#Once More My Darling Rogue

[overflowingshelf]

Trope Tuesday: 4 Historical Romances with Amnesia

Oops, I woke up and have no idea who I am, but this handsome/gorgeous stranger is intriguing! Amnesia is a classic romance trope, especially in historical romance. If you’re looking for some great amnesia historical romance recommendations, look no further than these four books: Continue reading Trope Tuesday: 4 Historical Romances with Amnesia

[lurochar]

The Buck Stops Here

His shadow must be punished. You find out Alastor did not put his shadow up to your little play date.

Warnings: Reader's name game sucks

18+ MDNI

Part 1 + Part 3

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

“Oh, dear.”

It hit him in more than just one way as soon as he entered your shared room. He had used his shadow travel to simply slip in the hotel without bothering to talk to the others, wanting to greet you first to bring up his mood.

It had been an irritating day, dealing with territorial disputes and all. 

He hadn’t bothered to knock and just bypassed the door, emerging from the floor and expecting a cheerful greeting from you when his senses were seemingly all bombarded all at once.

The room smelled almost entirely of you – of your sweat, of your tears, of your cum.

He almost found himself thanking some unknown deity he had not called upon his shadow earlier that day, otherwise, he would have been put in a highly uncomfortable situation where he would have no other choice but to slaughter any and all witnesses.

His shadow was a part of him after all – it felt what he felt and vice versa.

Though it sometimes did go rogue.

Alastor knew his blasted shadow liked to watch and never really thought much of it, but he never imagined it would take the visuals as knowledge and actually use it against you.

“I believe I told you to behave, didn’t I?” Alastor finally spoke, watching with a tight smile as his shadow’s ears perked up – as if it was only just realizing he was standing in the room – and its head lazily lifted from its position between your legs.

You were passed out.

He vaguely wondered how long his shadow had you going for if the scent of you was this strong and taking another inhale, Alastor could feel drool drip down his fangs and his antlers growing.

His shadow had the nerve to lick the slick from its lips before it chattered at him, resting its head back on your thigh and licking the skin there. You shivered unconsciously, letting out a sigh and the shadow cooed at your sleeping form.

“What. Did. You. Just. Say?” A screech of static escaped him before Alastor could help it and he quickly looked over to see if it woke you. Luckily, it did not and he felt his eye twitching in annoyance. “You do know this is the opposite of ‘behaving’, don’t you?”

The shadow actually seemed to huff at him, snuggling deeper against you while its ears twitched wildly as if to mock him. It let out a series of chirps and titters before settling down again.

Alastor felt his own ears twitch. “Cute? She thought it was ‘cute’?” He murmured, his expression scrunching with bewilderment.

Would a moment of bliss be worth it in exchange for the humiliation? Of you stroking his ears for a bleat? Sex was the only time he could not control the damned little noises and so, he had been very careful in not allowing you to touch that part of him during.

His shadow chittered again from its place and Alastor did not give it a response. Instead, he snapped his fingers a few times, regretfully clearing the room of your heavenly scent. 

The bed and sheets were cleaned next and you didn’t even stir when Alastor cleansed you of your bodily fluids. The shadow snickered when Alastor eyed him for a moment and the snicker instantly turned into a whimper with his next words.

“Since you couldn’t behave, I won’t allow you to watch for the next week.”

(So harsh, Master!)

–

“Tell me, Darling.”

You try to talk, you really do, but how are you supposed to, with a tentacle shoved in your mouth? All you can do is let out muffled moans and heaving sobs when you feel Alastor’s fingers trail up and down your thigh.

What are you supposed to tell him?

“You have been a naughty little brat, my dearest Doe.” Alastor purred, grinning wide as more tentacles appeared from the shadows, wrapping around you and restricting any and all movement. “And brats must be punished, don’t they?”

What are you supposed to tell him!?

Alastor spreads your legs, before throwing them over his broad shoulders. “What do you want? I want to hear it from you.” He teased, just barely rubbing at your folds as you tried to bite down on the tentacle gagging you. “What would a fitting punishment be? Should I leave you wanting, needy and begging for more?”

You could feel his thumb swipe over your clit, beginning to rub the bundle of nerves in tight little circles and you clenched your eyes shut, feeling that familiar warmth heat up in your belly. You tried to arch up into his touch, but the tentacles allowed no movement.

“Open your eyes.” Alastor commanded, his thumb leaving your clit and you whimpered, quickly complying as his fingers went to stroke your cheek, smearing your slick across your heated skin, “Keep your eyes on me, dearest.”

You gasped as the appendage from your mouth retracted, drool trailing down your lips as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, “A-Alastor.” You choked, “W-what am I… I supposed to..?” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he cut you off.

“Should I fuck you with my fingers? My tongue? Are you greedy tonight, Darling? Do you want my cock?” Alastor smirked as you gaped at him, before throwing your head back and letting out a wail when a tentacle slid up into your dripping cunt. “Where have your words gone?”

You see stars when the tentacle jams up against that spot in your pussy and your toes curl almost painfully. “F-fu–” You panted as another appendage toyed with your clit, knowing you’re on the edge and about to fall over any second now.

“Language, Darling, language.” Alastor sighed in mock disappointment, ceasing all movement and you almost sob at your broken orgasm. Should he ask while you’re incoherent? It seemed a little more entertaining that way, certainly. “What did that damn shadow of mine tell you?” 

Huh?

What?

Your brain isn’t exactly completely in the realm of reality when you feel the tentacle slowly slip out of you, wriggling against your wet walls and leaving you clenching nothing but air. “S-shadow?” Ah, that’s right – you haven’t seen Alastor’s shadow in a day or two. “W-where is… where is Shadowy?”

Shadowy?

‘Shadowy’?

You gave it a name?

(And one as simple as that!?)

“As a result of misbehaviour,” Alastor’s grin widened, fangs gritting in irritation. He shuffled his position, “it must be disciplined. Deprivation of you – an entire week’s worth – should be sufficient in teaching it a lesson.” He gripped your hips, fucking his cock into your slippery hole. “Must you think of my shadow when I am right here, my dearest Doe?”

“H-hah!” Your eyes rolled back, feeling your arms strain as they were still restrained above your head by Alastor’s tentacles. “I-I…” It felt good, your mind felt like mush, but Alastor wanted something out of you, didn’t he? “I thought… you put Shadowy up to it.” 

Alastor gradually unravelled the appendages from your restrained arms, watching as his drool dripped down into your face while he deepened his thrusts, each deeper, harder, and faster. “You believe I would reveal such a… humiliating secret about myself?”

Your glazed over eyes seemed to gain coherency with his words. “Your shadow is a part of you, right?”  Your arms trembled. “Maybe, maybe you did? I would never make fun of you, Alastor. I love you.”

Alastor tensed, but wrapped his hands around your wrists, slowly bringing your arms up to his head. Your hands shook and his ears flattened against his skull. “Well? I would like to get this over with.” His grin seemed to wobble.

You squeezed his ears and jumped, watching in awe as Alastor’s eyes instantly shut and he quivered. “Harder, dearest.” Your warm wet walls were starting to flutter around him and he felt the sound get caught up in his throat. “Fuck!”

Once more, another squeeze.

And you finally shattered.

“A-Ala–!” You whimpered, feeling Alastor bury his face in the crook of your neck and you clamped down on his cock, just barely hearing that same sound you had heard with his shadow even through your bliss. “Alastor.” You hesitantly stroked his ears, becoming more assured when he relaxed against you.

“Fuck.” Alastor twitched inside you, shuddering after his own pleasure. He kept humping into you, trying to fuck his cum deeper in you until you whined in clear overstimulation. “Oh hush now.”

He hoped you didn’t hear it.

That sad little bleat.

“I… I like it.” You finally said after long yet comfortable silence. Alastor seemed to let out a huff and you did too. “I mean it! It’s… ‘en-deering’!” 

“Please Darling, no.”

----

Taglist:

@cosmiccandydreamer

[frantic-fiction]

Tension 18+

Pic: littlelovelore

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: During a solo mission, Astarion takes the opportunity to indulge in some "depraved carnal lust".

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Slight enemies to lovers, sex bent over a desk, sex with clothes on, mild choking, rough sex, reader handles her crush like a fifth grader (by being mean) Astarion is his smug self

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Back-to-back posts brought to you by Bree's insomnia...Enjoy!

"Do you want me to do it?" Astarion smugly asks, flicking his wrist sharply, sending a dagger into the wood beam before him. He's leaning against the cracked wall of the tunnel. A condescending smile stretches across his pale lips.

"Shut the fuck up!" You snap, twisting the lockpick violently, it's stuck on something, and it is pissing you off. 

"My my, someone's testy today." The Vampire pushes off the wall to retrieve his dagger, only for you to hear the same thud of the knife hitting the abused beam once again.

You clench your jaw, wanting nothing more than to drown the bastard in the small stream of gray water. See him try to be a smartass when he's choking on sewage. 

No! Just breathe.

As soon as you get this damn door open, all you need is to grab the stolen lease for the damn butcher, and the party will have a nice payout. Then Astarion's snarky comments and teasing jabs can be ignored behind a glass of ale and a nice meal. 

Well, if you don't kill him first.

The relationship between you and the Vampire is a complex one, to say the least. Astarion is an arrogant, pompous dick. You're a temperamental stubborn asshole. It made for a messy mix of harsh insults and constant attempts to belittle the other.

It would have been so easy to hate him completely, but Astarion can be sweet under the cloak of night, and you could almost pretend he's a tolerable person when he speaks those honey-coated words. And when you let him feed from you, everything became so much more complicated.

The pick snaps, and you drop your head, groaning in frustration. You stand up and kick hard against a crate; the decayed wood breaks against your boot. Sighing in defeat, you motion to the rogue. 

Astarion laughs smoothly, tucking the knife away, and exchanges it for his thieves' tools. Giving you a wink, he bends down to examine the lock. You pretend not to admire the swell of his ass, but who are you kidding Astarion is extremely attractive.

With little to no fanfare, the lock turns over, and Astarion opens the door. "After you."

"I fucking hate you." You grumble, pushing past, making a point to shove your shoulder hard into the rouge.

"Keep telling yourself that Darling," 

You flip him off.

The sewer system is a winding path of tunnels leading to various places. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes. 

"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Astarion asks, breaking the peace.

"Of course, this is the right way." You hiss, glaring over your shoulder. "I can read a map."

"Just like you could pick a lock, yes?"

You don't think you've ever seen a more punchable face. You're almost tempted to smack him just to see his reaction. Instead, you practice a semblance of self-control and ignore him.

After a few more turns, you hit a dead end. It's nothing but a damp brick wall. Scanning the map, you're sure you followed all the proper steps; there should be an entrance. Stowing the stupid paper away, you begin feeling the brick for any invisible button, unwilling to admit defeat in front of Astarion. All hideouts have secret levers. Right?

"Well, sweetheart, I think you've gotten us lost."

"No, I didn't, jackass, now be useful for once and help me." You bend down and begin trailing your fingertips against the rough bricks near the floor.

"I don't think I will. I'm quite enjoying the view from here."

You look back towards the rogue, "What are you talking about–" you choke on your words.

 Astarion is shamelessly eyeing your form. A fang tugs at his bottom lip, hunger darkening his eyes. You swallow hard, and a flame ignites low in your stomach. You have a sudden urge to press him against the wall. That thought startles you. This is Astarion. The obnoxious, arrogant, attractive–no, stop that. You stand up and shake your head, willing your thoughts to clear. 

"You're ridiculous," you sigh and dig through your bag. 

Retrieving the knock scroll, Gale scribed for you. Repeating the steps he told you to do, you mumbled the incantation, and soon enough, what was once a solid brick wall cracked open to reveal a hidden path.

"Told you I knew where I was going," you boast, sticking your tongue out childishly.

Astarion smirks, "Yes, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Scoffing, you shove him hard, causing him to take a few steps to correct his footing. The entrance leads to a broken-down ladder and a worn wooden hatch. Astarion steps up to pick the lock and lifts the hatch barely to survey the room. He pushes the trapdoor open and enters.

Following suit, you find yourself in a dusty broom closet. Astarion is already at the door to the hallway, a sliver of light pouring through the crack. Closing the trapdoor, you cross your arms and wait for Astarion to turn back to you. 

"It's abandoned."

"Are you sure?"

Scoffing, Astarion doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and begins down the hall. You follow after him.

The small hideout is plainly decorated, the common room has a dingy sofa and a coffee table. The fireplace is dead; not even embers remain. Good. In the corner, there looks to be an unfinished game of cards. The faded carpet runner leads down the hall to a large ornate door. 

Astarion is already opening the door by the time you reach him. By the looks of it, this is the boss's office. A large oak desk sat in the middle room. A plush chair pulled slightly away as if someone hadn't bothered to move it back. Bookshelves line the back wall. 

"Secure the door," you say as you move to the window to the left of the door. You hear Astarion mumble something but don't quite catch his words. 

The window is a short drop good for a quick escape if needed. 

You move to the desk and begin rifling through the papers on the desk. Tax documents, random notes, crappy doodles, and a cringey love letter, but not what you're looking for. You rip open the first drawer. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third, nothing. 

"Astarion, did you find anything?"

"Nothing important." His sultry voice is deep and so very close to your ear.  

Your heart drops, but you suppress any other signs of distress, knowing that is exactly what he's looking for. Sighing In annoyance, you turn around to face Astarion and cross your arms over your chest.

"Are you even trying to look for the damn paper? We need to get what we're here for and get the fuck out!"

Astarion's mouth cracks into a cheeky grin, and he closes in on you. You back against the desk instinctually, reaching a hand up that lands on his firm chest. Astarion has you caged against the desk, each hand on either side of your hips. You know Astarion can hear the thrumming of your heart and the shaky inhalation of your breath, and you curse your body for betraying you.

He bends his head down to press his mouth against your ear. "What if I'm looking for something else?"

You freeze. What did he mea–

The thought is forgotten because he's slamming his lips onto yours. You gasp in surprise, and Astarion wastes no time, delving his tongue into your mouth and claiming it as his. 

The slight metallic taste of blood that lingers on his tongue should repulse you but has you moaning desperately for more. You grip your fist tightly into the fabric of Astarion's armor. His body is flush against yours, but you need more. You scratch your nails up his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. Astarion groans into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip.

Everything is hazy, and you're lost in the kiss. Your thoughts are slow to catch up with the situation, too consumed by the taste of his lips. Astarion's lips. Astarion.

You push him away, chest heaving in rapid breaths. "What are you doing?" 

"I'd hope my intentions would be obvious by now." He grins and dives back to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against your skin. "I could be more obvious if that would clear things up." 

A sharp bite of his mouth at your throat drags a choked gargle from your swollen lips. You feel dizzy from the scent of rosemary and bergamot invading your nose. Lightheaded from the sudden turn of events. Astarion presses a knee between your legs, applying firm pressure against your burning arousal. 

Gods, what was he doing to you?

Needing to gain any form of control, you tug sharply at the roots of his silver curls, drawing a hiss from the man. 

You finally manage to gasp out, "We hate each other." As if that would somehow clear up your raging thoughts.

Except, could you hate someone who is making you feel so good? 

Cold fingers trail against the skin between your leather armor and trousers. Astarion's deft hands start pulling at the lace of your pants. Another wave of arousal warms your body, and you feel drunk on the pale elf.

"You say that, yet I don't think you want me to stop." He purrs, halting his movements, and meets your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, desperate for more. Your dignity couldn't live with letting Astarion reduce you to a begging mess. However, if you were honest with yourself, you're already halfway there. Reaching out, you grab for his belt.

Astarion was having none of that. He's quick to twirl you around and press your torso flush against the top of the desk. A stack of paper flies off and scatters to the ground, but neither of you put much care into it. Astarion grinds his front roughly against your ass, and you moan at the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

"No, no, no, my dear, use your words."

"Gods, are you always so fucking annoying?" You whine pressing back and rolling your ass against him. Astarion grunts, gripping your hips tightly. "Are you going to fuck me, or should I just take care of myself?"

Astarion groans, rocking against each roll of your hips. "There's my spitfire." 

"I'm not yours."

Astarion tugs at your pants and underwear, pulling them over your rear and letting them pool around your ankles. You kick off your boots and free yourself, leaving your lower half bare to the open air. A shiver rushes up your spine as the cold air hits your dripping heat. 

Astarion's slim fingers trail down your folds, and you bite your lips to stifle a cry. Tilting your head back, you see the rogue admiring the slick coating his fingers. 

"You might not be mine, darling." Astarion slips his drenched fingers into his mouth, and you watch, mouth agape, as he swirls his tongue to clean each digit. "But who else has seen you bent over a desk looking as desperate and delicious as you do now?"

"I could name a few," you say cheekily, earning you a smack on the flesh of your backside. 

Astarion gropes the reddened skin and bends down, blanketing you with his body. You feel the soft pants of his breath cascade over your neck as Astarion brings his lips to your ear.

"Then it seems I'm just going to have to ruin you for anyone else." Astarion practically growls and licks along the shell of your ear before taking the lobe in between his mouth and teasing it with his teeth. You don't recall hearing Astarion unclasp his belt, but when you feel his bare cock rub against your back, all you can do is arch your back and moan.

"Astarion," you part your legs more in silent invitation.

"Yes, my dear," His voice is smug as he rocks against you. He knows what you want but wants to hear you say it. 

