits—fear mongering, for one, a show of force, for another. you however, were sent when silco needed something done quickly and quietly. you lingered in the shadows of his enemies, daggers pressed close to your skin, waiting for the right moment to strike.

so rarely does anything go wrong with you—you're one of the best in the business for a reason. most of silco's enemies and other players in the lanes don't even know you exist. you're good at what you do and you take pride in it.

it's late and you're on another mission—one that should be quick, you'll be back at the last drop before sunrise to report to the boss that you've done exactly what he asked. you linger in an alleyway, having trailed your target for blocks. you keep your footfalls light, the dust barely even shifting as you leap from shadow to shadow.

your first target gets a little too close to the mouth of the alleyway and you grin. a hand is quick to cover his mouth, muffling his gasp as you drag him into your shadow, dagger finding his throat swiftly. you know just where to cut so he can't scream—he can't do much of anything but lie there and choke on his own blood. you watch for a moment, mesmerized, before delivering the final blow and silencing him all together. someone from silco's crew will be by to clean him up, but for now, you turn your attention to your other target—his companion.

your hands go in your pockets, dagger alongside it as you pull your hood up over your head, trailing him through the lanes. he hasn't even noticed the death of his guard—a fool, you think to yourself.

he turns a corner and you strike, an arm around his neck dragging him backwards. lithe as you were, strength was still something you honed within yourself. years of fighting built up skill and force within you. you go to drive your dagger into his chest, but he grabs your wrist, fighting back. you bring your knee up against the small of his back, causing him to grown as your hold on him tightens.

your dagger gets close to his eye, about to drive it in, when he pulls something out of his sleeve, twisting his arm. your knife pierces his eye just as his sinks into your gut. you gasp, twisting your knife and watching him fall still. staggering, you yank your dagger out as he falls to the ground, one hand clutching the knife still sticking out of your gut. it's been a long time since you've been injured in the field and it never fails to shock you to your core every time.

with one hand clutching your injury, you wipe the blood from your own weapon onto your sleeve, tucking it back into place and heading towards the last drop to stitch yourself up. you just hope distantly that thieram replaced the strong whiskey you like for times like these.

it's a short walk, but it feels longer with the blood seeping slowly through your shirt, staining the dark fabric and spilling around your fingertips. the last drop will be closed at this hour, but you've taken care of yourself more times than you can count. it comes with the job.

the last thing you expect is to see sevika sitting at the bar, an empty glass of what you already know is her favorite whiskey. the ice hasn't even melted yet. she turns her head as you enter, a cigarillo hanging from her lips. the smell of the smoke is familiar to you, practically synonymous with the image of the woman you have in your head.

you and sevika weren't necessarily friends, but you weren't enemies either. she respected your job and you respected hers. however, she was never much for conversation and neither were you. even so, you were always a little fascinated with her. where you were lithe, hidden muscles, she wore her strength on her sleeve. her scars were all in plain view—whether it be the hextech blue lines on her cheek or the metal arm she adorned, any glance at her would tell someone she had been through some shit. you kind of envied her ability to be intimidating right off the bat. people weren't usually scared of you until it was too late for them.

"shit, what happened to you?" she asks, eyebrows raising slightly as she pulls the cigarillo from her lips and drops it into the ashtray beside her.

"got stabbed," you shrug, wincing at the flare of pain that shoots through your stomach as you push behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey along with the small med kit that's kept there.

"are you seriously going to stitch that up yourself?" she asks, sounding almost impressed.

"unless you're offering," a sigh falls past your lips, desperately biting back a whimper as you pull your hand away from the wound.

surprisingly, sevika rises to her feet. "come on."

she reaches across the bar, grabbing the medkit from your hands and nodding over to one of the booths in the back of the bar. you groan, not knowing if this is something you want to deal with right now. you don't need a helping hand, you just need to stitch yourself up and get the fuck to bed. the loss of blood is making you tired. even so, fighting with sevika is never worth it. so, you grab the bottle of whiskey and follow her.

it isn't until she has her flesh hand against your stomach and her mechanical hand gripping the hilt of the knife that you realize she's never touched you before. the thought hits you with a spark of curiosity, quickly subsided by her pulling the weapon out with no warning.

