#i cannot breath | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mystra-midnight · 8 months ago

Text

absolute and utter perfection

i cannot stop rereading this

Vis Medicatrix

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 5.5k tags/warnings: blood/gore, canon-typical violence, smut, piv sex, fingering, soft spawn Astarion

summary: “Y-you’re hurt, Astarion,” you insist with far less emphasis than you had intended, tearing your eyes away from his face with difficulty and looking towards the vials that still sit untouched nearby. “The potions – you should –” Astarion silences your protests with a kiss as his lips crash into yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he gives you a playful nibble. “Was,” he corrects with a growl. His lips move softly against your mouth, reluctant to part from you for even a moment. “I assure you that I'm feeling quite… invigorated now, darling. All thanks to you, of course. And what a delectable little treat you are.” ────────── Astarion goes down in a fight. Back at camp, he has some... ideas about how you might help him recover.

AO3 ┊ masterlist

The sounds of battle echo all around you, a flurry of steel, magic, and claws. The air sizzles with the distinct tang of the Weave as you cast spell after spell, hurtling bolts of fire and ice at the pack of gnolls that has descended upon your small party.

The four of you had quickly been overtaken and separated from one another; Gale and Shadowheart are somewhere out of sight, but you've managed to fight your way back towards Astarion, felling no less than ten gnolls in the process. The ground is littered with corpses; it's no small miracle that none of them belong to you or your friends.

The final gnoll wails as your flames sear its fur and singe its flesh, nearly burning to ash as its body finally gives out and succumbs to its injuries. Astarion's profile finally comes into focus, as does the massive gnoll he's currently face to face with.

The leader of the pack, from the looks of it.

You can't quite hear what Astarion says to it from this distance, but his expression twists into a grimace as he bares his fangs, daggers eager to slake their thirst with its blood.

A peal of laughter tears itself from the gnoll’s throat, a high-pitched, chittering sound that rings harshly in your ears. It bares its yellowed teeth back at Astarion, lips stretched thin over its stinking maw.

With its paw raised, you watch as the gnoll takes a single swipe at him; Astarion's reaction is immediate, one of his daggers arching upwards in a flourish as he deflects it with expert precision. The beast rains blows down upon him in quick succession, and Astarion staggers back towards the edge of the cliff face behind him each time his blades glance off its claws.

The gnoll rears up once more, but Astarion has already anticipated the trajectory of its next attack. Its paw sails over Astarion's head as he sinks into a crouch with all the grace of the nimble predator he is, and he slices into its matted fur just as it stumbles backwards and narrowly avoids a more fatal wound. It snarls, undaunted, as it waits for another opening. One wrong move could send them both tumbling into the abyss below.

Panic grips your heart like a vise. The bolt of fire you summon in your palm sputters weakly, the last dregs of your magic all but exhausted. You will it to burn as hot as you can, and the flames lick your skin as you cradle it protectively in your palm.

You must aim carefully, you know, or you risk hitting Astarion.

Your footfalls are light as you approach the gnoll from its blind spot, downwind and creeping low to the ground as Astarion had taught you. Locked in its battle with Astarion, it doesn't seem to notice your approach – until the telltale cracking of a branch beneath your boot alerts its sensitive hearing. Its ears swivel in your direction, head whirling around to spot you no more than twenty paces away.

The lapse in judgment is all Astarion needs, and he slips a blade cleanly between the gnoll’s ribs with a single thrust, puncturing its heart. It howls in agony, the sound of it slicing through the air as easily as Astarion's dagger. As it stumbles back to claw at the dagger in its chest, Astarion's eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments, and you see your own relief mirrored in his expression.

Relief that fades the moment the gnoll surges forward and rakes its claws across Astarion's armor, shredding through the leather as if it were nothing more than paper.

You watch in horror as Astarion teeters forward and drops to his knees, bloodstained and broken. The effort of holding his body up is a task he no longer has the strength for, and he collapses into the dirt, motionless.

Rage explodes within you, white-hot and all-consuming. The fire in your palm is extinguished when you clench your fists and break into a sprint, manifesting what's left of your magic to get you to Astarion as quickly as possible.

With the aid of Misty Step, you blink into being behind the gnoll with a burst of crackling Weave, snatching Astarion's second dagger from the ground. It twists around on unsteady feet to face you, but its strength is already waning. The force of your initial blow buries Astarion's dagger into its flank, but it's not enough to quench your anger. Blood sprays into your eyes as you wrench the dagger free, blinding you momentarily before you wipe your hand over your face. Another blow to its chest earns you another wretched howl of pain; a third, which you aim at its throat, is what permanently silences it.