The head of his cock parts your folds and moves to tease your desperate clit; a collective moan fills the room, but it is not enough for either of you. And knowing that the two of you are currently in the middle of dangerous territory means there is no time to play. 

"Stop being a prick and fuck me."

"Have I ever told you, you always have such a way with words." Astarion chuckles before plunging deep into your cunt.

A shaky cry leaves your lips, all air seemingly ripped from your lungs. Astarion is bigger than most men you've slept with prior - though you wouldn't dare voice that out loud in case it inflates his already-inflated ego. The stretch holds a delicious sting, and you feel the beginning of the burn of tears at the corner of your eyes. 

Astarion's still his hips for a moment, letting you collect yourself. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back and peppering kisses across your neck. Once the sting of his initial entrance simmers to a stirring heat, you tell him to move.

"Hells you're so tight." Astarion groans as he sets a teasing pace, dragging the rugged ridges of his cock out before plunging back in at the same agonizing pace. 

A pace you could imagine sharing intimately with Astarion all night somewhere secluded. Perhaps your tent or an isolated clearing, not a random gang's currently empty hideout. And since you're not one to play nice, you decide to play with fire instead.

Pushing up on your elbows, you move your head to look back at Astarion, a playful smirk on your lips. "You say you're going to ruin me, but I think Gale could be doing a better job of it right now."

Astarion's body freezes just as you hoped he would react. He shoots you a look full of daggers and bares his teeth in annoyance. Without comprehending entirely what's happening, Astarion pulls out of you and, with a strength you have not seen from the Vampire (the same Vampire who asks others on multiple occasions to carry his pack because it's too heavy), flips you over and has you seated firmly back on the desk leaving you dizzy but feeling giddy as a schoolgirl. 

"Oh darling, you're going to regret that."

Astarion rams back into your pussy and begins to thrust quick and brutally deep into your body. His cold hand is wrapped around your throat, holding it firmly enough to keep your eyes locked onto him. 

Your legs link around his lean hips, pulling him deeper into you. Moaning desperately, you run one of your hands up under his leather armor, splaying it across his stomach. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and perfection.

 The desk is groaning under the movement of your bodies. Random knick-knacks are clanging to the floor. A bottle of whiskey shatters, and the pungent aroma wafts into the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and slick. 

"You and that mouth of yours." He breathes deep into your ear. "Always so confident, so snarky, so bratty." 

"M-more…" you choke, clenching around his length, desperate for anything and everything he will give you.

"Do you think the wizard could handle you?" The hand not firmly holding your neck snakes between your legs and begins to play with your clit.

"Gods A-star.." You gasp, eyes rolling back.

"Could he or anyone else make you feel this good?" Astarion's hand tightens slightly against your neck, and the lack of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy and euphoric. 

"N-no…please." 

"After me, no one will ever be able to satisfy you." His thumb is now rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit. "Fuck, that's it, squeeze me just like that."

Gripping onto the desk, you shift your hips, and Astarion is now hitting deeper into your abused cunt. You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to go faster. That delicious coil is beginning to burn deep in your stomach, and you know you won't last much longer. 

"Tell me, who's making you feel this good," Astarion demands, voice husky. 

"Y-you," 

"And when you come on my cock, I want you to scream my name." He grunts, and the thrust of his hips is beginning to become sloppier. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

Everything is too much. Astarion's sinful words, the harsh thrust of his hips combined with the tight circles of his thumb on your clit, the musky smell of Astarion's sweat mingling with yours, and the intense fragrance of the spilled whiskey. 

You don't remember the details, just the wave of euphoria as the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. The words that spill from your lips hold no meaning in your clouded mind. The only thing that holds context is the feeling of Astarion stuttering thrusts of his hips as he chases his release from your spent body. 

And when he stills, and the world falls silent apart for your combined pants of breath, all you do is brush the curls off his forehead and kiss his cheek. Why? You're not sure, but that's something you'll ask yourself later. 

Once you return to relatively normal breathing, Astarion moves from his slumped position against your body. He stares at you in astonishment.

"Well, that happened." You offer because what else were you supposed to say?

Astarion breaks out into a genuine laugh, full belly and joyful as he tucks himself away. You couldn't help but join in as you move to put your clothes on.

"Yes, my sweet, I suppose that did happen."

"So where-"

The two of you jump at a commotion coming from the hall. Someone is jingling the doorknob, trying to open it; when it doesn't budge, there is a loud bang followed by an even louder shout of anger.

"Fuck!" You quickly finish tying your boots and collect your gear.

"Seems like our friends are back from their trip. I believe it's time to go." Astarion says as he moves to the window and opens it. Without waiting for you to respond, he gives you a devilish smirk and jumps out.

"Shit, the paper." You sigh, knowing you'll never hear the end of it. 

By the time you make it to the window, the door is being busted in, and a very angry-looking dwarf is storming into the room. You smile at him and give him a salute before diving out the window, knowing Astarion will be there to catch you.

***Later at camp***

"What do you mean you didn't get the document?" Gale yells, the others equally baffled by you and Astarion's failure. "That was the only thing you needed to get!"

You shrink in on yourself looking to Astarion for help. "I...I don"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Stealing objects from heavily populated hideouts is harder than you might think, wizard." 

"That's why we sent you two!"

"Then perhaps next time-"

"HOLY SHIT!" Karlach interrupts, drawing everyone's attention. She's pointing straight at you with a look of bafflement. "Soldier's got a fucking hickey."

You clamp a hand over the spot Astarion was biting at earlier, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

Shadowheart's face scrunches up in disgust. "Please don't tell me, we're not getting paid because you two idiots decided to fuck?"

"Darling, it would seem the cat's out of the bag." The bastard has the audacity to look proud.

"I hate you all." You groan and storm off to your tent, contemplating just how bad it would be to join the Absolute.

Feedback always makes my day so let me know what you guys thought. And if you're looking for something sweet to balance out the spice check out my last post right here.

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[vixstarria]

Missionary with the lights off

We're back in Act 1 again! I swear I'll start moving forward now that I'm playing the game again, after this.

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x F!Reader

18+, blood drinking, fluff to smut, porn with plot, PIV

Pst, don't let the title mislead you too much

Approx. 1,800 words

AO3

You woke up in Astarion's tent.  

Last night had been… unusual. Something you said had soured the mood for anything sexual. Instead you stayed up talking late into the night. You hadn't even taken your clothes off.  

You'd never spent the whole night together before, always opting to make your way back to your respective tents eventually, after your nocturnal activities, but then again you’d spent those previous nights opening your legs more so than your heart. Something had now shifted a little.  

The last thing you remembered was drifting off with your face nuzzled into his neck as he draped an arm over you, having hugged him on a whim and finding yourself not wanting to let go. What you saw now was completely contrary to that memory, as you found yourself lying on your side, with Astarion's head pressed against your chest, right over your heart, both arms holding you close. He must have moved himself while you were asleep. 

He looked perfectly at peace. It was actually adorable, seeing the prickly rogue like this.  

You reached out to softly run your hand over his disarrayed curls, when he also stirred. 

“Hello, darling,” you purred, copying his habitual greeting for you. 

Astarion was startled, suddenly jolting up. He seemed momentarily disoriented, taking in you and his surroundings for a few moments before comprehension returned to his eyes.  

“Are you alright..?” you asked. “I know it's first thing in the morning, but surely I don't look that disturbing.” 

“Yes, sorry… I just… I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to someone,” he said finally. 

“The night at the clearing..?” you offered. 

“I didn’t sleep that night,” he admitted. “And now there's a woman in my tent and I don't know what to do. ...Ahah..! Refresh my memory, what is the protocol? Do I need to make you breakfast?” he joked. 

“I’m sure Gale’s already working on that,” you grinned. 

Astarion laid back down next to you, propped up on an elbow. He gave you an odd half-smile with a slight frown, his eyes narrowed. Not unkindly, but rather a bit… awkwardly. You wondered what he was thinking. 

You ignored the odd look, and instead your eyes wandered up to survey his bedhead. No trace of pomade was left in his hair, instead some of it was standing on end, while other, longer strands started to fall over his eyes as he leaned on his hand, watching you.  

“What is going on here..?” you laughed, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. He leaned into your hand as you ran your fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes, his lips widening into a genuine smile. He reminded you of a cat that was enjoying a head scratch.  

“I don't have the slightest idea, darling,” he drawled. “But I guess you have to die after all, now that you've seen it.” 

“You are a horrible flirt, you know, and I don't mean that in a good way." 

“It works on you, doesn't it?” he shrugged, grinning and leaning in for a kiss.  

“Hmm, but returning to breakfast,” you said, breaking the kiss as his lips slowly made their way down to your neck. “What about you? Fancy a nibble?” 

“If it's on offer…” Astarion purred, continuing his way down. He knew your body entirely too well at this point. His lips lingered on the exact spot that made your breath shudder, sending a wave of shivers all through you. “Where..?” 

“Right there,” you breathed.  

“Oh? You want me to leave my mark on you, right where everyone can see..?” he murmured, continuing to kiss your neck. You usually offered him your wrist.  

“It’s not like they don’t already know what we’ve been doing, so sure, mark me...” you replied. “Mark me as yours,” you added in a hoarse whisper.  

Once the words were out you wondered if it was too much, but Astarion clearly liked the idea. He liked it a lot, judging by the soft growl he let out, as he continued to trail his lips along your neck, searching for just the right spot. You knew he'd found it, you remembered where he's bitten you before, but instead of going in for a bite he toyed with you, leaving slow, deliberate licks, until you released a small moan, and only then sank his fangs in you, lightly grinding his hips into yours as he did.  

Something about a vampire's bite made it quite unlike anything else. It started off as a sharp, icy chill, gradually spreading and melting into something that stung the way an itch strings right before you scratch it, multiplied tenfold. The only way to relieve that stinging sensation was to give into it, more and more. The area bitten remained tender and sensitive in the most erogenous way for a long time after the bite itself. The whole experience was inherently erotic, no matter where the bite was. 

You understood why this was fetishised. You also understood how people happily allowed themselves to be bled dry.  

Astarion continued to grind against you, slowly, his erection evident. This was nothing new and didn't necessarily mean anything - you’ve joked before that any blood he drank went straight to his dick before going anywhere else – which is why you usually did this privately, even when he drank from your wrist.  

However, this time, you really didn't want it to just be casual. You didn't think he did either, the way he was breathing. One of your hands was caught in his hair at the back of his head, the other trailed down to his hips, squeezing, as he grinded into you harder, making you crave more.  

And then it was over and you felt a profound sense of disappointment and loss, as Astarion gave your neck a few final licks and broke away from you, lifting his body from yours. The only contact that remained between you two was your eyes, as he gave you an unwavering look of barely contained lust.  

The aching need between your legs had become unbearable.  

One heartbeat... Two... Three... 

Astarion’s lips crashed into yours.  

Suddenly, without a single word, you found yourselves tearing at each other’s pants in an urgent rush to remove them.  

Curse them, you thought. You would start sleeping in a nightgown, if you managed to find one. Or naked. Or steal Astarion’s shirt. 

You thought you recognised some elvish curses as Astarion snarled, struggling to pull your pants off without lifting his body from you, biting your lip as you managed to twist and free one leg, the other pant leg left danging at your knee. 

All the while, you’d been tearing at the lacing on Astarion’s pants, managing to undo it just enough to slide them low enough to release his pulsing cock. 

You didn’t even bother with your shirts. You had a burning, ravenous hunger, and it had to be sated. Immediately.  

You tugged on Astarion’s cock, impatiently guiding it towards your throbbing pussy. You had no time or eagerness or wish for any teasing or foreplay, only a carnal, animalistic need. You’d barely aligned Astarion’s dick with your entrance when he plunged himself into you, fully, with another swear through gritted teeth.  

Finally, you felt complete.  

There was no rhythm, decency or finesse to what followed, the only way you could describe it was mindless, feral rutting. You dug your fingers into his hips, trying to bring him closer, deeper, moaning as his tongue writhed against yours. He couldn’t be close enough - even had you melded into one you would still want more of him. 

You spread your legs wide, angling your hips so his body hit your exposed clit with every thrust, and bucked into him, desperately. He changed his thrusts to a more rolling motion, rubbing into you.  

“Yes... Like that...” you barely managed. 

There was a commotion, a loud clanking, crashing sound and some yelling outside. 

“Astarion!” you heard Wyll’s voice just outside the tent, shortly after.  

"Fuck,” Astarion growled under his breath. “Three minutes!” he shouted. 

Three minutes? Then again, you didn’t think you were going to last even another minute. 

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand as his hips continued to relentlessly grind you into the floor of his tent. Your whimpers grew more drawn out until your body stilled before breaking into tremors emanating from your hips, as he continued to fuck you. You were holding on to his back for dear life, bringing your legs up to wrap tightly around his hips, moaning into his hand as you came. 

Immediately, he changed his rolling thrusts to something frantic, grabbing your hand and bringing it over your head, and catching your knee at his elbow and bringing it up with his other arm. He buried his face in your neck, moaning, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, until he slammed his hips into you with a final groan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you. 

“Astarion! This is urgent!” you heard Wyll again.  

“He’s coming!” you yelled, exasperated, before you realised what you’d said.  

Your words were greeted with a momentary silence, then the sound of Karlach laughing somewhat off in the distance.  

Astarion was also laughing into your neck, his shoulders shaking even as he delivered his final thrusts. 

“That was-” he panted between laughter, “the sloppiest... most unimaginative... objectively worst sex I've ever had.” 

“And subjectively..?” you asked, also starting to laugh as you came off the sudden high that had overtaken you.  

“I wouldn’t mind waking up to something like that every day for the rest of my life,” he said, lifting his head and looking at you. 

“That can be arranged,” you purred. 

There was that little frown again, as he cocked an eyebrow at you.  

“We could always die today,” you shrugged. 

“Funny...” he said. “Anyway... Good luck with this giant mess I left between your legs. I better go see what is so godsdamn important.” 

Bonus scene: 

“What do you mean, I’m the only adult here that knows how to manage a needle and thread?! And how do you even rip a bag of holding..?!” 

“Astarion, our fate is in your hands.” 

“No, you can carry your own shit from here on. I’m fine with just my weapons and the clothes on my back.” 

“We need you, Astarion!” 

“At least get rid of all the junk, what do we need a dozen goblin scimitars for, they’re not even worth anything!” 

“Save us, Astarion!” 

“Rotten carrots, rusty tongs... Is that literally just a rock?” 

“Save us, 239-year-old vampire that can sew!”  

Sigh... Astarion observed the torn bag with a resigned look.  

“...Would you mind mending Clive as well, while you’ve got the kit out..? He’s been through hell and back. And looks it.” 