"gods, fuck," you curse, eyes scrunching closed as she lifts your shirt up your stomach, moving one of your hands to keep the fabric held. her metal hand is cold against your own.

she just looks at you, nodding to the whiskey. you sigh and take a swig, letting it burn your throat for a moment before she takes the bottle from your hand, pouring some of the alcohol over the wound and the needle.

"ugh, don't waste the good stuff, thieram will kill me," you groan, struggling to keep your wits about you. for some reason, you never considered the fact that sevika might be warm. maybe it was the metal hand that led you to believe otherwise, but her hand splayed against your stomach—large enough that it covers much more of your flesh than you thought, you note with a slight flush you'll blame on the blood loss—is irrevocably warm. maybe you're just starting to lose it, the slow caress of death weaning all logic and reason from your brain, but when you look up at sevika, backlit by the dim lights of the last drop, you think she's beautiful.

"stop staring at me, i'm trying to focus," sevika grumbles. the slight shade of embarrassment in her voice is enough to distract you from her sticking the needle into your wounded flesh. you clench up, a hand reaching for her wrist as if to stop her. her metal hand comes to your shoulder, gentler than you thought it would be, pushing you back down so she can work. "it's okay. gods, i can't believe you were going to do this yourself. you're being such a baby."

you scoff, "i'd like to see what you look like getting stitched up. my hands are much more nimble, i barely feel it when i do it."

"i'm sure," is all she says in response. despite your pain, you can't help but watch the gentle way she sews your torn flesh back together. the wound itself isn't too large, just deep. the jury is still out on whether or not he hit anything vital or caused any internal bleeding, but that'll be a surprise for later. the fact that you were on your feet long enough to get home tells you that it's probably fine.

when she's done stitching you up, she ties a not and cuts the thread of sutures with her teeth, something you watch with wide eyes. you've never looked at sevika with anything akin to attraction before—well, of course, you noticed she was attractive, it was hard not to—but it's never felt like this. maybe you're delirious, or maybe you're still feeling the adrenaline of the mission, but something feels different. it doesn't help that this is the first time the two of you were properly alone together. maybe that was all it took.

she watches you watch her for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. "be more careful next time. that could've been a lot worse."

you expect her to get up and leave, but instead, she starts cleaning up the blood surrounding the wound. for some reason, you assumed her mechanical arm didn't have the propensity for kindness. after all, the only time you had seen her use it was when she was beating the shit out of someone. yet, here she is, wiping up your blood with a soft caress, careful to avoid the fresh sutures to avoid causing you any more pain than you're already in.

"thanks," you finally find the word, feeling utterly breathless as you watch her. you sit up slightly, feeling the way your stomach groans at the movement. you let your hand holding your shirt drop, but sevika's flesh hand remains beneath it, resting against your flesh. your heartbeat picks up and this time, you're not sure you can blame it on the adrenaline of a fight long ended. "you didn't have to do that."

"i was here," she says, something stilted in her tone. her eyes dart to your lips and you wonder if she's having the same ideas you're having—the quiet surprise of seeing someone in a new light. her hand doesn't move from your skin and you hope it never does. "and i didn't feel like watching you try and do it yourself."

"never knew you to be so charitable," you huff, moving a little bit closer to her. your thigh brushes against hers, the barest touch sending electricity to every nerve in your body. a shiver runs down your spine as her hand moves, crawling slowly beneath your shirt and resting around your waist, tugging you slightly closer. you can feel her warmth—her warmth against you, breath fanning slightly against your chin as you look up at her. "i can blame this on the blood loss, what's your excuse?"

you tilt your head and she offers a small smile—not mocking, like they usually are coming from her, just a small tug of the corner of her lips, almost a smirk but not quite. "you just looked to sad and pathetic, i thought—"

"yeah, yeah, excuses," you roll your eyes, pressing forward slightly and capturing her lips in a kiss. part of you expects her to push you away, to write off the moment of fierce chemistry as nothing, but she kisses you back.

the kiss starts off gentle, but soon grows into something more desperate, fierce in its nature. her hand grips your waist, careful to avoid your wound, tugging you closer until you just cave and settle onto her lap. your hand cups her face, tracing the scars on her cheek as you gasp, her tongue using the opportunity to slip past the seam of your lips, exploring the inside of your mouth.

