Note: Obsessed with Eric and I need to protect him from the world, please and thank you. Also, Frodo divider created by me 😊
Warnings: anxiety, panic
Words: 1.5k
The carved out hull of the decimated subway car offers little in the way of protection, but with the power out it seems likely not to cause any unwarranted noise.
Eric ushers you in before himself, the light from the fluorescents of the station giving the two of you just enough to see by. The seats and bent handrails cast gruesome shadows across the small space, and you decide to take advantage of one particularly large pocket of darkness in the corner.
Your back presses up against the cool metal, dented from God only knows what. Slowly, you slide down to the floor and Eric lowers himself down beside you. Both of you are caked with dirt and there’s blood smeared against one leg of your jeans. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to belong to either one of you.
A steady stream of water is somewhere near, the comforting sound letting you breathe just a little easier. Eric must feel the same because he dares to lean in towards you and speak softly.
“Are you okay?”
Never did that seem more complex of a question. You’re not okay in the grand scheme of things, but you’re currently still alive and, for the most part, unharmed.
“I think so,” you whisper in reply. “Are you?”
Eric nods, rubbing his hands up and down his shins, the worn brown material wearing even thinner in a few spots now.
The two of you were fortunate to run into one another in an alleyway between two buildings—the only stroke of luck either of you have had lately. A natural ease quickly proved that you worked well together and seeing as neither of you wanted to be alone, the choice was obvious.
Even though it’s only been roughly twenty-four hours since you’ve met, with all you’ve been through in that time, it feels as if you’ve known Eric for ages. There was no denying how cute he was either, but your brain barely had time for fleeting thoughts like that when your focus is on staying alive.
“How’s your hand?” Eric asks.
You look at the offending appendage, purple from bruising, slightly swollen, and throbbing. Though, it’s slightly better since you’d found that bodega and swiped all the Tylenol and ibuprofen they had.
During the initial chaos of the invasion—is that what to call it? —your back was up against the brick wall of an apartment building and a man was sent hurtling in the air towards you. Your hand had the misfortune to get crushed between the high velocity man and the brick wall. Ever since you’ve met Eric, he’s been helping you wrap your hand and always checking in on it.
“It’s sore,” you admit.
“Let me see?” Eric extends his hand.
Taking a deep breath, you place your injured hand in his.
Warm, calloused fingers undo the binding currently covering the wound and toss them to the subway floor. It feels nice to let your hand breathe a bit, get some air. With just a featherlight touch, Eric traces his index finger around the mottled skin. The delicate touch sends goosebumps up your arm. If he notices them, he doesn’t say.
A sense of disappointment fills your gut when he releases your hand to get fresh bandages. You chew on your chapped bottom lip as you watch Eric rummage through the Phantom of the Opera tote bag you’d snagged from one of those tourist gift shops.
He sprays a bit of disinfectant spray on your hand, the mist feeling doubly cold after having the warmth of his large hand enveloping yours. Next comes a fresh bandage. Eric always applies them so carefully, making sure it’s not too tight but gives your hand some support. You watch him as he works, your eyes taking in the small details of his face while he’s busy focusing on something else.
His dark eyelashes are so long that they kiss his cheeks with every blink. The curls on the top of his head are messy from everything they’ve been through, but it’s unkempt in a charming way. It amazes you how dry his lips are from dehydration, yet they still look so pink and inviting.
Eric secures the bandage on your hand, and you momentarily move on to admiring the color and depth of his eyes when you realize he’s finished and no longer distracted.
Heat comes to your face, so you lift your injury up to inspect it, hoping to give you a minute to cool down.
“Thank you,” you whisper when you lay your hand back down in your lap.
“Of course.”
The good thing about needing to keep quiet during all of this is that none of the silences could be interpreted as awkward. It’s just self-preservation.
It goes on that way for about ten minutes before you feel your head get heavy and decide to lean it against Eric’s shoulder. It’s not long before he gently rests his head on top of yours. Despite the circumstances around you, a small smile grows on your lips.
But your peace doesn’t last long. A groaning of metal and the now too-familiar skittering of legs or pincers or whatever they’re called.