“Yes, Karlach, I’ll fix up your teddy bear too...” 

~~~~~ 

Mark me as yours - fic re the following day

I have a whole series with these two, check it out

AO3

[xvysarene]

𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Prompt: “Why do you always have to get under my skin?” Words: ~2k Genre: Suggestive Notice: Mentions of wound, profanities

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

Halting at the top of the stairs leading to your flat, your hands tightened around the pocket knife you had begun to carry.

Your eyes scanned the swaying tree nearby, certain that you had caught sight of that damn crow once again.

Since waking up on the white sheets of the hospital two weeks ago, after being rescued from a kidnapping by a certain someone who seemed to vanish into thin air (again), you often caught the mechanical black bird at the corner of your eye.

Locking the front door behind you with a click, the familiar surroundings of your home offered a brief moment of comfort.

Until your eyes landed upon the man sitting on your couch. He sat there as if he belonged.

“To what do I owe this displeasure?” You sighed, not even questioning how he got in, though your door was accessible only with your fingerprint.

A small smirk played at the corner of Sylus’s lips. “It’s good to see your feistiness returning.”

“If you saved me and paid my hospital bills in hopes to gather more information, you’ll be disappointed. I have none.”

One eyebrow, a shade darker than his hair, arched at the unexpected accusation. “Is it so hard to believe that was purely my good intention?”

“I became a puppet in whatever beef you had with my kidnappers. It would be stupid of me to assume that you’d do a goodwill for someone you claim not to care about,” you said bitterly, the memory of the event happening a couple of weeks ago flooding back vividly.

“The great man Sylus can’t take it when someone touches his whore. We were just about to have fun, weren't we, darling?”

Sylus remained unfazed by your capturer’s mockery. One of the lifeless goons was still dangling from his grip, and he casually chucked it to the ground as though it weighed nothing.

If you hadn’t been watching his eyes closely that day, you would have missed the quick flick of his gaze taking the blossoming bruise on your cheek, the half-ripped blouse, and the cold blade pressed against your neck, biting into the tender skin.

“I don’t care about her,” he drawled. 

And not once did his eyes lock with yours. It was stupid to feel hurt by his indifference. You wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren't for this heartless prick.

Yet his words stung deeply.

The feeling of the wooden door flushed against your back grounded you to the present, trapping you in as he silently closed the distance.

Struggling to remain undaunted, you continued, “You completely ignored me after manipulating me to gain information on the hunters who had begun meddling in your business—”

“I ignored you so those hunters wouldn’t trace you back to me,” he cut you off.

It took a few seconds to let his words sink in. “What?” You gaped.

“Your kidnappers were among the hunters you mentioned to me. They were not UNICORNS’, they were rogue hunters whose leader I killed. That’s why they were after me.”

He ran a hand through his face. “When I realised how unknowingly deep you were in this mess, I had to divert their attention away from you.”

His towering height prompted you to tilt your head upward. The ghost of his fingertips tracing from your cheek, down to the side of your neck, caused you to flinch in surprise.

“What do you think those lowlifes would do if I show even an ounce of care towards you?”

While the bruises had subsided, the scar from where the blade had grazed you remained.

A muscle ticked in his jaw seeing the jagged line. “You weren’t supposed to be involved at all.”

“A bit too late now isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened, an ember of fury passing through them. “I ensured they suffered tenfold for what they did to you, and only then did I end them.”

The sound of breaking bones and desperate noises from that day rang in your head. It was a blessing in disguise that your eyes screwed instinctively as the captor callously tossed you aside.

You didn’t even want to witness the horrors Sylus had done to them.

Your silence drew his eyes down to the pocket knife still clutched in your hand, now looking so harmless. Wouldn’t it be nice to be born with the Evol gene? Maybe then you could’ve protected yourself better.

“Are you still planning to stab me with that?”

“Depends.” Your chin lifted defiantly.

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes as he chuckled lowly, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You hated your body for reacting that way. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could affect you.

“Why are you here then? What more do you want from me?”

“You,” he said without a heartbeat’s pause, “I want you.”

It felt as if the air had been stolen from your lungs, leaving you breathless.

Sylus was a big, red warning sign. Much like his eyes. And yet, when he locked you in that magnetic gaze, your brain short-circuited.

He’s got you spellbound ever since you first met him at The Nest, acting like a gentleman by saving you from the overly handsy drunk patrons, before worming his way into your life with calculated charm.

Every colleague had warned you about him, yet you still chose to dance with danger.

“You think you can just walk in here and take whatever you want?”

A slow smile curved the corner of his lips, leaving you torn between wanting to slap it off his face or kiss it away.

Maybe both.

“I can try, right?” His confidence was maddening, and yet, it drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Your mind screamed to push him away, to run, but your body betrayed you, entranced by the undeniable tension that always seemed to exude whenever the two of you were near each other.

“Why do you always have to get under my skin?” you were too breathless, too vulnerable for your liking.

He dipped his head closer, his voice a low, intimate murmur by your ear, “Figuratively or literally?”

The feel of his rough, masculine fingers at the nape of your neck sent your heart racing. 

Haunting reminders of them tightening around your throat, the pressure mirroring his relentless thrusts, would forever be burned in the back of your mind.

Oh, and how could you forget how those fingers always managed to find your sensitive spots, teasing and exploring with an expertise that was both exhilarating and overwhelming?

His hands knew your body as if it were an instrument crafted just for him, every caress producing a harmony of sensations that only he knew how to play.

As he repeated his question, daring you to answer him, you punched his firm chest. “Don't fucking play games with me, Sylus.”

“Who said I'm playing?” His other hand enclosed over your pocket knife, tossing it somewhere behind him. The clattering sound should’ve cleared your head, yet it didn’t. “I know what I’ve always wanted. You don’t know how hard it is to ignore you and not send every guy who eye-fucks you six feet under whenever I visit the bar.”

Underneath the surface of physical attraction and fleeting desires, there was always a complex connection between the two of you that couldn't be easily dismissed.

Those eyes, a deep, passionate red, always glowed with intensity when they fixed upon you, as if nothing else in this world could divert his attention.

As if he wanted to make you his, to protect and treasure with every fibre of his being.

“You're impossible,” you whispered, though it lacked conviction.

With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he asked you a question. So, what's it going to be?

He was a confident man. Direct. In no rush.

You should've felt ashamed when your hands moved of their own accord and tugged at his lapel roughly, but you couldn't care less when your lips met his with equal passion.

The familiar, distinct notes of leather melding with cedarwood enfolded you. As his big palms rested on your bottom, lifting you to ease the strain on your neck, your legs naturally encircled his taut form.

Feeling his thick arousal pressing firmly against your clothed, damp core was an exquisite torture, ripping a deep moan out of you.

Sylus devoured the sound like a starved man finally savouring a long-awaited meal.

His long legs carried you swiftly to the bedroom in less than ten strides, lowering your body onto the mattress with a surprising gentleness, though his lips revealed a contrasting intensity.

Exploring. Consuming. Desiring.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he drew a map of sloppy kisses along the curve of your neck.

Until he stopped short at the spot where you knew the slightly raised scar from the blade was.

“I am sorry, I should’ve kept you close.”

The crack of emotion seeping from his voice startled you, forcing your eyes open to meet his crimson orbs already focusing on you.

A vulnerability he hardly revealed to the world softened the stern lines of his face. Swirls of yearning and fury were a turbulent mix in his pupils.

“I won’t let anyone else hurt you again.”

How could this man be so full of contradictions?

He was rough and tender.

Brutal and compassionate.

“Just because I don’t possess any Evol, doesn’t mean that I’m fragile.” 

The caress of your palm cradling his cheek prompted his eyes to drift shut. His lips grazed your wrist, where the skin, once raw and marred red from being bound, had now healed up nicely.

“But if you get hurt because of me, then I will never be able to forgive myself, amore.”

If hearing the familiar pet name tumbling out of his lips didn’t turn you into mush, the sensation of his big palm sliding beneath your shirt certainly would.

His warm and protective touch on your bare flesh sent tingles racing along your skin.

“Come stay with me.”

You weren’t even able to let out a gasp of surprise as Sylus discarded your clothes at such an admirable speed.

“For the night? In the N109 zone?” your voice was embarrassingly high-pitched as his silver hair tickled your sensitive skin. Each kiss trailed lower down your chest like gentle raindrops.

“Do you really think I would let you go after tonight?” A small bite was the punishment you received for asking such a ridiculous question. “Everyone knows how important you are to me by now, and I'm not taking any chances with your security. Everywhere, anywhere—I don’t care, as long as I can keep you safe.”

One of his strong thighs settled in between your legs. The fabric of his pants felt so amazing against your throbbing centre, heightening your desire with each agonisingly slow friction.

It was not fair how he had you under his mercy while asking such a serious question. Perhaps this was his cunning way of ensuring you would say yes.

And you were a lost cause, head bobbing up and down the slightest as you surrendered to his control.

“I need your words, amore.”

His hair was dishevelled, sharp features were accentuated by the city lights as he leaned closer to your face again. Ever so subtle, he pressed his thigh more unforgivingly into your core, driving you crazy.

Red eyes twinkled with mischief as Sylus enjoyed watching you squirm underneath him, delighting in the unfiltered lust flushing your face with each teasing contact.

Ever the insufferable tease, he slid his hand underneath your pants, fingers millimetres away from where you needed him the most.

“Yes, I’ll stay with you! God, you’re the worst,” you almost screamed in frustration as your hips bucked. Gasping, you felt those wicked fingers finally descend lower. “Now, talk less and do more.”

A deep hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest as you felt his grin on your lips, complying with your request. 

“I am no God, but I’ll make sure you chant my name.”

He would damn well make sure that you two would be christening every corner of his living space—now yours—starting from the sleek granite kitchen countertops, to the plush rug in the living room, all the way to the balcony beneath the moonlit sky.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[sserpente]

Magic Hands

Synopsis: Astarion teaches you how to use a dagger in battle. The sweaty training calls for a bath in the nearby river afterward and you can’t help but admire the vampire rogue in the pale moonlight, surrounded by the glistening water surface. He seems… tense. Perhaps you can repay him by giving him a gentle massage?

A/N: Why did this take me so long to write, oh my gods! :D

Words: 2038 Warnings: smut, mentions of sexual trauma

Your battle cry echoed across the entire campsite when you plunged your blade forward. Lae’zel’s makeshift mind flayer dummy was rendered with holes at this point, oozing hey from several rips in the old fabric she had used to craft it.

The impact had you sway to one side and you shifted your weight, your left arm flailing about clumsily.

“Good. Now try that again without losing your balance.”

You grunted, shooting him an angry glance. He had his sleeves rolled up, and his arms crossed before his chest. It was almost distracting. Almost.

You had been at it for hours. Granted, it had been your idea—if you were going to survive this involuntary adventure, you might as well learn how to defend yourself. You were surprised you’d even made it this far. And, since attacking from the shadows was much more your cup of tea than storming headfirst into battle like Wyll or Lae’zel, you’d kindly asked Astarion to help you out.

He was a tough and strict teacher, you had to give him that. But you were making quick progress too. Before today, you hadn’t even been able to hold a dagger properly.

You withdrew your weapon and returned to your original position.

“Ah-ah-ah. No, darling. What did we just learn?” His teasing voice went down like butter. That was even more distracting.

Astarion pointed at your left foot. You shifted in the dirt, creating a grovelling noise.

“There we go. Now try again.”

You did as you were told, lunging at the dummy once more. Astarion tutted at you when you lost your balance yet again.

“Hey, don’t tut me!”

“I see where the problem lies now. Go on. Get back in position.”

Grunting once more, you obeyed. What you were not prepared for, however, was that he would step right behind you and place his hands on your stomach and waist. You sucked in a deep breath, tensing up.

“Keep tension here. You’ll want to make sure that lovely core of yours keeps you on your feet.”

Memories from your night in the woods came flooding back, sending you down a spiral of pleasure and arousal. You cleared your throat.

“Okay. I got it. I think.”

The sensation of loss was nearly overwhelming when he let go again. You could have sworn you saw him smirk from the corner of your eye.

You got into position again, took a deep breath, and… struck.

“Good girl.” You would have dropped the dagger had it not been lodged deeply within the mindflayer dummy. “Again.”

Again. Again and again and again until Astarion was certain you got the hang of it. Your arms were burning by the time he clapped and finally let you off the hook for the day.

“Be honest, you’re enjoying this a little.”

The vampire smirked. “More than just a little, darling.”

Heat crept up your cheeks, forcing you to bite your lower lip. “Whatever. I should get washed.”

“Hmm, so should I.”

You offered him a smile. Making your way toward the lake, you walked past Lae’zel who was sharpening her sword, Karlach who was dancing to a song only audible to her, and Gale practicing little magic tricks. Wyll and Halsin were with Shadowheart, talking and drinking by the fireplace.

You sighed. It could have been peaceful if it wasn’t for the imminent threat of a tadpole turning you all into thralls.

Once you reached the shore, there was no hesitation in your movements. You stripped off your clothes, knowing the bushes would hide you from unwanted eyes. As for Astarion… well… there was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

The vampire followed suit though you did notice that he avoided your gaze as he undressed. You couldn’t help but watch him regardless as he waded into the water until he was submerged hip-deep.

“You look really fine in the moonlight, you know that?” you said, joining him swiftly.

“Of course I do, I’m a vampire, darling.” He swam closer to you, allowing you to wrap your entire body around him. Astarion’s hands found your behind, squeezing gently.

“That’s not what I meant,” you whispered. His lips were cold when you met them with yours, a playful kiss soon turning into a passionate display of affection.

By the time you finally broke apart panting, Astarion rolled his shoulders with a groan.

“Is everything alright? You seem even tenser than me.”

“Oh well, it can’t be helped. Must be the weight of being a hero on my shoulders,” he spat with dismay. Oh yeah… he’d made it clear his interest in saving the refugees was ridiculously small. You had your theories on that… yet there was no way in the hells Astarion was a terrible person but rather… a person terrible things had happened to. The scars on his back spoke for themselves.

“I could help with that if you want,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“Help? How?”

“This is gonna sound silly but I used to work as a massage therapist for a few years, back in Baldur’s Gate, I mean. I have magic hands. I know a lot of techniques to relieve back pain and back tension…” You trailed off, studying his reaction.

“Magic hands?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you and somehow, you knew exactly what was going on in his mind. Relieving a different kind of tension at your celebration with the Tieflings was one thing… having someone work his back and stroke every inch of exposed skin with skilled hands, right over the scars that had brought him so much torment… that was another.

“You want to… well… I…”

“If you want to?”

“Well… I suppose…”

You tilted your head. He wanted to accept, you could tell. But was that… concern glistening in his red eyes?

“You know, I’m, uh… I’m not offering this to have sex with you again. I mean… I really, really enjoyed myself, Astarion but… I honestly feel like that’s the reason you’re being wary, isn’t it? Along with me, um… touching your scars.”

His lips parted.

“I just want to help. And only if you’ll let me.”

“Alright… fine.”

You nodded, the tension you didn’t realise had been building up inside of you leaving your body.

“Then come find me in my tent later.”

You left him some privacy after your swim, returning to your makeshift home to find anything you could use as a massage oil. You settled for an ointment in the end, one that Halsin usually used to treat wounds. It would do. You could hardly use a bottle of grease after all.

You were rather certain Astarion waited until the others were asleep on purpose. When he parted the fabric of your makeshift door and crouched down a little to come inside, you patted your bedroll and smiled at him.

His coyness was adorable. While before his heart-breaking confession, every single word that had left his lips was a flirt, he was but a frightened young man now, intimidated by intimacy.

“Lie down, my love. And… Astarion?”

His red eyes met yours as he followed your request and removed his shirt, once again revealing those horrifying scars to you.

“You need to stop me if you’re feeling uncomfortable, alright?”

The vampire spawn smirked. “How could I possibly feel uncomfortable with your skilled hands dancing over my body, pet?”

“You know what I mean.” You grinned, relieved that his smarm was not lost on him.

“Of course.”

“Now lie down on your belly and close your eyes.”

Astarion sighed and did as he was told. You straddled him, trifling some of the oil on your hands and rubbing them together before eventually… placing your palms on his bare back.

Your fingers glided over the ridges of his scars, your thumbs digging into the muscles, looking for any tension. You found it all too quickly, working knot after knot out of his tormented back.

Soon enough, he relaxed. His sigh was so innocent you couldn’t help but lean forward and place a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades.

You pampered him for a while, making sure to massage each and every spot on his back. You did not fail to miss the faint moan when you asked him to turn over so you could work on the rest of his body. Gods, you were enjoying this even more than he was.

Astarion’s gaze was filled with repose and… hunger. And when your eyes travelled further down, your lips parted and you realised why.

He was hard.

“Do you… do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t… you… dare…” he muttered, eyes half-closed still.

You bit your lower lip, oily hands gliding over his chest. It wasn’t just him. You were as wet as the river you’d bathed in just a few hours back and now that you were aware just how much your sensual treatment affected him, the arousal was nearly unbearable.

Breathing heavily, you swallowed and paused.

“How about… I have an idea.”

He sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “Oh?”

His sly smirk caught you entirely off guard though you were unsure whether he was merely trying to hide his insecurity behind it. He’d told you he didn’t want you to think of him in terms of sex for now and you would respect that wish. There was no need for you to act on your own excitement even if it drove you insane. But if he let you… you wanted to make him feel good so badly that it almost caused you physical discomfort.

“I could… take care of… that,” you muttered, pointing at the growing bulge in his trousers.

Astarion raised his eyebrows, passion glistening in those red eyes.

“Let me pamper you. No sex. I might as well give you a… full body massage at this point. And if it gets too much, you stop me.”

“We… we could try.” He nodded, lying back down but keeping his eyes wide open as you opened his trousers with gentle movements and pulled his erection free.