desire pools deep in your stomach, hips grinding softly against hers. after a moment, though, pain flares through your wound and you yelp, pulling away from sevika and burying your head against her shoulder, a shaky breath falling from your lips. funny, you had almost forgotten about that.

sevika's hand rubs against the small of your back, so gentle you almost don't know what to do with it. her metal fingers run through your hair as she turns, whispering in your ear, "why don't we raincheck this until you're a bit more sturdy?"

you let out a weak chuckle, the exhaustion of the fight and the injury finally starting to catch up to you. "promise?"

she chuckles, "yeah, promise."

with that, she helps you up to the spare room above the last drop. you bite your tongue when you think about asking her to join, but you can see in her eyes that she will eventually. after all, a promise is a promise.

tag list: @puppyels @njm63522

[chaosandwolves]

Wound tending is everything

Unparalleled intimacy

Inspo by @gvaine

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Break-Ins and Bandages

Here is my 1500 Followers Celebratory Snippet! Thank you for helping me brainstorm, @surplus-of-sarcasm and @lilywolfgray!

The sound of the window opening had Hero whipping their head around so fast it gave them a bout of dizziness. They had been perched on the end of their mattress, holding a pack of ice to their throbbing head and trying not to aggravate the rest of the wounds littered across their battered body. As the window opened the rest of the way, Hero’s heart leapt into their throat. Villain climbed over the sill into the bedroom. Hero jumped to their feet… and promptly keeled over. Villain sped over and caught them before they could hit the floor.

“Easy, easy,” Villain said, depositing them back on their bed, “not here to hurt you. I think I did enough of that this afternoon.”

“Why- how-?”

“I banged you up pretty bad, I felt like I should try to fix it.”

Villain had a bag slung over their shoulder, and as Hero got a proper look at it, they could see it was stuffed to the brim with medical supplies.

“After I gave the cops the slip, I may have followed you home… heh, sorry.”

Villain gave them a lopsided, apologetic smile. Hero’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t give me that look! I’m a villain, not a monster! Now, let’s have a look at you.”

Despite their protests, Villain helped Hero out of their shirt and started to examine them.

“Hm,” Villain said, “I really pack a punch, huh?”

“Ya think?” Hero winced as Villain touched a particularly tender spot.

“Okay.” Villain started to rummage in their bag, “let me start with the antiseptic.”

Villain pulled out a bottle and a cotton pad. Hero scuttled back on the bed.

“Villain, I appreciate this, but please don’t-”

“Hush.”

Villain lunged with the antiseptic. Hero cried out when Villain started to clean their cuts.

“You big baby,” Villain teased, “you can survive buildings falling on you, but a little wound tending is gonna be your undoing?”

“YES!” Hero hissed, their knuckle-white fists gripping the blanket under them.

Villain shook their head with a chuckle. Once every wound was cleaned, they started to medicate them and bandage them up.

“…Thanks,” Hero said uncertainly.

“Yep,” Villain said with a satisfied smile.

Villain started to put everything away. They were about to climb back out the window when Hero found themselves grabbing their arm.

“Uh…yes?” Villain asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hero blushed in embarrassment.

“Um… I have some old movies on DVD… if you weren’t doing anything after this…”

Villain smiled knowingly.

“Because,” Hero added quickly, “I’m still injured, someone should probably keep an eye on me so I don’t aggravate the wounds, and-”

A peck on the cheek shut Hero up straight away.

“Took you long enough, gumshoe,” Villain said.

Villain set the bag down, closed the window, and swept Hero up into a bridal carry. Hero yelped.

“Villain! Put me down!”

“You’re still injured, you said so yourself,” Villain said, “where’s your living room?”

A huff from Hero and some directions later, and the crime-fighter was nodding off on Villain’s shoulder to some fantasy movie. Villain kissed Hero on the crown of their head. Mission accomplished.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Caretaker going to clean the blood off Whumpee’s wounds with a warm wet towel and Whumpee flinching when it makes contact. Shutting their eyes, letting out a hiss or hitched breath.