By the sound of it, you guess that the creature is coming from your left, somewhere down the subway track. But there’s no reason for it to know you’re here. As long as you can remain quiet, the monster should just pass you by without trouble.
A hitch in breath from beside you grabs your attention though. Your head jerks in the direction of Eric to find his breathing speed up and his eyes widen in that recognizable panic.
Pressing one hand to his shoulder, you get his attention and his head whips to face you. With your other, injured hand, you hold up a finger to your mouth for him to stay quiet.
Eric nods but the rate of his breathing only increases. You shake your head and lean in towards him.
“Breathe.” The words could barely be considered a full whisper.
You’ve helped him through these anxiety attacks a few times now so you try to tell yourself you can do it again. You can’t blame the poor guy for being so scared, either.
The clicking of the approaching monster comes closer then stops. It feels as if time pauses while you wait to see what will happen now.
Smashing the play button, the creature falls from where it must have been crawling on the ceiling, to land on the subway platform.
Eric jumps and you see his teeth clench together as he tries to keep the panic at bay.
Step by crunching step, the being stalks closer to your subway car. Even though it can’t see you, instinct tells you to get further out of sight.
As silently as possible, you scoot over so there’s enough room for you to lay flat on the floor of the car. Eric glances down at you and you motion for him to do the same. He gives you a quick nod and with shaking hands, moves to lay down next to you.
Within the cramped space it’s hard for two adults to lay flat, side by side, so Eric ends up on his side, facing you. If you turned your head to look at him, your noses would brush.
One long black limb stretches out from the creature and crushes a piece of metal right outside your car—probably the remains of an adjoining car.
Eric’s anxiety spikes again and before you can think about it, you wrap your arm around his shoulders and bring his body down on top of yours.
It’s not the most comfortable angle for either of you, almost awkward. But Eric wastes no time grabbing onto your waist, his head falling to the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
Consciously, you slow your breathing down in hopes that Eric’s will follow your lead.
Another crunch of metal rents the air and you both jump, clinging tighter to one another. Eric’s grip on your body changed positions slightly, and now his head is resting right over your heart.
You glance down and watch as Eric visibly calms. He takes a few deep breaths and lets his eyes slip closed as he lays against you.
It takes you a few moments to realize what caused the change. Eric’s head is on its side, his right ear directly over your heart. He’s listening to your heartbeat. And it’s calming him. The thought alone makes your heart rate speed up.
Slowly, you reach up and gently rest your hand in his hair. He tilts his chin up so he can see your face and you give him a small smile. The one he gives you in return brings forward the confidence to begin running your fingers through Eric’s soft curls.
The two of you stay that way, listening as the creature moves farther and farther away, until you can’t hear it at all anymore.
But even then, after the immediate threat is gone and everything seems peaceful and calm around you, you both still stay that way. His hands holding onto your body, his head over your heart, and you carding your fingers through his curls.
Maybe this subway car is a better place to be than you originally thought.
Requested: “So I looked at your masterlist and saw you wrote for venus van damme, I’m not sure if you still do but could you do Angst #2, Fluff #5 from the prompt list. If your up to it that is!” -By Anon
Warnings: angst and fluff
Prompts
Angst
2. “Please don’t cry.”
Fluff
5. “Can we stay like this forever?”
(Hey anon thanks for requesting. Yes of course I write for her, she my favorite charecter on there besides chibs and tig, so like obviously I gotta write for my girl. Lol anyways hope you enjoy!)
You had been at work at a small cafe in the middle of town. Dealing with assholes and weirdos all day was just the norm for you. Not once all month had you taken a day off even if you were given the chance. You had to work, and what else did you have to do. Just as you were coming to refill another coffee cup, one of the other servers called and waved you over. “Hey y/n, someone on the phone for you. They seem pretty upset?” They say as you grab the phone from them. “Hello, this is y/n?” Just then, you hear a broken sob “Y/n, I am so sorry that I had to call. You were the only person I could think of. I need your help.” Immediately realizing that it’s venus, you tell her a quick ‘I’ll be there’, and then you hang up. Yelling over to your boss that you had to go, you rush out to your car. Then you’re off to venus. You could only think of one place and you hoped you would find her there.