The blade slices cleanly across its neck, and a twisted sense of satisfaction takes hold of you as you watch it topple backwards, its heart finally giving out as it collapses into a crumpled heap at your feet.

Your lungs burn as you catch your breath, the adrenaline coursing through your body finally subsiding. It's then that you realize that Astarion isn't moving. You fall to your knees beside him, tears pricking your eyes.

Beneath what remains of his tattered armor, you can see how deeply he's been wounded, blood pouring from the gouges on his chest. The rich red of it looks ghastly in contrast to his marble skin.

“Astarion,” you plead, shaking him. “Astarion, stay with me!”

Your first instinct is to look for Shadowheart, and your stomach turns when you spot her far across the battlefield, back-to-back with Gale as they fend off a trio of smaller gnolls. There isn't enough time to get to her, and the thought of leaving Astarion, even for a moment, is unthinkable.

Reaching into your pack, you retrieve your last remaining healing potion, uncorking the bottle with your teeth as you tip Astarion's head back. His mouth falls open, and you bring the potion to his lips, trying not to dwell on the exceptionally pallid color of his complexion.

The crimson liquid sloshes over the lip of the bottle and into Astarion's mouth, and although he appears to swallow some of it, most of what you pour out spills uselessly down the side of his face.

Because he doesn't need to breathe, you can't tell if you've already lost him. You don't know if he's colder than usual or if it's simply a cruel trick your mind is playing on you. A sob bubbles in your throat, but when your eyes sweep over your trembling, bloodstained hands, an idea sparks to life within your frantic mind.

Blood.

Your blood has saved Astarion before – in far less perilous circumstances, of course, but that doesn't stop you from reaching for one of Astarion's daggers and wiping it clean on the front of your robes. The blade gleams like a silver tooth in the sunlight, poised to bite into your skin as you hold it over your open palm. You inhale a breath as you drag the blade across your skin, hissing through clenched teeth as a line of bright red blood blooms in its wake.

“Please,” you whisper, appealing to any god who might be listening. A few drops of crimson splash over Astarion's lips as you bring your hand to them, letting your blood flow into his mouth. You watch him, stilled by an overwhelming sense of dread. An ember of hope kindles in your heart as you feel his tongue sweep across the wound on your palm, his throat bobbing as he swallows your offering to him.

“Astarion?”

You call his name softly, watching for the moment his eyes finally flutter open. You've never been so happy to see those deep, swirling pools of ruby red as he looks up at you, exhausted but alive. You can't stop the tears that finally spill over your cheeks, embarrassed to be in such a state after everything that's happened. But none of it matters because he is still with you.

With shaky fingers, reach for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Astarion's expression flickers across his face, settling somewhere between relief and amusement.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, voice cracking with the effort it takes him to speak. He licks the rest of your blood from his lips. “What did I miss?”

────────────────────

By the time you return to camp, freshly washed and dressed in a clean set of robes, the sun has already begun its descent over the horizon.

Most of your companions are busy milling about, attending to their nightly rituals, but Shadowheart’s absence must mean that she is still with Astarion. As you approach his tent on the far edge of the clearing, you hear a pair of familiar voices within, bickering loudly with one another.

“Will you – ow! Must you be so rough?” Astarion gripes, and you spot the distinct glow of Shadowheart’s magic through the dark red canvas. It dances like a moth around a flame, presumably guided between Shadowheart's hands as she attempts to heal Astarion's wounds.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were actually trying to finish me off.”

Shadowheart sighs audibly at him.

“Don't tempt me, Astarion,” she grumbles back. “Gods know it would spare us from your bleating.”

You can practically hear Astarion seething at Shadowheart from inside his tent. Overhearing the commotion, Karlach claps a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle her snickering laughter, and even Gale seems to be having himself a chuckle as he watches the cookpot by the fire.

If Astarion still has the energy to complain, his wounds must be far less serious than you initially expected. Your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away when you sigh with relief. You hadn't even noticed how worried you were until your jaw unclenches, leaving you with nothing but a lingering ache.

Shadowheart greets you as she slips outside Astarion's tent, her exhaustion evident in the dark circles around her eyes and her wan expression. What little energy she had left had likely been expended tending to Astarion, and you smile warmly in thanks.