Astarion flinched when your oily hand wrapped around his hardening length, fingertips teasing him tenderly.

“Okay?”

He nodded.

“I need you to tell me with words, my love.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “Okay. That feels… nice.”

One thing you realised very quickly was that he had never experienced anything like this before. Someone who wished for nothing more than to bring him pleasure, to make him feel good, without expecting anything in return. To give him back his sensuality where only he and his well-being mattered without his body being sexualised or objectified…

It must have been such a novel concept to him… biting your lower lip, you began to stroke him with firm yet tender touches, your thumb gliding over his slit and rubbing over his tip.

He squirmed, bucking his hips in response with a quiet moan. It was enough of a reaction to urge you on, your movements quickening and adapting to his rapid breathing.

You paused when he uttered your name with a start.

“No… no, don’t stop, my love… don’t you dare stop…”

So you kept going, driving him to the edge with hungry ferocity. Gods, he looked so delicious. So carefree and innocent all because of you…

“I… I… I will…”

Astarion thrust up into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Pleasure flushed his entire face, his lips parting. He tensed up, his thighs shaking and his fingers clutching at the soft material of your bedroll. He came all over your hands and knuckles, ropes of seed clear evidence of his release. You helped him ride it out, squeezing every last drop from his pretty cock until he was spent and panting, his body relaxing again bit by bit.

“You look so beautiful when you come undone…” you whispered, wiping your hands on some rags you kept nearby.

He chuckled. “And you do have magic hands. I might have to ask you to do that again soon.”

You smiled, cuddling up to him with a smile. Neither of you bothered to get undressed completely. You were perfectly fine with falling asleep like this.

“Anytime, Astarion. Always.”

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn’t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."

[astarionancuntnin]

Hyello! I don’t know if you do requests but I thought I’d ask so the request is that x reader is honestly pretty badass and Astarion does something that pisses her off and so she barges into his tent after a long day to tell him off and fight him but decides that amidst the anger there is also hunger and decides theres a a way he can make it up to her and smutty content insues, preferably very like animalistic?? think closer by nine inch nails lol i do like the idea that they're both fighting for dominance in the interaction, you choose which one wins lol hope I’m not bothering you

did i listen to closer on repeat to bring you this? perhaps

and i never really put it out there, but hell yeah im taking requests! thank you for being my first <3

(also thank you for your patience i was heavily focused on my last chapters for die for you before approaching this ask and then it really went overboard LMAO you said "animalistic" and i took it literally, i hope you enjoy!)

Run, Little Fox

pairing: astarion x reader!ranger!tav

rating: E

word count: 5.1k

cw: 18+. smut, biblicaly accurate Astarion primal!astarion, predator/prey, knife play (if you squint), rivals/hate sex, mildly dubious consent, fighting for dominance, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie, very slight somnophilia (but id rather mention it, never too safe)

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

That’s it. 

That was once too many.

This brat of a rogue had gotten on your nerves more times than you could recall, and today you decided you had enough. Your group trusted and respected your position as their leader, a brave and cunning ranger whose decisions everyone agreed with — as they were for the greater good — so why couldn’t he do the same? It wasn’t enough that he questioned your every move in front of everyone else, no, he grew bored of you ignoring his remarks. He just had to act on his impulses and get you in trouble this time. 

You had intended on getting information out of a group of adventurers, when he had tried to pickpocket them in the middle of your discussion, and when he got caught, things obviously went south. You tried to talk things down, but they wouldn’t hear it. One thing led to another and next thing you know, they laid in a pool of their own blood and you stood with no more information than you started with. All of it, because of him, and he had the gall to say it was your own fault for not defusing the situation better. Really?!

The stress of this adventure — the impending doom that those tadpoles in your brains were — was already enough weight on your shoulders, you didn’t want to deal with Astarion’s trickery on top of it anymore. No — you couldn’t. You had enough of his unnerving attitude; enough of his shameless flirting when it was clear you weren’t interested; enough of his impetuous disdain and insolence that matched your own. Tonight, you would set the record right.

Once back at camp after this horrendous, unending day by his side, the first thing you do after dropping your loot and equipment at your tent, is bolt straight for Astarion’s. 

Still covered in a mix of your sweat, today’s unfortunate souls’ blood — and your own — you burst through the entrance of Astarion’s tent without so much as a warning to find him peacefully laying, with one arm behind his head and the other already flipping through the pages of a book he had found, and most certainly stolen, during today’s stroll.

He barely lifts his head to notice your intrusion, his eyes darting your way, half-lidded. “Looking for a cuddle?” 

The sheer audacity of the smirk he gives you. 

“You—” You fully step into his tent, staring him down with an anger that couldn’t be contained, as you close the flaps behind you, “Have been a pain in my ass for long enough.”

He scoffs, “Darling, we haven’t been close like that yet — unless this is your way of asking?” He closes his book and puts it aside to focus on you, as he rests on his elbows, his taunting smile never leaving his lips. What you wouldn't give to wipe it away from his smug face.

“The last thing I want is you anywhere near me.”

“You see,” he checks his nails, bored. “I have a hard time believing that, dear.”

“Get over yourself.” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed at how well he could annoy you. “What makes you think I want anything to do with you after the commotion you caused today?”

“For one, you came to me, in my tent. If that's not a dead giveaway, I don't know what is,” his eyes dart back to you. “And to further prove that point, you still haven’t left — even though you claim I am the reason for your frustration. Really, it's as if you relished my company after all.”

You open your mouth to contradict him, but your words are left hanging when he gets up, his shirt slightly unbuttoned revealing the lines of his muscles concealed underneath and you can’t help but let your eyes wander longer than you intended, gulping as you do so. He chuckles lightly before he speaks up again.

“Secondly, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

Your eyes shoot up to his face again, and you ask defensively, “Would you rather have me not look at you?”

He gives you a mischievous look as he eyes you up and down, and he meets your gaze with just as much intensity.

“Third, and lastly, I can smell you, darling.”

“I haven't washed yet.”

“You know that isn't what I'm referring to.”

Your heartbeat quickens, as the air seems to draw out of the tent, “Well, whatever you think this is, isn't your doing,” you lie plainly in the hopes he buys it, but his smirk leads you to believe he sees right through it.

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself, dearest.” He tilts his head, a long silence settling in between the two of you, with your breathing as the only sound audible in the space of his tent. “Maybe… There's another reason you might be frustrated. That all this, pent up anger building inside, is because of something else that you can’t control.” He closes the distance between the two of you, stopping but a whisper away from your face, and his voice gets lower, deeper. “Something that you would rather not have to deal with, but for some reason just can’t get rid of. Something that just rubs you the wrong way, and is the same reason why you can’t help but want to stay in my presence.” 

You scoff, challenging his gaze, “If that something you’re referring to is you, Astarion, then you’re right — you are the sole reason of my frustration as of late, but I could do without your irritating presence.”

“Oh, but I could make it much more pleasurable.” 

You lean back, and turn your head aside, trying to make some distance between the two of you, ”You give yourself too much credit.”

He slides a finger down your throat, leaving an unexpected shiver in its wake as he exposes your neck, when he pushes your vagabond strands of hair away, before he continues.

“Why don’t you give me a chance to show you exactly what I mean? We would both benefit from this, really; I could fix your predicament, and in exchange, I could receive… a little something from you in return.”

You contemplated the opportunity laid before you for just a second before opting for the reasonable choice. You grab his hand, pulling it away from you and when you speak up again, the anger in your voice is gone, leaving place for your much smoother, yet very assertive tone. “If you want my blood, you’ll have to earn it.”

You release his hand and he keeps it in the air where you left it, cocking his head to the side as he looks at where your hand had held him, “Earn it, you say?”

You nod, “We wouldn’t want you to become soft now, would we?” A smile of your own takes place on your lips. “If I am to be your meal, it’s only fair that you work for it.”

His eyes dart back to yours as a smirk appears on his lips, “I’m all pointy ears.”

“I’ll be hiding in the woods. If you can find and catch me, you get to drink from me. But if I catch you instead, you’re never getting a drop from me.”

He sighs, “That’s hardly a fair proposition, darling.” As you’re about to contradict him, he continues, “Here’s mine instead: if you catch me, fine — I’ll keep chasing boars and whatnot in the woods — but if I catch you…” He leans over the crook of your neck, whispering. “I get to drink from you every. night.”

You grab him by the chin, bringing him face to face with you, “If I catch you, you don’t get to put the party at risk anymore. You will be kicked out of the camp if you do.” If you had to put your vitality on the line, he had to bet something just as valuable.

His fangs glow in the faint lighting of his tent as he smiles. “Deal.”

You drop his chin as he steps back and you notice how something about him seems to be shifting; the pupils of his eyes widen, darkening; his own breathing stops; the hands at his side turning into claws, with his long and sharp nails peaking out, ready to hunt. There was nothing left of the rogue in distress that you picked up a few weeks ago, who could’ve pretended to be nothing more than an innocent, but rather pale, elf. 

When he opens his mouth to speak again, you spy his elongated fangs; much longer than you remember them to be, and his voice—

“Run.”

You don’t lose a second more; the vision of nightmares before you triggered your fight or flight reaction and without your weapons, the choice was clear. You turn around and slide through the flaps of his tent, bolting straight for your tent, where you quickly manage to pick up your trusty dagger and your set of bow and arrows.

Thankfully, everyone else at camp had gone off to bed, so no one notices you as you pick a frantic run towards the deep woods, making distance from the hungry vampire on your tracks. 

The woods are dark, with only the faint light of the moon guiding your tracks. Once far enough, or so you think, you hide behind a tree to control your breathing; you had no intention to lose to this, you needed all the advantages you could get. With your experience as a ranger, you were almost assured to catch him off guard.

Almost.

What you had seen in his tent before sprinting off was like nothing you had ever seen before. Of course, you knew Astarion was a vampire, but this was… different.

Terrifying. 

A beast, straight out of those scary bedtime stories you recall from your childhood; a monster guided by his thirst for flesh and blood, who would show no mercy, no remorse. It was merely enough to make you question this challenge with him, Gods, how embarrassing would it be to lose your life to a stupid game you had initiated purely out of spite?

The rustling of leaves nearby brings you back into focus, the adrenaline in your veins keeping you on edge for any sound. You ready your bow before you peek out of your hiding spot to aim where you heard the sound and wait patiently for another moment, your eyes never leaving the bush right until you hear another crack — right when you release the arrow, your aim striking true as you hear a loud thud. You wait a few more seconds, and when no sound can be heard from the bushes you leave your cover, advancing towards your prey. When you push the branches away, you’re face to face with none other than—

A boar.

Shit. Well — guess you caught your next meal.

Another rustling of leaves has you drawing out your bow again, ready to strike, but you’re unable to tell where it comes from.

“How does it feel, little fox?” You hear him through the woods, his deep and raspy, but unnatural voice almost echoing through you. “To be the one being hunted?”

“I’m hunting you, too, in case you forgot,” you mumble mostly to yourself, not wanting to draw out more attention and telling on your location. 

Although you were confident in your capacities, you couldn’t deny the fear building up in your chest. The unnerving feeling of knowing he was around, knowing he was onto you, but unable to find him through the dense woods, the reminder of what he looked like before you ran for your life, a creature of darkness—

“Keep running, you delicious little thing,” his voice already seems to be coming from somewhere else, where exactly you couldn't tell, as if he was constantly moving and it came from everywhere all at once. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

Damn him. He could be anywhere, it was useless to stay there, out in the open, when he was clearly onto you. Then again, he could also intentionally be pushing you to run, only to lead you into a trap of his, right where he wanted you to be. 

No, you’re smarter than this. You won't let your emotions get in the way of this: you were a hunter, born and raised for this kind of situation.

He is just another prey; you can outsmart him. You are better than him.

You put away your bow and arrows; you know your long range weapons would be of no use to you if you couldn’t see your target. If he’s trying to make you run, he has to be further ahead, so the smart choice would be to go back on your tracks.

You turn on your heels in a heartbeat and start sprinting in the opposite way, not even bothering to look behind you for any sign of him, as you hear the clear rustling of branches around you. At this moment, you know he’s right on your tail, the sounds of the forest barely covering the sound of his own movements between the trees — if that was even him. You assume it is, but who’s not to say it isn’t just another boar? Either way, all you can do now is keep running, hoping he will tire before you.

But you were against a creature of the night, someone — or rather something, now — much more in its element, in the darkness of the woods, than you were. 

You don’t run for long before you stop abruptly in your tracks to change directions, leaving the clear road for the crowded forest, where you think you could lose him.

You're temporarily reassured when you don't hear him anymore, and allow yourself to breathe again. Your heart is pounding in your chest, faster than ever, as the fear of being chased — of your life being on the line — created a warmth within you that pooled right down to your core. The risk of being caught, as for once you’re the prey, and you can’t explain it, but it excites you. Although Astarion had gotten on your every nerve, you had to give it to him — he was right that his unnerving attitude had gotten a rise out of you in the most carnal way — but you’d never admit it to his face.

A good minute passes by with no sign of him, and you feel safe enough to peek out of your hiding spot, investigating the beaten path for any sign of life. When you’re met with a dead silence, you move away from the tree you had been leaning against, only to come face to face with Astarion, who drops from the branches just above you. His eyes are somehow a much deeper shade of red, his pupils fully blown out, and he even seems taller as he smiles down on you, and that’s when you perceive the additional fangs that appeared next to the smaller ones you knew. 

You’re fixated on his sudden presence, assessing your opponent the way you would a wild animal, and you remain unmoving, focused on your own breathing.

“Nowhere left to run, I’m afraid,” the voice that comes out of his mouth is otherworldly, almost a growl and nothing like his sultry voice he used to try and charm you before. It’s as if anything that once made him pass as a mortal was gone the second you ran off from him.

You want to turn around and sprint in the opposite direction, but he's faster than your thoughts. Before you can even move a finger, he grabs you by your neck, his sharp nails digging into your skin enough to draw blood as he pushes you against the nearest tree, slightly lifting you from the ground. Instinctively, you reach for your dagger, but he is fast to catch onto your intentions and takes it away from you, throwing it on the ground far from reach. With no other options left, you reach for his hand around your neck, trying to hold on as your vision blurs from the chokehold he had on you. 

“Caught you, little fox,” he leans into your neck where you bled from to breathe you in, and licks your skin from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw, tasting your sweat mixed with the dry blood left on you. Your camp clothing leaves you dangerously exposed as opposed to your armour, and he had every intention to take advantage of it. “You will make a fine meal indeed.”

He presses his entire body against you, and you can feel not only his oddly cold breath down your neck, but also his hard bulge rubbing against your navel, right above the heat between your legs. 

A particularly bad idea crosses your mind, and you know you’ll blame it on the lack of oxygen later, but for now, it’s the only option you have.

Your hand slides down to his crotch, where you squeeze his length through his trousers, making him shudder against you and loosening his grip on your throat. You take this chance to free yourself as you quickly push him away and against the earthy ground of the forest, pinning him down using your entire body weight. You land right next to your knife and grab it just in time before he comes to his senses, now holding it against his throat.

“I win,” you say, breathless, over him.

You remain unmoving, with the threat of your knife keeping him in place, but unsure what to do next — until he laughs. You’re taken aback, but you keep your position, pressing your blade deeper into his throat.

“Well done.” His voice softens, still deeper than what you’re used to, but less guttural than it was a minute ago. “You have me completely and utterly helpless. What will you do next, I wonder?”

You don’t get to answer before you feel him moving under you, his hardness rubbing against that sweet spot between your legs. Your breathing quickens once again, caught off guard by the delicious movement of his hips against you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

“Fulfilling my part of the bargain, of course.”

“That’s not—” he lifts his hips higher, the tip of his crotch rubbing against your clit, and your body tenses at the contact. He’s rock hard and between your thin camp clothes, it's almost as if you were rubbing skin to skin against each other. A pleasurable shiver running across your spine, and you allow yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, fighting between giving in to your desires or stopping yourself from letting this go any further; it was clear which side of you was winning over, as your hunger for that something more was becoming impossible to ignore. You soften your grip on his wrist and your dagger against his throat, and that’s all he needs to gain back dominance over you, flipping you back under him and seizing your wrists to pin you down the same way you had him only seconds ago.

“Now,” he says, “this is much better, don’t you think?”

“Oh you prick,” you groan, fighting to free yourself from his grip on you, but he only tightens his grasp around your wrists. His immortal strength beats yours and your hand twists under his crushing grip, making you finally release your knife.

You curse under your breath for letting yourself be bested by the most annoying member of your party; the one who you had dreamed to put back in his place was now dominating you instead. A mix of anger and shame swirls in your stomach, along with something else that you want to deny, but can’t for the life of you understand.

Your eyes meet his, dark and hungry and so incredibly close to you. His lack of breath is strange in comparison to yours, so heavy that your chest rises with each breath you take, brushing against him. It wasn't a position you were used to, either, and you find yourself liking it more than you thought you would; with his entire body pining against yours, his legs surrounding yours and keeping them closed together, your wrists held strongly above your head; a prey caught by her predator.