When you get there, you are greeted by chibs “Hello darlin’. Venus called ye’?” “Yeah, where is she?” “This way.” He says as he leads you to one of the many rooms in the Clubhouse. You walk in, and there, you see venus sitting on the edge of the bed. Her head hung low, and her hand wiping away the tears in her eyes. You rush over to her and kneel in front of her. “Venus. Hey, I’m here! I’m here now.” She lets out another sob, and the sound alone makes your heartache in your chest. “Please don’t cry. I cant bear to see you cry. Tell me what happened.” She closes her eyes and starts to tell you what happened.
After she told you everything about what happened. The anger you felt made you immediately get up to talk to Jax. Before you could make it two feet, you feel a hand grab ahold of yours. “Please don’t leave, I can’t be alone right now. You can tell Jackson later. Just stay with me…I need you right now.” She says as she looks at you hopefully. You shake your head and walk back over to her. You sit next to her, and she smiles. Laying her head on your shoulder, she sighs in content. You then place your hand delicately on her cheek. Turning your head, you peck her on top of hers. “Can we stay like this forever?” She says in a whisper. You smile against her head, “Of course, we can. If you allow me to stay, that is?” You say sarcastically raising your eyebrow. She chuckles and leans into you. She slowly and almost teasingly places her lips on yours. As cliche as it sounds, the kiss was electric. Like in all those corny movies, but this was real. Her lips were soft, and they tasted of something sweet. When you separated, you both just looked at each other. Smiling, you both get up and walk out. Hand in hand and both happy.
(Hey again, so I hope you liked it and if you did please remember that requests are always open. Also have an amazing day and stay safe out there in the world!)
"Oh well if you stop the queen leaving the bees are trapped" wrong, bees can and will swarm without a queen. They will also make new queens if they don't think theirs is good enough
"Bees don't consent to their honey being taken" wrong, bees are actually more than intelligent enough to know we take the honey. They LET us take the honey if they think what we provide in return (shelter, food, protection) is a fair deal.
"Taking honey starves the bees" WRONG AGAIN! Domestic bees overproduce honey. A beekeeper NEVER takes honey the bees would need because then you piss off the bees, and if you piss off the bees you don't have any bees. They stockpile honey for the winter, but because domestic colonies do way better than wild ones they stockpile too much. That's why beekeepers can take out whole frames and then have them filled in no time. Domestic bees actively overproduce because they know humans are going to skim some off the top.
And if they didn't want humans to take it, beekeeping WOULD NOT work.
To keep bees you have to let them fly free. If they can fly free they can leave. Meaning if they don't like what you're doing, they WILL leave.
The whole idea they're basically slaves to the queen is also not true, they can just make a new queen literally whenever, and if they don't like her, they kill her.
There is no way for a beekeeper to exploit their bees. The bees are EMPLOYEES.
Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide
A/N: This is exactly what you think it is.
Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.
Rating: E, a very hard E
Words: 5.3k
Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning
Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.
“Darling?”
A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home.
“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.
Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.
“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.
You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself.
“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.
He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.
In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”
You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”
Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”
It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.
“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”
Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”
You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.
“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”
Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”
He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”
It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”
Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”
You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”
He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”
You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”
Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”
“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.
He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”
You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”
“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”
Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.
“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”
“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?”
Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”
Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”
Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.
“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”
Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.
Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”
You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”
Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”
“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand.
You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.
As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.
“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”
Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.
“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”
Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”
You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.
He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”
Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.
Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”
You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.
“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”
“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”
Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.
“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.
Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”
You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”
Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”
You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.
His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.
Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck.
You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”
Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”
You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs.
“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.
Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.
Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs.
He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.
You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.
Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland.
It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.
Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.
“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”
His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip.
“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.
With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”
“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.
Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.
A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.
Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.
“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.
As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”
With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.
“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.”
He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.
Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”
Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”
Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.
“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”
His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.”
You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.
“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”
Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.
Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”
You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.
His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you.
There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you.
It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.
Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.
Something majorly delicate, knowing his past.
You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission.
The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.
“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.
True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.
You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”
A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”
Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.
“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.
“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”
Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.
You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.
Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”
Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock.
You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.
You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.
“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.
Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.
“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”
He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock.
To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.
Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.
Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.
With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.
“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.
Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.
Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.
“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.
Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel.
Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”
He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips.
Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”
You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.
“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.
You're not going to last much longer.
“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”
Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.
I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.
His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.
“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.
Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.
You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.
“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.
He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool.
It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.
As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.
Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”
“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.
Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”
Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.
With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”
You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.
Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”
SUMMARY: When it's discovered that Astarion's being hunted, you take matters into your own bloody hands.
PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader
WORD COUNT: 4,235
WARNINGS: Teasing, spoilers for BG3, canon typical violence, minor character death, pining if you squint a little, feelings realized!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 4 is here! Prompt is "you're not scared, are you? Of Me?" So hopefully I did it justice?
Also sidenote, to anyone wanting to be on the taglist. I had a few issues tagging some people but I still put your name. Not sure why it won't let me tag so check your settings and next fic I'll try again.
CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST
-
The sun beams down as you walk along the water’s edge, carefully stepping over damp rocks and foliage with narrowed eyes. As per usual, you and Astarion are trailing behind the rest of the pack —you because of the hangover you’ve been nursing all morning; him because he lives to irritate you.
“I don’t understand how you feel so ill. You barely had more than a few drops of that ale.”
Slightly in front of you, Astarion steps around a patch of suspicious-looking rocks, turning to grab your arm and guide you out of the way as you scrunch up your face in disgust.
The air is way too hot to be touched. Beneath the fabric of your tunic, you can feel your skin grow increasingly sticky, prompting you to brush off Astarion's hand but reluctantly still follow with a groan.
“I drank more at camp,” you confess, feeling a pain radiate inside your head. One that’s almost reminiscent of the tadpole, pulsing in angry motions that make you close your eyes and quietly wince.
Picking up on your discomfort, Astarion slows his pace, opting to walk alongside you rather than ahead. “And why in gods name did you decide to do that?”
Immediately, you shrug your shoulders, offering him nothing despite knowing the reason. Last night at the party you embarrassingly drank to forget all those thoughts. The ones filled with visions of hands and mouths gliding across your wanting skin.
Even now you hate to admit it, but after parting ways, you were still a bit riled up. A mixture of anger and annoyance coating your soul once you finally got situated inside your tent, knowing deep down there wasn’t much you could do. Gale had already returned to camp before you so you definitely couldn’t do the deed yourself without the possibility of further embarrassment, and you sure as hell weren’t going to wander back to Astarion with your hands between your thighs, begging for release.
In the end, the only other option was to get pissed drunk, so you did. And now, you were greatly suffering the consequences in the form of a whole day’s worth of walking under the beating sun alongside an overly stubborn and nosy vampire.
“All by your lonesome?”
Without even having to think, he looks at you with the kind of false pity that makes you want to drown him. To lace your fingers in his perfect locks so that you can better shove his face into the water, never to hear that damned voice again.
Gods, is it ever tempting...
Rolling your eyes, you swear under your breath and shove him aside instead, feeling the edge of your elbow make contact with his chest before you attempt to step forward, feeling his hand pull you back.
Overall, the motion is quick and painless —a twirling rush that sends you hurtling into his frame, boxing you in in the form of a hand that rests against your lower back— but regardless it still surprises you.
“Was it because you wanted it?”
His hand lingers against your leathers as he awaits your answer. Barely putting enough weight to truly hold you back, it quickly becomes obvious that your current stance against him is of your own volition. A choice you’ve made during a moment of weak desire as you deeply inhale the dewy air.
“Wanted what?”
“You know.”
At this point, you’re positive he knows that you secretly like it when he touches you. When he physically guides you through difficult terrain or lets your fingers brush when trading trinkets after a day of looting. You’ve never made it known that you dislike it —never protested, even during times of tense discussion. All you’ve ever done is make faces of annoyance, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He never does. Not even now, as you press both of your palms against his chest, applying a bit of pressure as you stare him down, does he think to move. To let his hand fall to his side to let you continue your stride. Instead, all it does is remain perfectly still, resting against the small of your back, waiting.
It makes you swallow hard as you take a step back, feeling the resistance of your hip as it brushes through his fingers.