“I've done all I can for tonight,” she tells you. “He's stable, but make sure he drinks the potions I've left him. I’ll see to the rest of his injuries in the morning, once I've recovered my strength.”

Fortunately, the rest of your companions have been spared a similar fate, bone-weary and bruised, but intact. You flex your fingers, the last vestiges of pain from the wound on your palm hardly more than a memory now. Shadowheart's braid whips around her shoulders as she turns towards the fire, enticed by the smell of whatever Gale's prepared for supper.

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you say. “I know Astarion appreciates your help, even if he's not the best at showing it.”

She nods curtly but says nothing more, leaving you alone outside Astarion's tent. Here on the outskirts of camp, the atmosphere is notably dreary.

You feel unexpectedly on edge as you lift back the tent flap and slip inside, uncertain what you will find. Seated on his bedroll clothed only from the waist down, his eyes soften somewhat as he glances up at you. Most of his chest is wrapped in fresh bandages, but their pristine condition tells you that his wounds must have closed by now. His movements are a little stiff, but beyond that he seems no worse for wear. There are a few remaining nicks and scrapes scattered across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, but those, at least, are largely superficial.

You kneel quietly beside him, smoothing your skirts.

“How are you feeling?”

Astarion studies you for a moment before he leans back on his hands, head tipped playfully to the side.

“Were you worried, darling? How cute.”

You narrow your eyes at him and scowl, huffing a sigh through your nose. Astarion finds your indignation highly amusing, a single fang flashing from behind his lips as a wide grin spreads across his face.

“I saw what you did to that gnoll, you know,” he says casually after a moment, a blatant attempt to redirect your attention. “Before I lost consciousness.” There's a strange sincerity to his voice, but the moment is gone when he sits upright and leans towards you, resting his face in his hand and balancing an elbow on his knee.

He looks exceptionally mischievous when he says, “I admire your enthusiasm, but I must say, your form was terrible. Might I suggest mastering a butter knife before you try wielding a real weapon?”

“I'll remember that the next time I'm saving your life,” you quip back, waving your hand at him dismissively. But his easy smile disarms you and diffuses your anger as it always does, and you find it hard to stay mad at him for long. If anything were to happen to him, you'd miss his teasing – a fact that you don't plan on sharing, lest it turn him into more of a menace than he already is.

A quiet calm descends over you both, and you feel Astarion watching you as you glance around his tent, purposely avoiding eye contact.

“Come here for a moment, won't you?” Astarion asks suddenly, patting his thigh. You shoot him a questioning glance but climb into his lap nevertheless, mindful not to touch him any more than you need to. He inhales sharply when you put just a little too much pressure on his chest, and you quickly apologize before resting your hands politely in your lap. His intentions become clear the moment he sweeps your damp hair behind your ear and exposes the smooth column of your throat. His fingers ghost over your skin as if he's appraising you, delicate and cool the touch.

“May I, darling?”

Your heart flutters like a caged bird beneath your ribs when he slides his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, nails dragging slowly over your scalp. His fingers weave through the soft strands, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You angle your neck for him, baring the faded twin scars that mark you as his.

“Yes, of course,” you tell him. “Take as much as you need.”

“Wonderful.”

Although Astarion typically enjoys the prelude to the bite as much as the act itself, tonight he's in no mood to be patient. His mouth slots over your pulse point, the rush of warm blood just beneath your skin coaxing a low groan from his cool lips. When his fangs pierce your throat, your breath catches, but he's ever-so-gentle with you as his tongue darts out to collect the first drops of blood that well to the surface.

You feel a change in Astarion's demeanor the moment he tastes you, the hand cradling your head tightening its grip and tugging you closer to him. He inhales sharply, face buried in your neck as he takes several greedy pulls of your blood, feasting like a man starved. Your whole body resonates with the groan that erupts from his throat, the wet glide of his tongue over the puncture marks in your skin coaxing a wanton noise of pleasure from your own.

Your bodies are pressed so closely together now that when his hips roll forward, you feel the unmistakable glide of his clothed cock as he ruts against you, seeking pleasure in more than just your blood. The full length of him swells against you with every swallow as your blood courses through his body, a fact that he is clearly eager to draw to your attention.

Your mind reels, overcome with sensation.

“Really, Astarion?” you admonish him, hands trailing gingerly over the bandages that wrap tightly around the sculpted muscles of his chest. “Right now?” But your voice is strained, despite your best efforts, a thinly-veiled protest at best.