You remain unmoving in this position for what feels like an eternity, until he licks his lips, his eyes falling to the space in your neck that was exposed just for him.

He leans into you, his deep voice shooting a warmth straight to your core. “This little game of yours made me quite hungry.”

You gasp when you feel his bulge rubbing against you once more and touching that sweet spot that made you rub your thighs together. 

“Perhaps,” he whispers, “you've grown an appetite of your own, little fox?”

You take a few breaths, "If you wanna feed, be my guest. You…” you sigh, defeated. “You earned it. Just— be quick about it.”

You turn your head aside, looking away and giving him space to feed, only for him to lean back, “Quick? Oh darling, you’re mistaken if you don’t think I won’t draw this out as long as I possibly can.”

He pushes your wrist up above your head where he can hold them both with one hand, while his other hand slides down to your chest, his sharp nails grazing against the curve of your breast. You close your eyes as his hand continues its journey down your navel, and into your pants, rubbing against the moist spot that kept growing in your panties.

“But don’t worry — I’ll make sure we both get our fill tonight,” he growls.

Your hips move of their own accord, wanting more of him and his touch, almost against your own will.

“Greedy, greedy, little fox.” He flashes a toothy smile, “Can't get enough? I'm not surprised.”

Your eyes open back up and you stare at him, frustrated, “Gods, do you ever shut up?”

“You have such a way with words.” He sighs, pulling his hand out of your pants. “You know, it's a wonder we haven't gotten killed because of your social prowess.”

“If you think you’re so much better than me, why don’t you—”

His lips collide with yours into an hungry kiss, one bold enough to shut you right up. A part of you is disgusted, furious, even, that he would push himself onto you, but your body’s reaction betrays you, as you kiss him back with the same intensity. It’s sloppy, his elongated tongue invading your mouth and rubbing against yours, until he bites into it and sucks, letting your crimson hit his lips. 

You moan as you pull back, rolling your tongue around to feel the puncture he made, and he smiles down on you, his teeth tainted by your blood.

“Ah… delicious.”

Something comes over you, a supernatural strength — almost animalistic — and you flip him back around on his back to take control once again. Your dishevelled hair frames your face over him, and he gets to see you panting, teeth bared, with angry eyes towering over him. There's a flash of surprise in his eyes before they take back their lusty look, and his hands fly to your shirt, ripping it open as his nails tear through the fabric as if it were air. Your shirt is quickly discarded, exposing your skin to the cool night air that raises the hairs on your back.

In the frenzy, you give the same treatment to his shirt, using that strength to destroy his clothing and revealing the very muscles you spied earlier in his tent. He raises himself up to meet you where you sat over his hips, his mouth finding yours  and kissing you feverishly as he did before, while his hands work to remove your pants. 

With a grunt from him, you're pushed back on the harsh forest ground where he rips away your trousers, leaving you only with your panties to cover you. You gasp into his mouth, breathing in his cold breath, when the night air that matches his breath hits the thin fabric of your undergarments. The shock of temperature affects you more than you had anticipated, as you are completely soaked from your arousal that had pooled down there since the beginning of the night. Astarion instantly notices it, and laughs ominously.

“Are you still going to deny it now?” He pushes your underwear aside and slides his dexterous fingers between your folds, discovering just how dire your situation is. “Hells, look at how wet you are, just for me.”

His fingers feel good, and fucking Hells you didn’t want to admit it — he was an absolute asshole — but that ship had sailed a while ago, and now you just wanted to know how good he would feel inside you.

“If you still want to feed, you better do it now before I change my mind,” you groan.

“Change your mind?” He scoffs. “I'm afraid that isn't an option. I won fair and square, little fox; now I get to devour you every night.” He flips you around, the sudden roughness of the earthy floor rubbing against your sensitive nipples making you gasp in surprise. You feel him move behind you, and you're not sure how or when it happened, but he must've removed his own trousers as you feel the ghost of his cock hovering just over your entrance. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest with anticipation, and this feeling goes into your throat when he grabs you by the nape of your hair and pulls you into him, making you arch your back and clearly exposing your neck to him in the process. “Starting tonight.”

Within the same beat, he thrust into you, his hips slamming hard against your skin, and his fangs dive into the crook of your neck, finally taking what is rightfully his.

You cry out at the stabbing pain in your neck, this one much more different than the first time he bit you, as his elongated fangs dive deeper into your neck to draw out more of your life source, and the additional fangs leave more marks into your skin. It hurts and yet, you find your core growing warmer and wetter; between his bite and his reckless thrusting into you, with the added sensation of his initially cool skin getting warm from your blood. His thrusts gain in speed and force, and in that position, there is nothing else you can do but take it.

Even as you try to reach behind you with that last remaining will to have control, to grab his hair and pull him forward, Astarion takes a hold of your arm and pushes back against you, using his entire body weight to hold you firmly against the rough ground, and his hips to slam into your needy, little cunt. With your hair still pulled back, but your wrist now stuck in his grasp, he continues to take his fill of you with no restriction.

“Look at you, finally put in your place,” he growls as he licks up the drops of blood leaking from the fresh wounds in your neck. “Is this what you’ve been desiring all these times your eyes got lost at the sight of my body? What you’ve been dreaming of? To be properly used, like a bitch in heat? Ravaged by a beast?”

You manage to get a few words out between rushed breaths, sneering.

“F— Fuck. Y— You.”

He snickers wickedly, “I guess that answers my question. Don’t worry, pet. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh you—”

“Shh now,” Before you can even finish your sentence, his hand quickly moves from your wrist to your mouth, muffling any sounds coming from you. “We wouldn’t want to risk waking our dear friends, now, would we? Unless that’s what you want?” You groan in the palm of his hand and he chuckles. “You depraved little thing. I’ll give you just what you desire.”

His hand previously holding your hair goes down your body to hold your hips in place as he fucks you, and his teeth sink into your shoulder on the other side of your neck. The gesture meant only to keep you steady as he fucks you senseless. With his fangs deep into your skin, his nails cutting the soft skin of your hips and his dick pounding your abused cunt, you scream into his hand as you reach your climax. It’s nerve wracking, mind shattering, and leaves you completely drained. 

With a final push inside you, Astarion’s hips still and he growls into your neck, taking his last sip of you, as he pulses around your inner walls, filling you up with his warm seed. Your muscles fail you, as your body goes limp against the earthy ground, and you barely feel anything else — leaving you almost unconscious. Behind you, Astarion pulls out of you, and a weak moan escapes you as you feel his load leaking out of you.

While you’re recuperating from this treatment, Astarion loses his monstrous features: his nails retract, his pupils go back to those annoyingly charming red ruby eyes, his fangs retract just enough to fit back into his mouth, and he mimics breathing again; now passing as a mortal again.

With the minimal strength you manage to gain back, you push yourself up, and gather the few pieces of clothes that were shredded during your nightly session; tomorrow you would definitely need to find new camp clothes, these were the only ones you had and they were utterly ruined. Thank the Gods everyone else was fast asleep and you’ll be able to walk back to your tent without any remarks.

As you’re about to take your leave, completely disregarding the rogue who looked just as messy as you were, you hear him clear his throat.

“It’s always a pleasure to be doing business with you, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

You roll your eyes before shooting him a glare. “Don’t push your luck.” Your cheeks still flushed, your hair all over the place, and your form barely clothed, making you not as convincing as you had hoped for. 

You only catch a glimpse of his smirk in response to you as you walk away, and when you catch yourself actually looking forward to it, you tell yourself it's only for the opportunity to put him back in his place. 

Perhaps another white lie to coat your true feelings, but no one needed to know about that.

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @lets-just-daydream

[pursuitseternal]

“A Life for an Unlife:”

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 4K

Summary: The Rogue of your group has been a flirt, he’s asked you for a night of passion… but you know there’s more to him than just the vampirism he’s kept secret. After you make a reckless decision in battle, there’s more than a fever’s heat between you as he tends your wounds.

CW: Act 1 AU romance, wound tending, temperature play, hurt/comfort, feelings confessions, first time as pair

📸 by @casualya

Prompt fill for @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation

Ao3 Link | Astarion Masterlist

Goblins. Why did it have to be goblins? So many and all at once, they seemed to come from every nook and cranny in this Selûne forsaken temple. Panting, you scan the carnage, a few echoing clangs of blades still come from across the great big space, the crumbling walls bouncing grunts and metal strikes. Heart racing in your chest, you try to follow it, feet slipping in the slicks of blood as you round the corner.

Astarion snarls, daggers in hand, disarming the Bugbear he has before him. “You’re mine!” he growls, plunging his blade up into its throat. Then he smiles, pulling the knife free, bloodlust shining like glee in his crimson eyes as he turns towards you.

Gods, he’s glorious all spattered in gore, the crimson on his face and in his hair making those matching eyes of his almost glow. He smirks, drawing himself up, hiding the way his chest heaves from exertion. “Like what you see, darling? I could hardly blame you… If I had known it was violence that got you going, maybe I would have asked you to my bed under different…”

His voice continues to purr, even as he saunters slowly towards you. But movement above on the wall catches your eye. “Astarion!” you gasp, staring right at a wounded goblin, his ugly drawstring bow aimed right for your vampire.

Quicker than a breath, he grabs his own bow, reaching for an arrow… only to find his quiver empty. “Bloody hells,” he growls, those hands twitching as he turns. Then you see it, the look of fear in his red eyes. The faintest sound of the goblins bowstring tightening thunders in your ear even at a distance. And those red eyes widen as he braces himself for the shot. His body is already exhausted, bloodied and bruised. And you think with your instinct, with your magic. With your heart.

Magic flares from your hands, your body rushing in the dank dark air of the ruins as you teleport. His place becomes yours, that arrow meant for him, thus, also becomes yours. Pain slices into your chest, numb at first, the shaft in your chest barely registering to your brain. Just an ache and warmth covering your breasts as you begin to bleed.

You hear your name faintly, distorted to your ears, but definitely called from those lips you long to kiss. Astarion yells for healing, cursing for the Cleric to come. The world narrows to the wet ache in your chest and the fading sound of Astarion’s voice in your ear. Suddenly you’re on your back, the sky above you peeking through the broken temple ceiling is so beautiful you think… and the last thing you see is a pair of crimson eyes and a fluff of bloodied silver hair as a face swims into your line of sight.

Then the world goes black.

You wake to a cool wet cloth pressed to your head by a corpse-cold hand.

“Godsdammit,” you hear that silken voice no longer silken cursing above you, “get up, damn you.”

That wet cloth passes down your cheek, the sound of water wringing into a metal pan pierces the haze of your delirium. “Hells damn it, why did you have to use your blasted magic on me, idiot,” the snarl is rough, distant, his handsome face turned away as he curses your selfless stupidity.

Something presses to your lips. A smooth glass bottle neck, the tingling taste of healing potion dripping into your mouth. “My last healing potion,” he mutters, “all because you were a damned fool to take that arrow just to save my sorry hide…”

“…it’s a handsome… hide,” you mutter, lips half-stuck together as you swallow the potion. You’re not even sure he could understand what you said let alone hear it. As you come to, you realize your skin is damp with water and sweat, your body wracked with shivers. Your skin is hot and cool all at once. Fever.

His hand clenches the bottle, those sure fingers shaking as the glistening red liquid dribbles down your chin.

“Hells,” he curses, wiping it away with the calloused pad of this thumb. “You’re awake?” He clears his throat, “I mean… of course you’re awake.” His gaze narrows, flirtatious and self-assured. “With these skilled hands attending you, you’ll be right as rain in no time.” He wrings the towel in the dish to press it to your brow. “Back on your feet and being foolish and selfless in no time.”

A few swipes of cloth, and he tosses it back in the basin. He turns his back, one hand reaching around to press awkwardly behind him, fingers digging through the worn fabric of his shirt. A strange motion, one you think has more to do with his internal dialogue than the one between you. You part your lips, voice dry and rough. “Astarion, I…”

“Save it,” he snips, “I can help tend your wounds, but I can’t fix stupidity. Foolish, selfless hero. Did you not get enough heroics killing goblins? Not enough finding the Archdruid and wiping out a Hobgoblin and a Drow? You just had to save my sorry ass too?”

His voice grows shrill. That collected purr, the one that rumbles deep in his chest and makes your thighs clench, has disappeared. He sounds frantic. Manic.

Afraid.

You never once imagined you’d see a vampire afraid before. You open your mouth once more but he just shakes his head and interjects again. “The gith went to hurry after the fabled Halsin to bring him here to heal you properly. Even Shadowheart’s powers could only do so much.” He grumbles, annoyed and irritated. He’s… sulking. As if he was the one shot.

“The hells is wrong with you?” you manage to grumble through your parched throat.

“You should have let me take that arrow.” He snarls, voice pressed and quiet. “I was the one dumb enough to run out of arrows! I was the one unaware of my surroundings! But no, you had to save me… to make me look like a fool.” He pauses, worked up into a frenzy, chest heaving and everything. “You… you swapped with me…”

You realize it’s a question… of sorts.

Before you can give answer, he shoves a skin of water in your hands. Then he moves to the flap of your tent. “Where’s that gods forsaken Druid? I need healing here! Now!”

You guzzle down the water, feeling it cool on your feverish skin. Sputtering, the noises draw Astarion’s attention back on you. “Fucks sake,” he curses kneeling back down beside you. His fingers feel like ice on your flushed and fevered face as he wipes the trickles of water clean. “You’re a fucking mess, Al becuase you had to play the hero. And see what heroics get you? An arrow in your chest and a fever as you recover. That will show you not to go around caring for others.” Those magnificent silver brows furrow as he turns to get fresh cool water to dampen your sweating face.

He grinds his teeth, that sharp corner of his jaw clenches and unclenches. Even feverish and sweating, you can tell there is so much he is withholding.

Your head swims as you watch him brood. Shivering, your delirium surges as you vaguely watch him turn his head and disappear through the tent flap. Rustling… footsteps… another cool glass bottle presses to your mouth. Another potion trickles down your dry and gasping throat.

“It’s an antidote, in case that arrow was poisoned, and Halsin is on his way. Just… hold on.” He whispers, more to himself than you. “This isn’t what you deserve darling… but me… I would have deserved this. You’re too good to suffer.” He’s definitely muttering to himself now. “Hells, you’re still burning. I need to get you cool, to stem the fever.”

You hear the sloshing of water and force your eyes open, raising a shaking hand to grip his wrist.

“You’re cool,” you breathe. “Your skin is… ice cold…” you pull his hand to your sweating face. The relief is instant, his undead body soaking in the fever-flush of your cheek.

Astarion gives a half-hearted, breathy laugh. “Any excuse to get my shirt off, I see? Though I remember someone not being entirely receptive to previous offers to view what lies beneath all this,” he taunts, a forced air of flattery. But the knit of his brows, the wet shine of his red eyes still betrays his worry. “No matter,” he continues, pulling off that cream ruffled shirt to reveal the hard planes of his body. “Better late than never.”

His fingers flex, peeling the blanket off your chest to reveal your breasts bound in linen. “It’s been some time since my body has been warm, let alone feverish, but I do know we have to keep you cool.” Graceful and stealthy, it almost feels like he sneaks up on you the way his body slides against yours, your chests pressed together. Your belly rises rapidly as you pant. Your fever, no doubt. Yes, that’s why your heart thunders beneath your ribs and why your breath is shaky and quick.

The more his corpse-cold torso presses into the softer flesh of yours, the clearer your head grows. Antidote or healing potion or just the cool comfort of his body… whatever it is, it’s working. You feel your senses steadying and your body ground itself.

But you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, settling for letting yourself be cuddled and cooled in his arms.

He holds you carefully, like a figure made of glass. The smooth, cool press of his body blankets you and the fever flush and pain of your wound dissipates. You feel almost back to normal. Except for a new kind of heat roiling in your lower belly.

You try to ignore it, but it only worsens the longer you lay skin-to-skin in Astarion’s arms. You try to force your breathing to even out, to will your heart to slow and your limbs to ease…

As if you were asleep, sneaking this moment in his arms. Something you’ve wanted for a while now, but have been too nervous to attempt. He’s always been too flirty, too cocky, or too seductive. You know there is much more behind his show of confidence than he’s revealed to you. So you close your eyes and listen to the slow thump of his undead heart.

It’s quiet as you rest, Astarion barely shifts, barely breathes as he cools you with his skin. Lost in his own broodings and musings. He rests his head on yours, so much intimacy, you realize he thinks you must be asleep. Then he breaks the silence, his inner dialogue escaping him, you realize with a smile.

His voice is like the whisper of cool silk on your skin, his nose pressing into your temple. “You know, I didn’t care much for you when we first met, and the jury’s still out on your heroic tendencies,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m only saying this because you’re one foot in the proverbial grave, but… please don’t die. I couldn’t bear to have you die because of me. I couldn’t live with it… or… well, be undead with it…”

He laughs at his own joke, his own best audience with you barely conscious in his embrace.

“What’s a life for an unlife at any rate. You’re the first person to say that you cared whether I lived or died, let alone take action to save my life… or my unlife… oh whatever.”

He frustrates himself, his own words getting the better of him.

And you laugh. It’s faint, just a small giggle. But those keen pointed ears twitch at the sound, the hard planes of his belly feeling your own jiggle with your chuckle.

“Hells,” he curses, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re awake. You… heard all that?”

Slowly, you lift your head, meeting his hesitant and guarded scarlet gaze. He waits, cautious and careful. After all, he’s spent two centuries as a slave, and given all he’s revealed, it’s clear he’s waiting to see if you’re worthy of trust.

You can’t help but mold your lips into a reassuring smile. Your voice is stronger than he anticipated, the light in your eyes brighter and not with fever-glass. He smiles back as you reply. “You’ve borne enough pain in your life, Astarion. I figured it was time someone else could shoulder the burden. Besides,” you groan, wincing as you shift to reveal the bandages on your chest, “you don’t need any more scars…”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?” he blusters, a show of cocky ignorance. And you just calmly reach around to touch his back, riddled with strange scars.

“I saw you bathing last night in the stream. I… don't know what they mean, but I know you didn’t get them in battle.” Your voice trails off as he stiffens.