Their Caretaker immediately stopping at their reaction with a grimace and apology. Continuing only with Whumpee’s strained “it’s okay”.

[stonenumberone]

SUPERNATURAL REC FEST (@spnficrecfest)

DAY 2 - KINKS OR WHUMP (BOTH)

Baton Rouge | @prince-of-elsinore (2021) (Rated E, 7.5k, Sam/Dean, wound tending, first time, s15) Sam and Dean drive into the heart of a storm.

Put Your Arms Around Me Like A Ring Around The Sun | t_fic (topaz) (2011) (Rated E, 15.7k, Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/OFC, first time, sex magic) "I dunno, man," Dean says, after Sam literally shakes him to get him to focus. "I don't feel bad, just... not there all the time. Like there's a hole or something and it's sucking me down into it." They're a day-and-a-half drive from Bobby's; Sam make it in a little over eight hours.

All That I'm Good For | witling (2013) (Rated M, 3.5k, Sam/Dean, underage mention, morphine, alcohol) “You're kidding me,” he called, and then he had to get up, heave himself painfully out of the bed and find his balance—he was drunker than he'd thought—and go lean in the bathroom door. “Did you just…do we have a suicide pact, now?”

What Lasts | @zmediaoutlet/deadlybride (2021) (Rated M, 17.3k, Sam&Dean, gen, wound tending, s8) Not long after they move into the bunker, Dean loses a leg. Most of a leg. After the hospital, Sam brings him home, and they figure out how to live with what remains.

The Gold Room | @hathfrozen (2022) (Rated E, 31.5k, Sam/Dean, UST, wound tending, first time, ps-s2) Sam grew into wanting Dean the same way he grew into his bones. It isn’t something they can will or trick or ignore away. It isn’t something that can be undone.

These Things I Know Are True | killabeez (2011) (Rated E, 4.6k, Sam/Dean, first time, s6) Cas is off the rails, Sam's barely keeping it together, and Dean's trying to figure out where they go from here.

Just Like Heaven | @redmyeyes (2023) (Rated M, 6.8k, Sam/Dean, forced proximity, soulmates but it hurts, s5) They both went to heaven. Dean came back wrong.

Stay The Distance | lazy_daze (2011) (Rated E, 24k, Sam/Dean, nightmares, forced proximity, s6-7) "You know why. I'm not leaving my brother alone out there." Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function.

Desiderata (WIP) | @dyed-red (2021) (Rated E, 45k, Sam/Dean, caretaking, first time) Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters.

You'll Never See Us Again | @according2thelore (2023) (Rated T, 5k, Sam&Dean, Sam/Dean, nightmares, touch-starved, s7) Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

[whumpygifs]

[mlobsters]

bonus lucifer

supernatural s7e2 hello, cruel world / hannibal s2e10 naka-choko

This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up!

[fandom-hoarder]

Tumblr keeps fucking up this video lmao.

Tell me this ain't a Supernatural AU and I'm plugging my ears and pointing at the screen lol

[thedarktoyourlighght]

Akechi needs to kill Ren, and Ren knows he doesn’t want to. But when Ren offers him warmth, Akechi doesn’t know what to do with it. He can’t have it. He won’t.

Tags: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Wound Tending, Whump, Kissing, bathhouse, takes place during sae's palace, Canon Compliant, Not Beta Read

TRIGGER WARNING: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 19: Blood Trail

I have a very self-indulgent fic for today's @whumptober prompt.

A while ago, I thought it would be fun to mix some of my OCs from my Hearts of Gold series into the Vampire AU so this is the result of that. Hope you enjoy