“Why not?” Astarion murmurs salaciously against your neck, lapping at the last trickles of blood that spill down towards your collarbones. “I know you want this too, darling. I can taste it in your blood.”

Another quick thrust of his hips between your parted thighs almost makes you reconsider, but your errant thoughts snag on whatever modicum of sense you have left.

“That's not the point,” you remind him tersely, trying your best to look stern. Your face feels hot with the flush that slowly creeps up your neck and stains your cheeks a bright pink.

Astarion pulls away from you with one last press of his tongue against your flushed skin, purposely dragging a slow, wet stripe along the column of your throat. It's clear from the look on his face, all confident smirk and arched brows, that Astarion doesn't believe a word you've said.

“Isn't it?” he hums with a click of his tongue. An idle hand works its way beneath your skirts, and you lose all composure as his fingers dip between your thighs to find you wet and wanting. He can feel how soaked you are through the thin cotton fabric of your underwear, teasing you with purposely slow strokes of his thumb. You press your lips together into a thin line, but you can't hope to suppress the helpless little whine you make for him.

His eyes pin you in place, wine-dark and hungry. You're left with no option but to look at him as he watches you carefully, considering. “Or are we going to pretend that you're not aching for my cock already?” His voice is honey-sweet, rich and thick and sinfully decadent.

“It would be such a shame to waste all this blood, you know.”

His cock twitches eagerly against your stomach. You picture the way it would feel, buried inside your cunt as he thrusts up and into you, over and over again, the way he always –

“Y-you’re hurt, Astarion,” you insist with far less emphasis than you had intended, tearing your eyes away from his face with difficulty and looking towards the vials that still sit untouched nearby. “The potions – you should –”

Astarion silences your protests with a kiss as his lips crash into yours, his fangs grazing your lower lip as he gives you a playful nibble.

“Was,” he corrects with a growl. His lips move softly against your mouth, reluctant to part from you for even a moment. “I assure you that I'm feeling quite… invigorated now, darling. All thanks to you, of course. And what a delectable little treat you are.”

It's hard to argue when his tongue is doing such wonderful things to you, slipping into your mouth as he takes his time savoring your taste. He uses the hand anchored in your hair to tilt your head to the side once more, giving him better access. Satisfied with your compliance, he lets that same hand glide over your body, trailing first down the back of your neck before finding its way over the curve of your ribs and into the dip of your waist beneath the bulk of your flowing robes.

Warmed by your blood, his hand leaves you searing wherever it touches, little embers of desire flaring beneath his deft fingers as they dance across your skin. You are nothing more than kindling, ready to erupt.

The timber of his voice changes with the noise that rumbles in his throat, low and practically primal. Your body responds on instinct, hips rocking forward against the hand he still has pressed against your swollen clit.

The friction renders you delirious as your entire body sings in pleasure. The needy little whimper that tumbles past your lips only serves to strengthen Astarion's resolve, tugging the corners of his mouth into a wicked grin.

“Now,” he purrs, “be a dear and indulge me. Or don't, and leave both of us unsatisfied.”

You answer him not with words but with actions, capturing his wrist at the same time you claim his mouth in a clumsy, passionate kiss. He returns the gesture as you guide his hand up and over your chest, sighing with relief as he deftly unbuttons the front of your robes and palms your bare breast beneath. The fabric pools around your waist as Astarion slips the garment off of your shoulders, and you feel your nipples stiffen into peaks in the cool evening air.

Astarion takes his mouth off of you only for a fleeting moment, bending down to encircle a single nipple with his lips and flicking the taut bud with the tip of his tongue. His hands too, are busy bringing you pleasure, one tugging your underwear aside to allow him to slip a finger inside your waiting cunt while the other massages your unattended breast.

“More?” he asks with a voice like velvet, delighted by the whimpering moans that tumble unabated from your open mouth.

“More,” you repeat, arching your back in such a way that pushes you further still into both his hand and his mouth. A second finger joins his first, slipping past your entrance as he buries himself deep. You cry out, throwing your head back as pleasure wracks your writhing body.

Your hands fly to the laces of his trousers, fumbling to untie them. You lack the grace of his experienced fingers, but you manage well enough, hand wrapped around the base of his cock as it springs free from its confines. Astarion shows his appreciation by biting down on the tender part of your breast, hissing through his teeth as you begin to stroke him.

“Eager little pup,” he laughs. “Shall I tell you what I plan to do to you?”

“Gods, yes,” you groan, admiring the way he feels in your hand, heavy, warm, and so deliciously hard.