“It’s a story for another time… a reminder of Cazador, my old master,” he clenches his jaw, a signal that he’s given you all he will tonight. “At any rate those are wounds that have healed, unlike your festering arrow wound.”

You shiver as he pulls you closer against his cool skin. “At least there’s some plus side to being undead,” he teases, “though… I can’t think of many others.”

You give a feeble laugh again. “You… have many things in your favor. Your quick wit, your deceptive charisma, your determination when you finally find something you set your mind to, that is.”

That makes him laugh too, his hands winding to your back and sliding to grip your ass. He pulls you impossibly closer… and… is that his leg pressing between yours?

“You forget so many of my other advantages, darling. My refined good looks, my impeccable hair, my silver tongue… my mighty fangs….” The last attribute he shows off with a cheeky smirk before dragging them over your neck right in that spot where he’s fed a few times from you.

Your breath catches and your head swims again, and you're pretty sure that the antidote has healed you already. Your fever is lessened, and now your body just burns. That ache in your belly moves lower, settling its weight and pain between your thighs.

No, this is a sense of overwhelm, a heady rush of want and heat as he pulls you hard to press your fevered skin to his ice-cold chest.

You murmur his name against the smooth cool expanse of his chest as you bury your face again.

“Speak up, darling. I’d hate to miss a single sweet syllable from your lips.” Chilling fingers press under your chin, lifting you up to meet his guarded gaze. “Now that I’ve got you right where I’ve wanted you, I’ll ask you again. Why did you save me? Why trade your life for mine? A life for a life is no inconsequential trade…”

The air in your lungs burns. “That’s because what I feel for you isn’t… inconsequential.”

There. It’s done. You said it. The words that have burned in your belly and scratched at your throat every time you locked stares with the fucking vampire… you finally let them out. Finally admitting that you do… feel… something.

His chest is still, neither inhaling more exhaling, crimson eyes scanning your face for deceit or sarcasm. But no. You just stare back at him as your lower lip starts to tremble pathetically and your eyes prick with unshed tears. You wait an ungodly amount of time for him to finally exhale. His breath is cool, especially on your sweat-soaked cheek. “Truly? Is that what you learned from all this?” His words are meant to sting, but his voice quivers with stifled emotion. As if he’s trying to be the arrogant arse he usually is.

“Hells,” he winces, “you’re serious about this? His elegant hand gestures to the minimal space between your chests. “About… us?”

It’s all you can do to meet his stare and try not to cry.

“Not a tenday ago, and the very idea of being held in my arms made you cringe,” he teases, brow arched, conceited smirk on his thick lips. “I’d ask what’s changed, but…” he glances to where your bandages still cut into your chest, dried with blood. “Staring death in the face can give you a new perspective…. Like making you want to stare undeath in the face instead.” His brows furrow, his hand absentmindedly traces over his own twin scars.

For a moment, you think he’s being humorous at your expense, but there is only a far off glint of grief and suffering in his eye. You reach your warm palm to cup his cheek, his name a summons on your tongue. “Astarion…”

Your tone is strong, your breathing rapid, and no doubt he smells the hot arousal that has settled in your belly.

His name on your lips is all the encouragement he needs.

That piercing gaze returns, sharp and hungry. “Need I remind you, I offered you a night to escape all this madness and you… refused. So what’ll it be now, darling?” You feel a cool palm inside your thighs, his own leg gently pushing yours apart. And that gaze deepens in intensity, dilating. “Is this it? It’s what you want… isn’t it?”

You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even lift your head to reply. And that smooth, chilling hand travels higher up your leg.

“You’re burning up, darling.” Those arrogant, smirking lips press to your pulse point, just a hint of fang points stabbing into the same spot that’s starting to scar from his near-nightly feeding. “And… I don’t think it’s your fever. Far as I know, fevers don’t make one’s cunt this wet and needy…”

A whine slips past your lips, your body shivering again as your legs splay just a bit more.

“Perhaps I should reward you for saving me the trouble of being shot, a little something for you?”

Before he can slide his hand higher into your underthings, you reach to stop him. “Wait,” you hiss, panting with need even as your mind screams at you. “I… I don’t want this to be a transaction. I want to do this because I want you.”

Those red eyes flare wide, his pointed ears dipping and lowering. A flash of vulnerability even as he rolls himself on top of you.

“Of course you want me, there’s nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire…” the words that come from his flat-lined mouth sound bitter.

“No, no,” you insist, running your hands up to brace his face. “I want you because you’re charming and funny, you’re lonely and hurting, and… I want to make it better for you.”

He freezes, body still pinning yours to the ground, hips pushed into your sex, hands stuck at the back of your neck. “A life for a life, you already spared me an arrow, and now… you offer to help me again?” The words are barely audible, incredulous. If it wasn’t for the narrow distance between your mouths already, you would have thought it was just a voice on the wind outside your tent.

But that cool breath that sweeps between your open lips is all the encouragement you need. You pull him the slight distance between you. Just a kiss. Just a press of his full, gaping lips against your pursed ones.

That’s all it takes, as something snaps into place between you. Now, he’s the one feverish with need, the one beginning to sweat as his hands pull your head back, his mouth working ravenously into your kiss, and those trim hips thrusting his hard cock against your sex.

That grind of his clothed body into your underthings makes your pulse gallop, your heart nearly bursting more now than when a goblin arrow lodged itself near it. Your back arches off the ground, his grip turning your head just so, the perfect angle for his fangs. He bites and drinks as the freezing numbness of his fangs soothes your heat. And yet it makes you all the wetter for him. Your underthings are soaked, the fabric clinging to your folds, dragged to the side by his bulge as he dry fucks you and feeds.

“More, Astarion,” you keen as you buck your hips in time with him. And that sloppy, bloodied mouth lifts from your neck. His eyes are black, barely ringed with scarlet as he pants into your face.

“You sure you’re up for this, darling? Because once I start…" His voice is slick from feeding and rough with lust.

All you do is move your shaking hands to his leathers, finding the fastenings to free his pulsing, flushed cock. His lips quirk to one side, that blood-dripping mouth curling into an even hungrier smirk. “I am right glad you’re feeling so… lively after nearly dying,” he tries to smooth his voice back into that silken purr, but his body is wound too tight. His hand reaches to tease your folds and bare your cunt completely beneath him.

You smirk, pressing your parted lips to his. “Lively, but… perhaps I’ll try that little death you’ve offered me…”

Grit teeth and grinning, he presses that blunted tip at your entrance, a few shallow dips to test your wetness before he pushes all the way inside. Those red eyes close once he’s buried to the hilt. Just a breath of a groan or a laugh, you can’t tell which. All you know is that you will do anything in the future just to hear that sound again. For all his bluster and hunger, he pulls back and pushes in so agonizingly slow. For as quickly as he feeds on your blood, he fucks you tenderly, savouring the drag of his cock against your walls.

Grasping at his neck, you feel the dirge tempo of his undead heart quicken slightly, his skin, still cool, warms just a touch as it grows slick with sweat.

“Hells,” he groans with another breathy giggle, “you’re tighter than a Cleric’s tourniquet.” Those hips undulate, hands still threaded into the mess of your hair. “I fear I won’t last long, not with how much I’ve wanted this.”

His tongue licks at the blood that still sticks to his lips and chin. That thrusting pace quickens, and your hips rock faster to match. Fingers slip to find your clit, teasing it, circling it, pinching it even as his own thrusts grow erratic. You whimper and moan in excess until the heat of your fever dissipates, and the wave of hot pleasure floods you in its place. Your curl in on him, legs gripping and shaking around his waist, arms pulling his chest to bear down on yours even harder. You lose where your body ends and his begins, save for the heated flush of your flesh and his cooler, undead body.

He makes that same coveted noise, the one between a gasp and a laugh, and he does it right in your ear as he comes. He claws around you with the same tenacity as you, as if he can’t bear to be separated from you. Not now. Not that you’ve given him so much… life. Nearly your own life… in exchange that he might feel alive for now, and maybe forever with you.

Thank you to @astarionancuntnin and @nyx-knox for reading it over ✨💅✨

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[faerievampling]

Letting Go

Minors, DNI

Read on AO3!

Summary: Tav and Astarion work through some trauma together. (and Astarion is slightly jealous)

pairing: Astarion x Female Tav

Warnings: 18+, blowjob. handjob. cunnilingus.

Word Count: 1.4k

Making your way into Rivington had been draining work. Your party, although still on a high from curing the Shadow curse, were disheartened by the state of the hamlet. With refugees and orphans everywhere, the attitude of the party was dejected, but you couldn't help but be thankful that you were alive.

When finally making camp after a long day of being at that horrible circus, you and Astarion set up your shared tent. Ever since Astarion and you had been learning how to be together and be intimate with each other, Astarion had gradually wanted more.

Once finally settled in, you and the rest of your party sit around the campfire recalling various events of the day. You notice your beloved is missing, but you figure he is likely out hunting.

However, you realize that your rogue is closer than you think when you feel a cool finger brush the tip of your ear. 

“I need to taste you, darling,” Astarion whispers, his lips so close to your ear it makes you shiver. His words send a wave of heat to your core. Your lover disappears into the darkness of the night, leaving you desperate for more of him. Trying to play it cool, you excuse yourself to your tent. 

And when you enter, he is there, with nothing but a blanket draped over his middle. Astarion looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves; his perfect figure is statuesque. And you aren’t sure if it’s just because you’re in love with him, or if it’s just the lighting, but his smooth, porcelain skin seems to glow amidst the dark.

He chuckles at your eagerness, and next thing you know, you’re tangled up in him, and you are his.

Your clothes come off in a flurry, strong hands gripping at your exposed body as you two join in the flesh.

You lay on your back in your tent whimpering as Astarion’s lips wrap around your swollen core. He places a hand over your mouth to stifle the noise, but continues to work on the bundle of nerves at your mound, making it even harder for you to keep quiet. 

The tip of his tongue then lingers on your folds before he buries his tongue in your entrance, making deliberate strokes inside of you. His nose is pressed to your clit as he fucks you with his sweet, practiced tongue. 

You moan his name through trembling lips, and just as the crash of an orgasm is about to descend on you, Astarion pulls away, leaving you frustrated and desperate for more.  

“You must be quiet, my sweet,” Astarion whispers against your flushed skin. “We wouldn’t want any of the others to hear…or maybe we do.” 

“The others?” You manage to stutter before he inserts his tongue into your entrance once more, causing your walls to flutter around him. 

You’re at the edge again, and as you contract and squirm around your lover's tongue, Astarion takes all of you in his mouth, lapping at your folds, clit, and entrance like a starved man. As you writhe under his kisses, you cry his name as your release takes over your whole body like a possession. 

Astarion begins to trail fervent kisses up your body, littering you with them until you are face to face.

Astarion’s lips are so soft, so pretty, and covered in your juices. As his lips find yours, his tongue kisses yours, and gods does he taste heavenly.  

“Yes, darling. Don’t act like you don’t know,” He whispers tenderly between passionate kisses. And you do  know - a new batch of allies in camp had been coming on to you lately (namely Halsin, Mizora, and the fucking Emperor), much to Astarion’s dismay. You had turned them down, of course, but that didn’t mean Astarion was any less jealous.

“But after the way I just made you cry, right in the middle of camp, everyone will know that you are mine. Not to be shared.” Beneath his teasing tone was an apparent sincerity. Astarion kisses you again, cupping your cheeks as if you were something quite precious.

You smile as you both switch positions. He brushes his soft lips against yours once more before you lower yourself between his legs. Astarion moans with anticipation as his fingertips find the root of your hair, bringing your lips to touch the head of his cock. 

Your lips wet with his precum, and Astarion moans at the sight of you on his sex. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and with a flick of your pink tongue, you lap up the rest of his juices, your tongue stroking his sensitive slit. 

Astarion’s eyes roll back before finding yours again. You wrap your lips around his tip, bobbing your head as you gradually take him deeper in your mouth. Once his tip hits the back of your throat, Astarion whimpers, and you have to keep yourself from gagging. You close your eyes to focus on pleasing him. 

You enthusiastically slide your lips up and down his shaft, twirling your tongue on his skin and focusing on the area just under the ridge of his head.

As you work to please your beloved vampire, his hand goes to your jaw, and he whispers, “Look at me,”

You know he is feeling lost in his mind, because this is always what Astarion does when he needs you to bring him back to the moment. Astarion insisted your ‘safe word’ be something that fits the moment, something normal but knowing. 

And you were more than happy to oblige.

You release your lips from him and lean over, planting a kiss on his sweet lips. “You’re here with me, Astarion.” Your voice, soft but with a hint of ferocity, has you realize just how upset you are. Upset that Astarion even feels this way; upset about his enslavement, his torture, and gods, those scars.

Feeling his discomfort from underneath you, you sit back on your heels, giving him space to bring himself to a seat.

A flicker of emotion crosses his handsome face, but you can’t decipher it. You speak slowly, “I care for you. We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Astarion’s eyes are narrowed, hungry and wanting. “But I do want you.” He responds quietly. 

“And you have me.” You smile as you begin to slip your underclothes back on, trying to maintain a facade of normalcy and be respectful of Astarion’s needs. But he stops you, and you allow your clothing to fall to the floor. 

His eyes graze over your pert nipples and gorgeous figure. You feel a bit vulnerable in the moment with such a handsome man eyeing your naked body. But you’re safe with your pale lover, and you know this, so you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to go with Astarion’s flow.

“Just…just lie down next to me, all right?” Astarion says with a rasp as he lays on his side. You slide in next to him, on your back.

Astarion puts an arm around your shoulder, supporting your neck as he cups your breast with his hand. His eyes scan you hungrily. His cock is still hard, his balls still so tight. He grasps his member in his free hand, planting a kiss on your lips as he begins to stroke himself. 

His tender kisses deepen into something more feral as his pace quickens, and he growls at the sweet taste of your lips. He’s creeping towards his climax now and the little moans that escape his lips makes your cunt quiver.

He looks so devastating in this moment, and your cunt is so wet, and you know he loves the taste of you - but you contain yourself, keeping your hands to yourself. 

Giving a final moan, Astarion spills his seed onto your stomach, his ragged breaths loud in your ear. After you have both come back to reality, Astarion finds something to clean you up with before he takes you in his arms. 

Your embrace is deep, and you’ve never felt safer than with his strong arms around you. You nuzzle your face into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head as you both begin to drift off.

Astarion needs a lot of patience, care, and love, and you are more than ready and willing to provide. Your last thoughts are of the future, and what it may hold for you and your lover.

Masterlist

[justporo]

Headcanons for Astarion and Tav spending winter time

Aight, writing for the fluff challenge has me thinking about this a lot, so why not exploit it some more, eh? Some of these are/will be used in the drabbles plus more stuff. So, here we go:

Does Astarion like winter? For sure not, this vampire is made for summer time, elegant summer clothing and also... a beautiful summer tunic on his partner is just so much more beautiful than all the winter clothes (and easier to take off, he has a point there)

You can convince him though that winter time has its perks because there's so much more cuddling and who really wants to get out of bed when it's that cold outside, right?

Astarion will however use every given opportunity to make a fashion statement - expect beautiful but dramatic, winter cloaks with fur, elegant gloves, winter tunics with beautiful embroidery (although he might enjoy just throwing on a sweater at home - especially if you had it stolen before and your scent still lingers on it)

Also winter festivities were mostly hurtful reminders this far, but now? With you by his side, he will enjoy them a lot more

Also: let's not forget that it may be cold outside but the nights are much longer and give you more opportunity to be out and about

He sneakily hangs up a mistletoe somewhere in your place and waits like a predator to assault you with kisses every time you catches you under it; "Astarion! This is the tenth time today! You know you can just ask me for a kiss, don't you?" "But darling, where would be the fun in simply asking? Isn't it so much more romantic when pure chance makes us meet here under the mistletoe time and again, my love?" "It's not chance when you keep lingering under it, Astarion!"

He enjoys decorations a lot more than he'd care to admit, he enjoys when your place smells of fresh pine from wreaths and other stuff you've put up and he likes the cosy atmosphere all the spread candles are creating for the two of you cuddling up while a snowstorm howls outside

Speaking of: expect Astarion to become the embodiment of a cuddly cat during winter time; he'll snuggle up with you under some blankets, in front of the fireplace, maybe with a nice book to read and a mug of mulled wine to enjoy

Astarion will also make sure you stay appropriately warm: no matter if he buys you a wooly sweater or makes you a nice coat himself; "My love, I'm cold enough for the two of us, you don't need to take on this quality of mine."

One more thing he absolutely loaths is: snow; he doesn't get it

Sadly you also can't change his mind by throwing snowballs at him - oh no! This will only cause him to show you that his rogue skills make for very good aiming and you'll soon both just be completely frozen; but it's worth it because you could swear you heard him laugh and see him smile despite him proclaiming this all childish

Once he figures you are very much into all of this, he puts some more effort into it - he wants to see you happy; every time Astarion goes into the city and walks across the winter market, he'll bring you something: maybe something sweet, maybe a small piece of decoration - you feel very appreciated, you just hope he paid for that stuff and didn't just steal it; Astarion is elusive on the matter

The most important thing for him though is that he gets to spend winter time together with you - with all the gifts and challenges it may bring

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel @darlingxdragon

[penkura]

Father's Day Moments

Note: Sorry this so late today, I've been busy with my own stuff this weekend, but I got it done! :) This is simply Father's Day moments with a small surprise in each of them, I had a blast writing these. 💚 I know again that this day can be hard for some, so if this isn't something you're okay with reading, please feel free to skip it and read something makes you happy today. 💚💚

Ace has rarely ever thought about Father’s Day, considering his own issues with his father and all that growing up. Even after joining the Whitebeard Pirates he never thought too much of the day, only when Marco or someone else brought it that it was about that time of year. Once he has own his children, the sweet little girls you both share, he still doesn’t think about the day as being that important, it feels more for the kids then it does for the dad in his mind. You do most of the caring for your daughters anyway, even though Ace helps as much as he can when he’s not busy, you two are a team, you should use the day to rest together, right?