“You’re really not going to admit it?” he asks then, watching you pause. Feeling you stop mid-step to cock your head and flash him a grin so utterly snobbish, that his facade of confidence finally slips.
“What? That I want to fuck you?”
Your voice is patronizing. A pointed tongue laced with poison gunning for his throat. You want him to taste his own medicine. To feel what it’s like to be on the receiving end of taunting words that fluster, so you don’t say much more. All you do is stare, waiting for him to break.
“No, that you want me to fuck you,” he corrects almost immediately, his courage returning ten-fold. Doubling down on the way your mouth slightly opens in annoyance, because even in your boldest of moments he still manages to throw you off.
It makes you want to drown yourself instead, realizing just how persuasive he can be. Without trying, it’s as if he’s perfected every potential conversation before it’s happened. In his mind, he can look at a face —hear the beginnings of their voice and already have the correct response at the ready.
“Do you spend all your time thinking of ways to seduce anyone that gives you the time of day?” As you speak, you fully step away, turning on your heel to let out a shaky breath you pray he doesn’t catch.
“Only the attractive ones, I suppose.” He laughs and follows behind, his footsteps echoing through the water as you attempt to catch up with the rest of the group.
“Attractive ones, huh?” You peer over your shoulder with a raised brow. “Is that a genuine compliment you’re offering or another one of your usual deceptions meant to butter me up?”
He doesn’t tell you. Instead, he just offers you a shrug and purses his lips, leaving you guessing —an expression that only tightens the tension that’s seemingly begun to grow.
Well, at least for you.
Since the night you let him feed, even you have to admit that you’ve found it increasingly hard to resist his charms, remembering how good it felt to just let go for a couple of moments. How, when it happened, there was an inkling of freedom that you felt was found. A new sense of clarity that arrived just as your lifeblood left.
As much as you’d deny it if asked, you think about it often. At night, when you’re lying in your tent trying to sleep, you frequently attempt to replicate that feeling, calling upon your tadpole to replay the memory of the cold, numbness deep inside your throat.
As you step out of the water onto a patch of grass, you wish you could feel it now instead of the hangover. Instead of the sweltering heat and Astarion's piercing gaze penetrating the back of your head, waiting for another response he’ll just counter.
It’d certainly make the daily trek you’re experiencing all the more bearable. Being able to forget about the aching in your skull for just a moment would solve at least half of your problems, maybe even two-thirds of them depending on how Astarion proceeds to act. On whether or not he walks in silence or—
“Do you smell that?”
You release a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, feeling your impatience begin to build. “Smell what?”
He loudly sniffs beside you, his nose scrunching upwards dramatically before he turns his head, narrowing his eyes. “You’re telling me you don’t smell that?”
“Smell w—“
Before you even have time to react, it hits you. The foul stench of metallic burning through your mouth and nose, forcing you to cover your face with your hands.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?”
You nod, tightening the hold around your face as you continue forward, realizing you’ve somehow lost the rest of the group —something Astarion notices too, causing both of you to slightly panic.
“Oh, for fuck sakes, really? They couldn’t at least wait for us to finish our…”
As he trails off, waving his hand in the air to replace whatever words die in his throat, you catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar man up ahead, watching as the both of you continue.
“They’re probably over the hill,” you point out then, trying your best not to let the sudden nerves inside your chest get the better of you once you see the nameless man raise his hand, beckoning you closer.
“Who the bloody —do you know him?”
You look at Astarion as if he’s just said the stupidest thing known to man, still moving forward. “Ah yes, the mysterious man standing out in the open! Yes, I know him well, why?”
“Alright, no need to be cruel.”
“Says you.”
Once again, his response fades to nothing. The argument slipping down his throat once the voice of the man calls out to you.
“Maybe he saw where the others went?”
Astarion scoffs. “Or maybe he’s the one who’s been setting up all those traps.”
“Traps?”
You don’t remember seeing any traps. But then again, you’re not very perceptive when your head feels like it’s on the verge of splitting in half.
“Yes, traps. The one’s I’ve been guiding you through like a fucking cattle dog!”
Letting your frustrations get the better of you shove him aside before you can think, turning to let both hands lay waste to his shoulder causing him to stumble sideways. As he does, he looks at you with hesitant curiosity; knitting his brows together while his mouth falls open into a half smile.