“I’m going to fill you with my cock,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers out of your soaking cunt before pushing them back inside, purposely slow as he stretches you wide. “Just. Like. This.”

You see stars when he crooks his fingers inside you, teasing your most sensitive spot. His cock jumps in your hand when you moan his name, precome spilling over your fingers as you increase the pace of your eager strokes.

“And then,” he whispers against your ear, “I'm going to fuck you. Would you like that, my love?”

Your entire body is on fire, drunk on the scent of his perfume, the sensuality of his voice, the feel of him in you and on you. You reach for his face to kiss him again, equally desperate to lose yourself in his taste.

“Yes,” you assert, running your tongue over a pointed fang. “Yes.”

Astarion’s fingers are moving inside you again, plunging deep within your heated core. Your cunt flutters around him, the inevitable precipice of your unraveling imminent. You mirror each of his thrusts with a stroke of your hand over the full length of him, mounting your pleasure together.

Through the haze of your delirium, a thought occurs to you.

“Wait,” you plead, “not yet.” Astarion's eyes find yours, narrowed beneath his lashes as he struggles not to bring you to the release both of you know you need.

“Bite me again.” Your voice is husky and dripping with desire, a flicker of mischief in your expression. “You said before that you can taste it, right? How badly I want you?”

You watch as his eyes flick to the puncture marks on your neck, ringed with the faintest trace of crimson from before.

“Don't you want to know what I'll taste like when you make me come?”

The hand Astarion slips behind your back crushes you against his chest, face buried against your neck to muffle his languid groan. Whatever pain he feels from his injuries is drowned out by the wave of desire that washes over him.

“Gods, above,” he hisses. His fangs graze your skin, a heady concoction of pleasure and pain. “Wicked woman.”

“Drink, Astarion.”

He sinks his fangs into you once more and you feel his tongue as it eagerly moves to gather the first trickle of your blood. His fingers resume their relentless pace, teasing that sensitive spot inside you with every upstroke. You release his cock, requiring both hands to steady yourself as you throw them around his shoulders and grind your hips desperately against him.

“Astarion.” Your voice is thin, strained from the effort of speaking as you find yourself once more on the precipice, an inferno erupting within you. He groans your name between pulls of your blood, the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

When at last you let go, you release a strangled cry, dragging your nails down the expanse of his back as your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers. You can tell the moment he tastes the change in your blood, his body stiffening as he drinks more greedily than he ever has before. His Adam's apple bobs with every swallow, the blood loss heightening your euphoria even as you slowly come down from your high.

When your movements finally slow, Astarion retreats from your neck, chest heaving with shuddering little breaths. Your eyes catch his, soft and round and reverent, as he takes your face gently in the palm of his hand.

“That was…”

“Incredible?” you prompt. “I know. It always is, with you.”

It's rare to see Astarion at a loss for words, and you huff a satisfied little laugh, leaning forward to taste the remnants of your blood on his tongue as he slowly kisses you back. He tastes of salt and iron; in a word, intoxicating.

“Your cock,” you say drowsily, hand slipping between your sweat-slicked bodies. “You promised–”

Astarion whisks your robes away, lifting you by the hips and positioning you directly above his eager cock. His fingers glide over your skin, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear as he pulls them over the swell of your backside. You lift your legs to assist him, and he laughs affectionately at the dizzy little way you sway back and forth in his lap.

“My love,” he begins, hands holding you firm. “Are you certain this is what you want? We can always –”

Stubborn indignation surges within you, and you lean precariously to the side and swipe one of the potions Shadowheart had left for Astarion, uncorking it dramatically before downing the entire vial in seconds. The bitter taste makes you grimace, but you immediately feel your strength returning, a newfound vigor returning to your weary muscles.

“I don't want to wait if you don't,” you murmur softly against his lips. “And I want to make you feel good too.”

“You are insatiable,” he says affectionately, pressing tender kisses against your lips and the curve of your jaw, coaxing a long, satisfied sigh from you as you relax against his chest. “Very well, then.”

With your senses sharpened by the healing potion, the glide of his cock through your slick folds is the sweetest pleasure. Your wetness spills down your thighs, and you tremble in anticipation as Astarion's eyes rake up the length of your naked body and settle on your face. They flare like the fires of the hells themselves as he enters you, every delicious inch of his cock stretching you open.

Astarion goans as your pulsing heat envelopes him, mouth falling slack. With his hands on your hips, he seats himself fully inside you, reveling in the way your body molds to his shape.