Prompt: Blood trail, one way out Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5 (Vampire Hunter AU) Character: Bucciarati

~~~~~~~

(Vampire Hunter AU) An investigation into vampire murders goes wrong when Bucciarati is attacked by freelance Hunters. Gravely injured and alone, he stumbles into the first supposedly empty building he can find only to discover a woman within. A late night for Maria at the bakery soon turns into caring for an injured vampire. She knows she’s risking everything, but she can’t quite stand the thought of throwing the handsome stranger to the mercy of his pursuers.

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Code name: Cranes

Wound

[lonesome-witching]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler Additional Tags: Blood, Trauma, Nancy Wheeler Needs a Hug, Nancy Wheeler Has a Crush on Robin Buckley, First Kiss, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, wound, Robin patches up Nancy, Robin Buckley Has a Crush on Nancy Wheeler, there is a sleepover in this, and there is a dream thing in this, well a nightmare thing, but it's mostly Robin taking care of Nancy Series: Part 5 of Ronancetober 2023 Summary:

Nancy watched the blood trickle down her hand. Her eyes seemed attached to the crimson red splotches in her bathroom sink. It was better than looking at the wound. She was meant to be washing it out. She was meant to be taking care of herself.

On the other side of the bathroom door Robin Buckley was waiting. Nancy knew that. She could imagine Robin pacing the floor. She had been worried. Worried enough to warm Nancy’s cold, frozen heart.

OR

Robin helps Nancy clean out her wound.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 31- Asking for Help

Since today is Halloween, I thought I would make my last Whumptober fill a little festive! I can't believe I completed all 31 days!!

Villain sat by the door, a bowl of candy on the side table. The doorbell rang. Finally! They wondered where all the little trick-or-treaters had gotten to.

They opened the door, but instead of a tiny pirate or a witch…

“Hero!?” Villain exclaimed.

“Trick or treat?” Hero slurred.

“Woah!”

Villain dove to catch Hero as they lurched forward. Villain got a good look at them. They were covered in blood and bruises.

“What happened to you!?”

Villain carried Hero inside and laid them down on the couch.

“Sorry to bug you like this,” Hero mumbled, “ow. I know it’s a holiday and everything, but- mm…”

Villain gave Hero a gentle slap to the face.

“No sleeping,” they said, “talk to me. Who did this to you?”

“Dunno, they were in costume…”

“Hero,” Villain warned.

“Can’t you give me some ibuprofen before you interrogate me?”

Hero needed more than over the counter pain meds. They needed stitches, bandages, and probably a hospital visit if they were smart. Hero’s eyes started to droop closed. Another slap.

“Stay here. And don’t you dare go to sleep.”

Villain ran from the living room to get the med kit. When they got back, Hero was trying- and failing- to sit up.

“Hey! I said stay awake, not ‘get up and jostle your injuries’!”

“Sorry…”

Villain handed Hero some painkillers, which they took and swallowed dry. They grimaced as they went down. They started to clean their wounds.

“Now talk, or I will turn this into a kidnapping,” Villain said.

“Do you believe in monsters, Villain?”

“Come again?”

“You know, vampires, zombies, ghosts, those sorts of things.”

“I believe in politicians,” Villain stated, “as for the other monsters… where are you going with this?”

“Pretty sure I just met one… a vampire that is.”

“Okay, you’re delirious,” Villain sighed, moving on to stitching Hero up, “vampires aren’t real.”

Just then, the doorbell rang again. Villain sighed, they had left the outside light on when Hero showed up. They’d see to the one trick-or-treater, then turn it off.

Villain opened the door, and their eyes went wide.

“Greetings,” a pale, cloaked figure said, “I think you have something of mine… may I come in?”

“Who are you?” Villain asked.

The figure shed their cloak, and great bat wings sprouted out from their back. Their red eyes seemed to glow in the night, and they grinned widely.

“Who I am doesn’t matter, but I’m sure you’d agree that what I am certainly does.”

“Get lost, Vincent Price,” Villain ordered.

“Oh, I would reconsider,” the figure said, fangs glinting in the warm light of Villain’s porch, “you see, when I want something, I always get it.”

“Cute, you’re entitled,” Villain said, “scram, before I break this wooden table leg and plunge it into your heart.”

The stranger huffed.

“Be careful, human,” they said, “your abode might protect you now, but it will quickly become your prison if you don’t indulge me.”

“Entitled and melodramatic. Leave. Or just stand there until the sun comes up and turns you to dust, I really don’t care.”

With that, Villain slammed the door in the stranger’s face. Their brave façade cracked at once, and they stumbled over to Hero’s side.

“So,” they said, their voice going up an octave, “vampires, huh?”

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[gh0ul1sh-gr1m]

I actually wrote something