An awkward laugh sounds through the pounding in your head as the footsteps draw near, prompting you to look ahead, noticing the man a few steps away, looking between the two of you.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”
His words sound sincere —cautious in a way that has you peeling your gaze away from Astarion's wild expression to shake your head.
“No, sorry, just a, uh—“
“A lover’s quarrel,” Astarion finishes. “You know how it is.”
Angrily you inhale, paying his obviously entertained face no mind as you continue to survey the man now in front of you, noticing the plainness of his clothes and the unkempt hair that circles his face like a halo.
It’s apparent then that he’s been on the road for some time now. He’s not necessarily dirty looking but quickly you realize he’s the cause of the smell, making you swallow hard in an attempt to suppress the sickness that follows.
“Ah yes, of course. My apologies.” He laughs —as does Astarion— while you just frown in between, trying not to blow another fuse.
“I’m sorry but can we help you?” You crane your neck and smile sweetly, letting the more deceptive side of your mind take over, prompting Astarion to quickly clue in and do the same.
“I was just speaking to your friends up there. They told me you were falling behind.”
“And that’s your business because?” Raising your brow, you watch him falter for a moment.
“I’ve set some traps along the path. Nothing too hidden if you’ve got a keen eye like all of you, but still, I informed them of their whereabouts.”
Informed them of their whereabouts? Please. This man’s trapping skills are abysmal at best.
You have to bite your lip once you hear Astarion's insult in the back of your mind, knowing he’s right. It’s one thing for him to notice the traps but for the rest of your party to as well? There’s no way they would’ve noticed if not for the lack of effort put into their placings.
“Well, uh, thank you. That’s decent of you.” You nod but make no effort to move. Instead, you just stand there motionless, staring him down, waiting for him to elaborate further so that you can better gauge this man’s intentions.
You’re certain they’re anything but innocent. Given the smell wafting off his leathers and the way he keeps glancing over at Astarion with a slight twinkle in his eye makes your suspicion only grow. Your defensive walls rising to their highest point as you look at the vampire, allowing your tadpole to reach out.
He’s up to something.
“Yes, well, I’m not hunting the likes of you so best avoid the unnecessary conflict and clean up.” The man’s gaze slowly turns to you, a hardened grin creeping through his features, causing you to twitch.
There’s definitely something off. Something far more sinister underneath that polite expression and overly eager attempt at making small talk but you’re still not sure what it is. Or what it means when he offers you his help.
“Fair point, but what are you hunting, may I ask?”
“Something terrifying?” Astarion questions. “Perhaps a dragon or a kobold?”
What if it’s you?
Your partner’s eyes shoot to yours. Immediately, they fill with something you’ve never seen before. Bordering on fear, you’re quick to notice their unexpected vigilance. The building of a thought that drives his mind to something new.
Suddenly in an instant, he’s overly alert, the movements of his shifting pupils making you wonder if maybe this is the man Astarion's been looking out for. That somewhere in his past he took advantage of the wrong person and they’ve been enacting their revenge ever since. Honestly, it’d make sense. Vampires aren’t the most well-liked of creatures, and although, aside from Astarion you’ve never experienced the company of one, it’s become increasingly obvious he’s a special case. A vampire that excels in all deceptive measures and tactics, preying heavily on whatever victims he can get his hands on. So, it wouldn’t be far off to think this man was hired to kill him.
Making use of the tadpole again, you reach out silently, feeling no reluctance as the face of a man appears at the back of your mind, towering over you. Black as the night itself, he shrouds you in an ocean of thick shadows that conceal his face but not his presence, and because of this, there’s a panic that rises through your chest. Clutching your lungs with clawed fingertips that threaten to burst them like balloons.
You force yourself not to look at Astarion as the memory continues —as an angry voice echoes through your ears telling you you’re his. That you belong to him and no one else and that if you so much as step a hair out of line he’ll hunt you down.
Before you can even react the memory fades, leaving you there to piece together the man in the vision and the hunter standing before you, knowing they’re connected by a common enemy. Strung together by a tether of motivation that ties around Astarion's throat like a tightened noose.