“Hells,” he huffs, raising your hips up before slamming you back down onto the full length of his cock as he surges up to meet you. “I had… almost forgotten…” he mutters, near incoherent between thrusts, “how tight you are.”

“It hasn't been that long,” you laugh, your composure held together by little more than a single thread as he thrusts himself hard and deep. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head back there?”

Astarion rolls his eyes dramatically, but the wide, lopsided grin that splits his face betrays his true thoughts on the matter.

“I think I liked you better when you were helplessly moaning my name, darling,” he chides, sing-song as he rolls his hips deliciously against you. The blunt head of his cock repeatedly brushes over the spot that makes you whimper, and your eyes go wide before you throw back your head with a guttural moan of pleasure.

“That's more like it,” Astarion gloats. “Much better.”

Your hands meet the solid wall of muscle beneath his bandages when you push him away, and Astarion lets out a disgruntled yelp as his back hits the bedroll. You lean over him, smirking triumphantly.

“And I think I like you better on your back.”

Astarion opens his mouth to retaliate, but he gets no farther than that before you give your hips a languid little roll, his eyes immediately transfixed by the way your breasts bounce when your back arches forward.

“Keep doing that,” he hisses, hands digging into the softest part of your thighs, “and you can have me whichever way you'd like.”

You want to rest your palms on his abdomen to give yourself more leverage, and Astarion spots the way you hover your hands hesitantly over his stomach. Now that the light in his tent catches his body just right, it's easy enough to see he's still bruised beneath the bandages, and the last thing you want to do is cause him any further injury.

Astarion makes the decision for you, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers with his. With Astarion as your anchor, you set an easy pace, guiding yourself up and back down the length of his cock, with only the sounds of your soft moans and the wet slap of skin-on-skin between you. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and you're not even certain he realizes how serene he looks beneath you, the softness of his smile and the affectionate little way he keeps squeezing your hands.

“You're beautiful, Astarion.” It's an effortless admission, as true as it is simple. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen, made even more astonishing by the way he gives himself to you so completely.

“Tell me something I don't know, darling.”

He's deflecting, of course, still uncertain what to do with such an honest declaration. He's heard it a thousand times before, but never as sweetly as the way you tell him.

“I mean it.”

Astarion's lips are still warm when you kiss him, and his hands slip from yours to cup your face. His forehead is sticky with sweat, pressed so gently against your brow as he sighs contentedly into your mouth. The journey to the swell of your hips is something he knows by heart, and he holds you firmly in place as he thrusts up into you, unwilling to deny himself the pleasures of your body for any longer.

Braced with your forearms on either side of his head, you let him piston into you, your entire body trembling as his cock slides home again, and again, and again. Astarion can feel the tightness in your core, the same way he can feel his own approaching release. When his fingers mercifully find your clit, you come for him again with a shuddering moan, face buried in his neck to muffle the sound of it.

Astarion tumbles headfirst after you, unable to hold himself back when the slick walls of your cunt contract around him. He spills himself inside you, pulling your body down on top of his chest to feel the rapid beating of your heart.

When both of you have stilled, you push yourself upright, sitting back on your heels with his cock still fully seated inside you. Astarion's expression widens at the sudden concern on your face, his eyes following the path of your gaze to the blood that's begun seeping through his bandages.

“Well, that certainly can't be good,” Astarion sighs, wincing slightly as you prod lightly at the open wound. “You're not helping, darling.”

“I did warn you, you know,” you remark. “It's a shame you never listen to me.”

“If I had listened to you, where would you be?” Astarion counters with a fanged smirk. “Sprawled in your bedroll with a hand between your legs, lamenting that it wasn't my co–”

“All right, all right!” you shush him with a hand over his mouth, heaving a sigh. “I'm sure Shadowheart will be thrilled when she finds out.”

“You wouldn't dare,” he blurts. There is genuine panic in his expression now. He sits halfway up as if to stop you from marching out of his tent and announcing your sins to the entire camp, but you don't bother stopping him when he rests his hands on the small of your back.

“If you're trying to buy my silence, you'll have to try harder than that,” you tease, poking him directly in the chest. “And my services don't come cheap.”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion purrs, rising to the challenge. He twists the pair of you around so he has the advantage, pressing you down beneath him as he climbs over your body and leans down to kiss you again.

“I'm just getting started.”

#fic rec #i cannot breath #it was so so good #like i'm literally dead #ascending to heaven

711 notes · View notes