That’s why, after you get Rogue and Ann to give Ace the little handmade cards you helped them with (he’s not crying, you’re seeing things), Ace tries to pass the girls off to Marco and Izo for the day, having asked the two the day before if they could take the girls off the ship for the afternoon so you two could relax together. They both had agreed, you find it very odd they’re so willing to take the two when they’ve jokingly called your daughters little hell fires, Rogue and Ann are happy to go with them onto the island you’re docked at for a couple hours.

You’re still skeptical even when all Ace does is pull you into bed for a nap (just a nap, he swears when you ask if he’s got other motives). “Ace, what’s this all about? You know it’s—”

“Father’s Day, yeah, I know,” Ace buries his face in your hair and you can’t help but nearly melt in his arms, he’s so warm all the time, it feels so nice just to lay with him, “But you deserve some time off too~”

The way he nuzzles into your neck makes you giggle, wanting to say something about how you already had your day until he speaks up again.

“I wanna have another baby with you~”

That’s not a surprise to you, he’s said it several times since Ann turned four and you first brought it up, just wondering what his opinion would be and Ace promising he’d get back to you when he had decided. He finally did just about a week or two ago, right after her birthday, telling you that one more would be perfect, your family would be complete whether boy or girl.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Ace.”

It’s a few moments of silence before you hear him snoring, but it still makes you laugh softly before running your fingers through his hair while he sleeps.

“Happy Father’s Day, you dork.”

~~

Father’s Day had left a bad taste in Law’s mouth for a long time, having lost his own father and then Corazon, it first made him resent the day before it became just another day that meant time was passing by. No one to celebrate meant he could ignore it, until you came along and blessed him with your son and daughter, the two angels he watches play doctor almost every day with their stuffed animals. Eight-year-old Rosi and two-year-old Cora, both his spitting image and the brightest part of his days, apart from you obviously.

The day is quiet while your children play, Law trying to take a nap for once when he feels someone come over and put something on his chest, cracking one eye open to see Cora has her toy stethoscope while Rosi holds her up so she can reach, and it makes him smile. They’re both just darling, even if Rosi is reaching the point where he’ll say how embarrassing such statements are.

“What’s up? I need a checkup from Dr. Cora?”

She giggles and nods, while Rosi huffs a little. Cora has gotten so big, its hard for him to hold her for very long. He asks if she’s almost done, when she nods again and takes her toy off Law’s chest.

“All done!” Law ruffles her hair a bit and thanks her, as Rosi tells her they should go check her stuffed bunny now. The two hurry back to their toys, as Law tries again to nap before he feels like someone else is watching him, opening his eyes to see you leaned over giving him a smile.

“Have you gotten to rest at all?”

“No, but it’s fine,” shaking his head a bit, Law notices you seem to want to say something, and gives you a look, “You okay?”

“Mm,” nodding you look over to your children, watching them briefly as they wrap bandages around the bunny’s ears, “Just…what would you say to one more?”

Law raises an eyebrow and sees how fidgety you are by asking, wondering if you’ve already gotten an answer and you’re just double checking with him that it would be okay, or if you just suddenly have baby fever again. Either way, he doesn’t think it would be a bad thing. It would be welcomed.

“I think that would be fine…”

The way you light up and grin makes Law start to smile too, even when you begin to ramble a bit about how you haven’t felt well, which he knew already, and how you had gone and taken a pregnancy test, and well, looks like your ‘one more’ is coming sooner than expected based on the pink plus sign when you show him the test. Rosi and Cora were both planned, and while this one wasn’t, there’s an excitement in his heart that Law can’t deny at the thought of having another child with you.

Its not such a bad Father’s Day gift honestly.

~~

To be honest, Penguin never thought he’d be this lucky. He never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, to get married and have two daughters with you, and now have the joy of bringing home your newborn son on Father’s Day, two days old and baby Sage has joined his sisters in your home, the eight-year-old and four-year-old girls both squealing over how tiny he is.

Penguin beams with pride while he watches them, Wren has gotten over her jealousy of having little siblings ever since Ivy started to get older and could play with her. When you told them the baby was a boy, they were both ecstatic to get a baby brother, and loved coming to the hospital to see and meet him.

As the two try to push each other out of the way to see him while Penguin holds Sage, you put your hands on their heads and quiet them down.

“Hey now, that’s enough. We don’t want to scare him. Don’t you two something for daddy anyway?”

Wren gasps loudly before nodding and grabbing Ivy’s hand, yelling for Penguin to wait there while they ran off to their room. He gives you a confused look while you sit beside him and start to coo at Sage.

“Babe, what’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all them.”

When they finally come back, both are holding drawings they’d made the other day with you watching them (mostly since they were using markers). Wren had drawn your whole family as penguins while Ivy had mostly done stick figure drawings of your now family of five, both making sure to include the newest addition. They both tell Penguin ‘happy Father’s Day’ as they hand the pictures over, and he has to fight to not to cry while he hugs them close, kissing them both on the cheek multiple times and making them giggle.

“You’re both the best daughters I could’ve ever asked for!”

~~

Sanji doesn’t take a day off, what are you talking about? The man is a chef, a professional one at that, and with your twins tenth birthday just two days away, he’s busy making their birthday cakes and all the snacks and treats their friends are going to want at the party too. Even though he knows it’s Father’s Day, you know it too, your twins and second daughter have already given him the cards they’d made, he did cry and didn’t try to hide it, and he went right back to work. It might be a day for him to relax, but he doesn’t for more than those few minutes earlier in the day. He’d taken your three-month-old son Elie after you’d finished nursing him, strapping him against his chest in a baby carrier and getting to work while your baby slept against him so you could rest instead.

Honestly, it kind of made you feel bad because you’d already gotten your day, and Sanji was using his to prepare for your twins birthday party and watch your youngest son, your older three children were busying themselves with cleaning their rooms. You’ve already finished the laundry for the day and go to the kitchen to see Sanji isn’t up and cooking at the moment, instead sitting at the table and playing with your small son’s hands while talking to him while Elie looks up at him.

“I feel really blessed to have all of you, Elie. I really hope that you and your siblings know that as you grow up…” Sanji sighs a bit and places a soft kiss on Elie’s head, “I never want you to feel like I did.”

“They won’t,” you surprise Sanji by wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek, “You’re a wonderful father and doing so well with them, Sanji. Just from watching you with all four of our babies, they all absolutely love you.”

“My love—”

“And don’t argue with me, you know its true.”

Sanji laughs and nods, knowing he’d lose that argument in a heartbeat. You’re always so headstrong and just want him to realize that yes, he’s doing a million times better than his own father did, he’s on par with Zeff nowadays, who your kids also have come to adore as their grandfather.

You look around the kitchen a bit, asking if Sanji wants any help, before he starts listing off everything he still has to do and you just watch him. He starts to take Elie out of the baby carrier and hand him over to you as he sees the look on your face.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…sit with Elie while you cook.”

He laughs again, before kissing your forehead and giving you a smile. “That would be wonderful, my love.”

~~

You never truly know how to celebrate Father’s Day when the father of your children is Zoro. It feels like he doesn’t care about it, even when you roll your eyes at him and tell him just to tell you what he wants, before he shrugs and says he doesn’t need anything. He’s got you, Keitaro, and Kuina, and the rest of the Straw Hats, what else could he possibly want or need? There’s nothing material he needs really, unless you want to get him the expensive sake he likes but you think a liquor store owner might find it highly concerning that a seven-month pregnant woman is buying alcohol, which just made Zoro laugh at you when you brought that up.

Ah right, that’s right, it’s not just you, your two children, and the rest of the Straw Hats anymore, or won’t be in a few short weeks. The baby you actually planned this time would be joining you all soon, that’s more than enough. He definitely doesn’t need anything when he thinks about that, just that you and this baby are safe through the rest of your pregnancy and the birth. That’s all he really wants.

Maybe some of that sake still but he’ll get that another way.

His morning meditation that day is interrupted when he senses Keitaro nearby, the seven-year-old trying to sneak up and catch Zoro off guard, though it never works thanks to his observation haki. Even when your son throws his arms around him and yells “gotcha!”, Zoro just smirks a bit, keeping his eyes closed.

“I knew you were there.”

“Daaaad, you’re cheating!” Keitaro whines and pouts, trying to climb onto Zoro’s back before giving up and going around to sit in his lap. “Mama said haki is cheating!”

“That’s only cause your mom can’t sneak up on me either.” He opens his one good eye and stares down at his little clone, the boy still pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. “Where’re your mom and sister?”

“Umm, Kuina’s still asleep, and mama was awake, but said she was going to lay down cause the baby was making her sleepy again.”

“And what are you doing up so early?”

Keitaro starts to look away a bit, shyly trying not to give anything up, before leaning his head against Zoro’s chest and saying “I wanted to hang out just with you…”

When he was younger, Zoro never thought that having kids was for him. He thought they’d get in the way, that there wasn’t any reason to really have them around apart from legacy, but then you showed up and turned everything upside down. Keitaro wasn’t planned, but he’d brought so much more to both your lives than either of you expected. Your sweet Kuina was a surprise too, you swear she’s made Zoro softer in more recent years, something he tries to deny but everyone else can see it when she’s got his attention.

And your coming addition, the one that was planned, even if they hadn’t been you still would welcome this baby happily. Sometimes, Zoro still isn’t sure that fatherhood suits him, but you swear to him that he’s the best father you’ve ever seen, even better than your own, and maybe you’re right, just from how Keitaro quietly wants to spend time with his dad, just the two of them before the day really gets started. Its more apparent when Kuina convinces him to read to her, and when your unborn child kicks at his hand while he talks to them.

“All right, buddy,” Zoro sets one hand on Keitaro’s back and strokes his hair with the other, watching as he starts to fall back asleep too, not used to being up this early, “You stay with me for now then.”

Maybe he’s not so bad at this fatherhood thing after all.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝You don't think I can please you?❞

part 05 | we're really in it now, darling

chapter summary:

[ Everything comes ahead at a hedge maze because. . . hedge maze. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,517 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader, aemond x alys rivers

contains— angst, a lil smutty but no full whorishness, ya'll good - i should really put idiots in love as a tag shouldn't i - nsfw: grinding + some sexy, sexy second base lmao - no kingslayers, no rogues, no betas.

a/n— i hope ya'll forgive me. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You don't really know what you were expecting come Sunday. Once you started to 'ehh' 'hmmm' and 'maybe's your way through random moments with Helaena after the radio silence from Aemond— your best friend put her foot down.

"Fuck him," Helaena grumbled. "You've been going to Sunday dinners before he was even born, you are not backing down now."

 You snorted. "That's wildly inaccurate."

"Point still stands. Fuck. Him. You deserve my mother's tiramisu cake. He doesn't get to take that from you." Her eyes widen as if trying to instil her determination into your system via eye contact. "You are not going to let him take that from you."

You nodded. That's at least a point to pro you can stand by. Though she can't cook to save her life— Alicent's words, not yours — the woman sure can bake. It became therapeutic for her, she once said. How measuring ingredients and kneading dough to patiently folding cream after another kept her mind quiet and her hands busy.

"My faith strongly does not advise rage shooting, you know?" Alicent once hummed.

"Did you mean 'range' shooting?"

"Oh?" she nodded absentmindedly, smiling. "Yes, that too."

"That's true," you mused. Tiramisu cake was her mother's specialty. Every Sunday, she has all attendees pack up at least one cake per person and you and Hel usually stave off bites throughout the week until the next Sunday comes.  "I deserve some tiramisu cake, gods be damned it."

"Plus, if you come with me, we'll get two cakes to take home instead of one." She wagged her finger. "We count as two separate entities with one fridge, it's our greatest privilege."

"Daeron calls it preferential treatment."

"I am her only daughter, of course I get preferential treatment."

"As you should, bestie."

Even when you've stopped struggling with choosing if you were going or not, your mind is never faraway from thinking about Aemond. You wonder if he's finally gotten back with Alys was a bad train of thought, while an even worse train of thought is how soft his lips were and how he holds your hair to pull you close when his tongue glides across your bottom lip.

You blink, shaken from the thought. Bad. Bad brain. Stop it.

And repeat. At this point, it was safer to think about Alys and Aemond.

According to previous cycles, by this point they'd be at the height of their newly blossomed relationship— all sweet kisses and heated looks, unable to stop touching each other much less act a little bit better when they're trying to leave a group function to fuck their brains out — so you wouldn't be surprised to see come Sunday that he arrives with Alys— both of them tall, gorgeous with just enough undertone of smirky, smarmy tension that would make you want to stab your own eye out — pointedly ignoring you or whatever happened between you and him.

It hurt to think about sure, but what else did you think was going to happen?

That call made a space the size of a puddle that turned into a lake, welled deep with unresolved feelings and untouched topics. More questions than answers, drawing lines both of you were too scared to tug and see.

It's big enough to notice, and both stubborn enough not to anything about it.

You tried. Well, you almost did. In the weird hours of the day when your brain and body are more physically disjointed so rationality gives way to adrenaline. Most of the time, this is during working hours. You, checking your phone, running around his profile with your thumb a few times, biting your lip as your mind blanks and your body fights to call him. Or leave a message.

Before your mind and body reconnects and you fling your phone as far away from you as possible.

It's weird. You've never fought with Aemond before. If this was considered fighting. You've been disappointed in him, gotten angry and annoyed with him, but someone always, always offers an olive branch.

Every time you think about that call, you close up, your annoyance flares, and you shove your phone away.

In your amicable defense, this was primarily his problem. You weren't truly dating. He made it clear every choice he was making was en toward the agreed conditions were of making his ex jealous enough to take him back, yada yada yada.

Even if, possibly, you wanted more, he made no actual steps to make it known that he was considering it too.

Funny stares on your lips don't count. The only sabbatical from sexual adventures Aemond got were the breakup round with Alys, and as established before, they got it on pretty frequently.

Another thought bubble about Aemond's lips pops in your head, the mint from his toothpaste and the coffee from his black with no sugar, no milk, the way he seemed to suckle on your sighs—

Gods. Damn. It.

Focus.

That last call?

You're a grown ass woman. You're allowed to do whatever you want with whomever you want, and you're not going to make Aemond Targaryen's steely silence of what— disappointment? Of your choices? Of your choice in Cregan Stark and Cregan Stark Jr? Of what you were doing? Sure he was faithful to the Seven, a good old religious boy raised by his momma, but it doesn't make him a saint. Just because he's clinging to the vestiges of first love thinking it could very well be his last doesn't make him holy, or warrant enough to judge you for getting your little you some good dick.

Life is hard. Good dick is hard to come by!

So. Yeah. Days leading up to Sunday was radio silence and way too many thoughts circling your head like vultures, eating away at logic and rationality, and stubbornly still, you refused to make contact. If it's not out of pride, it's out of hurt.

Because he could apologise, but Aemond wasn't known for his apologies.

But then you remembered the flowers, the tulips, and now you just felt sad. Moping, getting annoyed, and trying to get through work without breaking your phone speeds the week in a blur.

Come Sunday afternoon, Helaena was coming to pick you up from her shift at the vet— the beauty of having a vet bff is the Russian roulette of pictures; you never know if you're about to get cuddly new patients with big, sad eyes and pouty snouts or her newest c-section win without any attempts of a blur — so you could get to her mother's house together, you decided to go for the nines with your outfit.

A sweet summer dress later, some gold gladiator sandals half off from your favourite but largely can't afford shoe boutique that you swear you were always going to wear to make up for the insane price (thank the gods Alicent didn't have a no shoe policy because it takes fifteen minutes to get them on and you cannot be on the floor, on her house, with Aemond around, rolling around like a hot potato on the entry way trying to get a fucking shoe on), dusted and prepped in you're fancier version of makeup, and was just finishing off your hair— using the good mousse whilst blaring Disney epics — when knocking came.

You freeze.

On one hand, it could just be Helaena, forgetting her keys again somewhere as she had done so numerous times before, but there hadn't been a slew of expletives or her impression of a cool, clinical voice saying, ''Tis I, the Stranger, have come for thee soul! Open up I gotta pee, woman!' so you got a pretty good guess on the alternative, sending your heart into a stutter and get smacked with a well deep of yearning.

You miss Aemond. You miss hanging out with him, even just having him on video call whilst you prepped a late dinner and he's working out his thesis defense, too late for either of you, but catching another's eye in the tiny phone and sharing a comforted grin. You miss being called my lady in a language that means so much to him, miss bumping shoulders and smelling his crisp scent of cologne and laundry.

Miss his lips, his very soft, very delicious lips—

"Gods damnit, woman, keep it together," you murmur to yourself. Another series of knocks, ever patient, and you're moved by body not mind as breathless giddiness yanks the door open—

Only to fall flat.

"Oh." You can't hide your disappointment at the curly blond with the smirk for centuries. "Aegon. I didn't know it was you."

"Yes, the expressive disappointment in your eyes could bring a man on the edge to his downfall, I must say," he jokes hoarsely, a little hurt. "Not even a hi Aeg. I've missed you Aeg, or— hey Aeg! You look good enough to eat!"

It's Aegon. Not Aemond. Or Helaena. Helaena and Aemond's older brother, Aegon. Party rocking, cocaine hiding, sweat and someone's lipstick smelling Aegon. You like him despite his whorishness because he's funny, because he's sweet when he wants to be, and he always, always gets you a funny mug when he comes back from wherever he came from.

You blink a couple of times, laughing awkwardly as you give him a quick hug. He still smells the same, with the lightest tint of sun in him from his days at the beach not so long ago no doubt.

"Sorry, sorry. Hi Aeg, I've missed you Aeg, and yes, you do look good enough to eat, Aeg."

He hugs back tighter, smothering you in the denim jacket he's wearing and the curly edge of his white blond hair. He's got a new piercing and smells of new perfume.

"So do you, princess," he says as you step back and he appraises you appreciatively. "Those shoes can step on me any time."

"I will never."