An Unexpected Reunion - For Serennedy Week 2023

[zoethehead]

Applying this to my huldrekall now(whumpee)

(Sorry for a countless spew of different characters, idfk what's wrong with me)

Picrews by mano, makowka, potato_lord, ptaque, tinlou_dt, and 大魔王俺様

When they finally collapse, they don't know if it's from the fever, the icy cold around them, or the blood rapidly staining the inside of their jacket. Whatever the reason, they feel the ground tilting beneath them and soon their knees are soaked through with snow, then their shoulders, then their hair. It's the worst cold they've ever felt, wracking their body with violent chills from head to foot. Their head spins even as they lie still on the ground, the edges of their vision shadowy and blurred.

They know they're going to die. It won't take long, out here. A series of coughs hits their body and the pain they've felt all over worsens by tenfold. If they could keep going only for a little while, maybe they would have a chance...but they're too weak, too tired. It hurts so much.

In a vain attempt to distract themselves from the pain they tilt their head up to look at the spidery bare trees touching the clouded sky above. They wish it was a clear night. It would have been nice to see the stars.

Something cold touches their face. Their brain is working so slowly by now that it takes them a long moment to realize snow is falling. Snow...they always liked snow...snow isn't so bad.

They always thought when they died they would think of all the people they loved the most, all the best things that ever happened to them, either to mourn them or celebrate them. But in the end they're too tired to do any of that, even to keep their eyes open any longer. They let them fall shut, feeling soft snowflakes melting on their skin as the world fades away.

The first time they wake up, all they feel is a sharp pain somewhere in their abdomen and an awful swimming feeling in their head, making the whole world twist and tilt. And the cold. They feel horribly, horribly cold.

The pain hits again and this time they let out a weak groan. It's hard to breathe, they can't move, it doesn't even feel like they have limbs at all. They would lift their head but it's too heavy.

"Lie still, sweetheart," says a strange, watery sounding voice from somewhere in the grey smudge of the world. "I need to finish your stitches."

None of those words make sense. Another voice joins the first one, making even less sense, and despite the pain they feel themselves slipping away again.

The second time they wake up, it's the howl of the wind that does it. A storm must have started up. But they're not out in the woods anymore, they're lying somewhere soft, warm. They can feel a faint dampness in their hair, but their clothes are dry and clean. Their stomach hurts if they breathe too deeply, and their lungs burn, but the pain has faded somewhat. Now all they are is exhausted.

Very slowly, they inch their leaden eyelids open. Right above them is a row of wooden beams, bathed in a mellow golden light. They're tucked warmly into a bed with several blankets and quilts piled on top of them, in an unfamiliar room. They try to turn their head but are overwhelmed with dizziness.

"Oh, there you are," says a quiet voice near them. A cool hand touches their cheek, and someone's face looms above them, looking concerned. "We've been so worried about you, it's good to see your eyes open."

Time seems to have sped up. "Who...who are you?" they croak. "Where am I?" Try as they might, they can't keep the panic out of their voice.

"It's okay," says the stranger. "You're safe now. There's a few of us here, and none of us will hurt you, don't worry about that. We found you in the woods a few hours ago. You were badly hurt, it's a good thing we got there when we did. You've got a fever too, do you have some kind of virus?"

They nod feebly, remembering the chills and sore muscles and throat that have plagued them for the past three days. "I'm sorry," they say, not sure exactly what they're apologizing for. "It's...a lot."

"Oh, honey, don't be sorry. You've had a rough time. I don't know exactly what happened to you, and I'm not going to ask right now, but you can tell when you're ready, okay? Just let us take care of you for now."

They didn't plan on it, but their eyes fill up with tears. They're about to lift a hand to dry them, but their arms are too weak and tangled in the blankets.

"Hey, hey, don't cry," the person beside them says. "It's all right. You're okay now." A hand brushes the hair back from their forehead. "We'll take care of you."

They press their lips tightly together, but the tears still run down their cheeks. "Thanks," they say with as much strength as they can. "Thank you."

"Hush. You need to rest, just try and sleep. If you need anything just call."

It's hard to keep their eyes open any longer. Somehow, miraculously, they're safe and alive, and maybe will soon feel better. They fall back into an exhausted sleep feeling confused, still slightly uneasy, but knowing they are being looked after, at the last time they ever thought they could be.