"You will never," he says chirpily, moving back with a teasing grin. "Let me guess, you were waiting for my uglier version to come by and got too overwhelmed by the majesticness of me."

'"Majesticness isn't even a word." You snort. "And Aemond is not your uglier version, you don't look that alike."

He raises an eyebrow as you blink. Fuck. "Dear me oh my, I meant Helaena, babe. When did Aemond get into the mix?"

You shove his shoulder, huffing as you pick up your keys and bag, forcing him to step back as you lock the apartment, trying to give yourself grace from his burning, teasing stare. "As if Helaena didn't tell you." You finally turn to him, lips pursed at his faux innocent pout. "Helaena tells you everything."

"She might have mentioned a thing or two about a thing or two." He bumps your hip as you both get into the elevator. "Imagine my surprise when Lae-lae tells me of a wondrous development between her two favourite people that involved a breakup, some gift-giving shenanigans, and kissing." He gasps dramatically as you groaned. "I leave for what— a month or two and suddenly you and Aemond are making out? Babe, I must say, you're doing the tongue tango with the wrong brother."

 "He's not the wrong brother, also the tongue tango? Really?" you snap suddenly. The wrong brother comments always irk you because you understand that it's a sensitive issue to Aemond, as well as Aegon himself.

But it's a bait you realise too late because Aegon Targaryen enjoys hauling truths from people in steps and tricks, uncaring if he takes a stab or two to get there as you meet his gaze against the reflective wall, positively smirking.

"Really now?"

"Why are you even picking me up? I thought you were in Oldtown."

"Already sorted. Hel wanted to make sure you get there in time, she's going to be late... After all your earlier ride backed out didn't he?"

Your mouth pursed, annoyance prickling at your edges as the elevator pulled into the lobby. "I don't want to talk about it, where's your car?"

He whistles, languid and all the time in the world on his shoulders with just the hint of smug. "It's a thirty minute ride, babe, you're going to spill."

You shoot him a withering glare. "Not if I have say in it." For emphasis, you yank his door and slam it. Fuck his new Maserati.

"Mature!"

Thirty minutes is more than ample time for Aegon Targaryen to weed his way into your brain like the worst case of earworm (like a stupid ass commercial jingle that just. Won't. Stop) that by the time you reach his mother's, you were ranting.

"—like I get it, saying I'm going out with another guy to get some good dick after confirming that we're going to your mother's for Sunday as a date is bad, but we're not really dating! He said so himself! He pressed the issue of it not being a real thing! And he didn't attempt any—"

"— any communication at all," Aegon echoes, stretching his legs as he stood. "Not a sorry or anything."

"Anything!" you bolster, slamming his door again that is less about him and more about the aggressiveness. "I know that he's bad at apologising, or facing things that are hard, choosing to stew in it and act all shitty to people, I just... I thought he'd at least tell me. Doesn't that warrant our friendship?"

"Hm. Ever think that's precisely why he struggles with you?"

"What does that even mean?"

"That he cares about you, so he struggles more with expressing himself."

You turn to him, cocking your head. "When did you get so wise, oh Gandalf?"

"A Seven focused rehab facility can do that to you," he muses wistfully. "There was this nun that says verses when she orgasms."

You make a face. "Love the fun fact."

"You're welcome. But back to point, isn't the issue also the fact that you never tried to make contact with him either?"

"Well. Yeah. Because..."

Aegon squints at you sympathetically. "Because you're scared of rocking the boat because of how much you like him?"

"Not, well," you hesitate. "Not like that precisely..."

"How much you're capable of liking him?" Aegon smiles wryly. "You had a crush on him, I remembered that at least. When Hel first introduced you to him, you couldn't stop teasing him until he lit up like a Christmas tree. I knew you liked him since then. You called him pretty half the time, and I started to realise it was less about his reaction but how you actually see him, and speaking as the naturally cherub, pretty boy of the family, I find this highly, highly offensive."

You pinch his cheeks, wounding your arm over his shoulder. Aegon was built like a linebacker with less muscles that aren't postern, with wide shoulders and a strong body that's too easy to lean against.

"You're pretty too, Aeg," you coo. "But he's just..."

 "If you say ethereal, I will vomit right in my mother's petunias." He makes a face. "How about this. The problem is that you think Aemond doesn't like you back."

You frown at him. "I know Aemond doesn't like me back."

"Oh, sweetie," Aegon coos, sympathy and pity swirling in his smug, smug smile. "I'm so glad you're pretty."

You pinch his sides until he squirms. "Fuck you, what the hell?"

"What I'm saying is, let's test that, you know? Because that's the only variable you aren't sure with?"

You sigh. "Aeg, even if he does, I'm not going to pounce—"

The door swings open, and there he is, of pretty boy face and good boy posture because his mother raised herself a good, devout boy who doesn't know what a slouch is because he's not an ape— and is he wearing his leather jacket? Of course he's wearing the leather jacket and you know that smell, that spiced cologne with the leather and his natural scent and fuck, Aemond is looking at you, looking at his brother, and the open expression, the shock, that smidge of relief— shutters to an icy politeness.

Aegon because he's Aegon, pulls you closer, his mouth curling into a grin that only says trouble, forcing Aemond to straighten up his already perfect posture in preparation for whatever his brother has in mind and his stare is white-hot on the conjoined appendages between you and his brother— and Aegon lands a wet, smacking kiss on your cheekbone.

"Had to pick up your girl, baby bro, I mean what kind of—" his blue gaze finds his mother descending the stairs, peering out to see on who it was, and you're frozen, waiting for the bomb to drop and simultaneously unprepared for it, "— boyfriend has his brother pick up his girl? Good thing you got a good excuse, huh? Oh, hey mother dearest! Your favourite son has come back!"

As Aegon leaves your side with a cheeky little wink, you bit your lip at the frosty look on his face that makes you feel like an absolute idiot and fills you with rage all in one go. Because Aemond has never looked at you like that, like you were at fault and acting like a child, but that you also want to jut a finger against his chest.

"Did you have a nice talk with him on the drive over?" he says, jaw hard.

"I didn't tell him," you hiss, taking the hem of his leather jacket instead of his hands enough so you can pretend to kiss his cheeks because his mother is right there, eyes wide at that two of you as Aegon gave you a discreet thumbs up.

"Helaena did. Get over yourself, your mother's—"

 "Aemond?"

As he freezes and Alicent calls your name, you plaster the best smile you can make as you twine your fingertips with his.

"Smile."

"Hm."

When you leave his side to greet Alicent, you make sure to stomp on his stupid shoes.

As soon as you've finished your mandatory greetings— even with Otto Hightower, Aemond's grandfather, who merely raised his eyebrows at the apparent new status of you and his grandson, Alicent having to blink multiple times, wrangling positives as she kept shooting her son looks while he stood like a block of ice behind you — Aemond takes your hand by his own volition, tangles your fingers too tight, and starts tugging you along like a bouy.

"Are you a child?" you hiss, trying to pry your hand as insistently without outright yanking, Alicent already sending you both concerned looks at a news that she called 'oh, that is wonderful!'

"I am younger than you," he murmurs back, holding you tight.

"Oh, fuck you."

With a defeated huff, you take longer, heavier strides and stomps so you're the one dragging him.

It's all illusion of control built on pettiness because you're still being navigated, it's more just pride at this point, but you don't care, and when he scoffs right back, you felt at least a pinch of a win.

And then he, of course, matches your strides so fucking easily.

"Freaking horse-legged motherfucker," you mumble. You don't know if he catches it, or you're imaging the soft, surprised noise that's both a snort and a laugh.

He winds you around the hallway, an unbreakable trajectory to the backyard, dragging you past an easy eye view from the dramatic, floor to ceiling windows and trespassing straight into the hedge maze because of course they had one of those.

"Really? Here?"

"Do you want to be ogled up by my mother?" he says in a nauseatingly chipper voice. "Is that what you and Aegon are planning with all this, hm?"

You twist out of his grip, walking deeper on your own until your eyes are swallowed by the darkness. When you turn to him, your eyes adjust, only seeing the silver of his hair, so different from his black leather jacket and dark green jumper. You don't see his expression or his sharp gaze.

"Planned this? Seriously? Nothing since coming here had been planned, Aemond," your voice has bite and if your eyes had adjusted faster, or if you could see better, you would see the flinch he makes, "if it had been, this certainly would be the last of my fucking choices. Or do I have to remind you of the fact that we were supposed to go together? Oh right, things change when you drop a call out of fucking nowhere!"

"I—fuck." He moves around, a hand through his hair as exhales in frustration. "I didn't... think you'd want to go with me. That Sunday plans had been cancelled."

"And you didn't think to message? I mean it's not like we're friends in literally every social media." You try not to sound hurt before taking a deep breath, offering your palms up. "I didn't—don't even know what the issue is, Aemond. Were you so offended that I was sexually active that you just had to rudely drop the call and not talk—"

It's maybe the darkness, or intuition but you can bet half yours savings that Aemond Targaryen is blushing.

"It... gods, no it's not... I wasn't offended that you were sexually active," he says softly, evenly. He clears his throat. "I don't... mind that you're... sexually active. I actively... support it. Even." He coughs. Swallows. Curses.

If you don't feel like your heart is pounding in your throat you would have laughed. You had never seen the boy this flustered before that it's affecting his words, because Aemond has always been the most well spoken person you know.

"Is it about Cregan? Do you have something against Cregan?"

His eye flutter close. "No... and yes."

"I don't understand, Aemy," you whisper, defeated.

He sighs. In the dark, you notice a movement. His hands flex. It's a habit he's had since you've known him. It's instinct. The way you reach out, finding a piece of his leather jacket until you find your way to his hands, running your fingers over the bones and ridges, his sinew and skin. There are callouses from his fencing, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He's frozen first before he sighs, melting through the warmth you share with him.

 "I have nothing against Stark," he finally says. "It's the fact that you were still having sex with him that I found unfair." He steps closer until you can see his face better, the struggle in him can be told through the furrow in his brows and the press of his pillowy lips, red and wet as if he had bitten through it. "I... understand that we're not really together, but I couldn't... not feel as if it wasn't right. As if I wanted it to be me."

His hands finds your arms, eye closing and gently placing his forehead against your own. At first you panic, your body trying to make your brain decide do you like this or not but it's Aemond, and he's warm, gentle, sweet almost. It's familiar and new at the same time. It's warmth you recognise, skin you will know anywhere, but in a way that you've never felt him before.

You close your eyes and breathe with him.

You know that this is rare. That this Aemond is reserved for people he loves and cares about, but with his forehead against yours, with his hands holding you steady, rubbing a comforting thumb over your skin that felt just as for him as it was for you, breathing you in and exhaling you out. A single breath between two bodies.

"I don't know if I can agree to that, Aemy."

"What?" He pulls back, hurt pulling taunt your favourite pair of lips. "Do you like Cregan more? You don't think I can please you?"

"That's not—"

His hands closes on your face, cupping it in his palms as you stare, wide-eyed at the blue fire lit up in his eye. His breath brushes your lips, making them tingle.

"Push me away if you don't want it," he says before his eye closes and he takes your mouth against his own, swallowing your gasp then pulling you away again, eye glinting.

"Push me away, ñuha riña." His voice is so soft, words crisp while your body thrummed in a single, frantic heartbeat. When you don't move, too shock, thoughts tangled, he smirks.

With his teeth, he captures your bottom lip, grazing it. When he feels you shudder, eyes fluttering, he chuckles meanly.

"Push me away as if you don't want me." He tilts your chin up as he looks down on you, eye confident in its lust. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. "As if you don't feel everything I do."

"Fuck you," you manage to exhale as you grab the back of his head and devour him just as you did at the restaurant. He groans, using his other hand to feel your side, pass your one breast, giving it a firm squeeze that makes you gasp, tongue clashing, legs tangling as you push and push and he pulls you to him, his back hitting the prickly hedge. It's teeth and tongue, breaths twisted in one air as you used each other like lifelines, like enemies in a swords match.

It's feverish and passion, infuriating want that gives. Because when you dominate the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own, yanking him down and down as if you want him to reach every part of you inside, he bends and follows. And when he pulls you, tangles your hair and takes every gasp and breath, you surrender.

He groans when you suck on his bottom lip, pulling away just enough to spit out, "You taste so much better than my dreams." His mouth moves down and down, leaving a path of heat as he suckles at your neck, practically ripping the buttons of the top of your dress as he slides down and grunts in pain.

"A-Aemy?" Your eyes flutter. "Your back, shit—"

"Fuck that." He tugs you down until you land with an oomph! on his lap, your chest at his eye level before he drags them back to your gaze. "Tell me to stop."

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair. "No."

"Good."

Your back arches, supported in his hold, as he starts sucking the skin lower and lower, another hand massaging your tit that pools hot down your core until his hand, warm and solid, sinew and bone, and Aemond Aemond Aemond, slides between your bra and cups your breast and his hand is so big, and it feels so good that you start grinding on the hard length you feel right at your—

An ear-splitting shriek freezes the both of you. You and Aemond pull back, hand still on your tit.

"Wha—"

"Ew, ew, ew! Mom said you were fighting! FIGHTING DOES NOT EQUATE FUCKING IN THE MAZE, YOU FUCKING CLICHES!"

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[sserpente]

A blood bath to die a little death for (Kinktober #3)

You take a bath with Astarion. Oh, the things you can do in there...

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one for so long. It’s kind of inspired by that scene with Damon from The Vampire Diaries. Also, I think those “Baldurian” bathtubs are just super cute.

Words: 1073 Warnings: smut, blood play, biting

“You know for a rogue you are being incredibly loud and unsubtle. I can hear you breathing, Astarion. And that’s saying something because you don’t even need to breathe.” You chuckled when he snorted in response and moved out of the shadows.

The others were out, so it couldn’t have been anyone else secretly watching you bathe.

You flipped around in the wooden tub to face him with a smile. The warm water was pure heaven for your sore muscles. Besides, taking the time to do more than wash blood off your body after another fight, was a luxury at this point.

Astarion’s gaze drifted over your bare form. Hunger reflected in his red eyes, though you were not entirely sure which kind of hunger it was. Your smile widened.

“Care to join me? The tub is big enough for both of us.”

Another snort, this time an amused one.

“Darling, there is nothing I’d like more.”

“Take your clothes off then. You look pretty without them.”

Astarion laughed at your flirtation. Piece after piece, he removed his clothing until he was as naked as you were. You watched him as he climbed into the tub, his muscles dancing in the process. Damn…he might have been the one who was the vampire but he did look like a snack. Not only was he handsome and sexy but he was also beautiful. Not many men could claim they were.

“Are you done admiring me, my love?”

You giggled when you were caught and moved over to him to straddle his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“I’m hoping that we can take baths together every night once this is all over.”

He smirked. “I hope so too. Without our…companions, mind you.”

“Of course. We’ll find our own cosy little spot somewhere here in Baldur’s Gate. Although it will probably take me a while to adjust my sleep schedule to yours.”

“You…you would?”

“Of course. How else would we spend time together? And we’ll have a massive bedroom with a king-size bed and black-out curtains so you don’t have to worry about the sun.”

“We’ll have only one bed?”

You hummed at his adorable question. Sometimes it still seemed like he couldn’t quite believe you wanted to be with him.

“We will. Why? Are you scared I’ll bite?” You chuckled at your own joke.

Astarion wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. “Very funny, darling. But…truth be told…I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

You rested your forehead against his. “Go ahead. We’re alone.”

“Indeed we are, my love. Indeed we are.”

You expected him to playfully pull you by the hair to reveal your neck to him. Instead, he spread your legs further and bucked his hips. Oh. He was rock-hard.

“So that’s the kind of hunger we’re talking about right now?” you asked with a grin.

“I say we make use of the time as long as we’re…undisturbed.”

“And you’re sure you want to? We don’t have to have sex just because we have a moment to ourselves…”

Astarion shut you up with a kiss. “I have been waiting to get you alone, darling.”

“If…you’re sure…” you breathed out when his erection pressed against your outer lips. It was as if he’d pressed a button to turn you on. With every playful stroke up to tease your clit you grew wetter for him, ready to take him.

“Astarion…” His name left your lips like a prayer when you sank down on top of him, letting him impale you on his cock. He growled as if he was about to devour you when you bucked your hips to meet his thrusts in the warm water, your limbs still entwined.

There was something about doing it in the bathtub, enveloped by warmth and silky wetness. Astarion seemed to think so too. His strokes were frantic as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to take things slowly or chase his orgasm.

Your eyes met and you smiled, your lips slightly parted. Continuous moans escaped you whenever he hit one of those hidden pleasure spots until eventually, he pressed you up against him so he was sheathed inside you to the hilt, and his pelvis ground against your clit. Oh, good gods…

“Go on…ride me,” he purred.

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Hunting your own pleasure until he was satisfied with you, you did just that until you were on the brink of orgasm, ready to fall—into a rabbit hole of bliss and his arms. Astarion was a surprisingly patient lover and he claimed that he loved the feeling of you clenching around him when you came, milking him for all he was worth.

You expected him to follow you as soon as your climax hit you and pleasure rippled through you like a thunderstorm. Instead, he bared his fangs and bit down on your shoulder—hard.

Blood poured from the sloppy wound, covering your back, your chest and eventually mixing with the bath water. You moaned at the foreign intrusion of his teeth in your skin as he lapped up your blood and drank his fill until the continued rocking of your hips stole away his composure too.

Astarion followed you down the abyss of pleasure, his cock twitching inside you and filling you with his seed all the while his fangs were still buried in your shoulder. You were both shuddering from satisfaction by the time he pulled away and gasped for air, a small trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth. You longed to wipe it away with your thumb, to taste your blood on his lips.

“Hmm…you taste best when you’re aroused, darling.”

“G-Good…to know?” You chuckled weakly, shifting a little on his lap to feel his softening member inside of you still. “We’ll need another bath now, look at this.”

You gestured at the bloody bath water. Astarion laughed. A surprised moan escaped your lips when his tongue darted out to lick away the remaining blood dripping over your right breast, his mouth lingering around your hardened nipple for just a little too long. “We best get started then. Although I don’t think I would mind the others seeing us like this…they can all know you’re mine.”

You shook your head and kissed him on the lips. You already saw yourself stealing some scrolls from Gale to make the water fill up faster.