He’s not here to kill him but to take him away. To snatch him right under your noses by playing the unsuspecting hero.
“As exciting as those options are, I'm actually on the lookout for a vampire spawn. His name is Astarion but I fear he’s already long gone.”
His confirmation is all you need to let your guard rise further up. Allowing your fingers to stretch against your sides, readying their need to reach for your weapon, you merely nod your head and let Astarion take the reins.
“Oh, what a pity. It’s always like that for creatures to run away at the illest of moments, isn’t it?” He leans in with that same devilish grin, tossing aside all previous fears in favour of this newfound information.
“Isn’t it,” the man parrots, shaking his head with a fake laugh. “Rather unfortunate considering I’m only trying to bring him home.”
“Home?”
The word pours from your lips with such desperation that even the hunter questions your response. Raising his brow, he only slightly leans forward with interest, clicking his tongue as he glances between the two of you. “You wouldn’t happen to know this Astarion character, would you?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”
“Nope.”
You sound like two opposing sides of a coin. Astarion, ever the charmer responds with subtly, the structure of his body remaining calm and collected while you remain a ball of nerves. A tightly wound set of muscle and bone too quick on the draw for your response to be deemed believable.
“He’s dangerous, you know. A wicked thing. Or, so I’ve heard.” He’s speaking solely to you but regardless Astarion continues to control the conversation, pulling it all back with a loud hum.
“Wicked you say? Care to elaborate.”
There’s confusion for a moment. Then acceptance, prompting the man in front of you to explain. “While he’s nothing more than a vampiric spawn, he’s still got quite the head on his shoulders. Cunning, but nothing compared to a real vampire.”
You know Astarion’s fuming beneath his facade then. Eagerly awaiting to rip this man apart, limb by bloody limb once the opportunity arises. You can feel his emotions through the tadpole —the way they pulse in angry waves, threatening to spill out at a moment’s notice.
Almost instantly, it forces you to push him back. Closing your eyes for a second or two, you shift thoughts of comfort to his head, letting him know that you’re there. That if the moment comes where this hunter makes his move you’ll be ready to defend him.
Thankfully, it calms him down —steadies the rousing anger that you know is still there, lingering beneath the surface. Allowing him to take a few breaths, resetting himself for the inevitable.
“I mean, I’m no expert but considering they’re still technically vampires I feel it’s safe to assume you’re still at the risk of… oh, I don’t know, injury? A good maiming perhaps if the spawn were to be particularly famished?”
“You’re not wrong, I suppose. Spawns are particularly powerful compared to the average but considering the sun’s high and dry I’d say we have the advantage.”
“Do we now?”
The two of you share a glance. Astarion's tadpole squirms in time with your own and in an instant a plot is formed.
“Actually, now that you mention it I have heard tell of this Astarion fellow,” you muse, watching the man’s expression. How it changes from innocent hero to hungry hunter at the drop of a hat.
Next to you, Astarion nods his head, echoing your words.
“You don’t say?”
“We were actually a part of a camp not far from here last night. A big group. So, it makes sense why the name didn’t come to me sooner.” You push out a fake laugh, acting as if the whole thing’s some silly little mistake while you wave a hand through the air. “Now that you’ve reminded me though, he was definitely there, lurking about like a little leech.”
You wiggle your fingers for dramatics, earning a scoff inside your mind that has you forcing back a genuine laugh, sensing Astarion’s annoyance.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what way he was going?”
This time Astarion pipes up. “I remember him saying something but, honestly, my uh, memory is a big foggy.”
As he raises a hand to his face, gripping the bridge of his nose, you motion the man to move close. “Perhaps a bit of coin could remind my uh, lover here of the information you seek.”
Lover, huh?
Paying no mind to his internal dialogue, you rub your fingers together to signify your partner’s needs, watching intently as the man leans back and looks at you with slight annoyance before taking a moment, realizing he’s got nothing to lose.
Considering the payout will more than likely cover such costs, he quickly turns his attention to the bag resting on his hip, opening it up with slow hands that you jump at the chance to catch off guard.
Pulling a dagger off your hip, you make no sound as you drive the blade into the side of his throat. All you do is press a hand to his mouth, covering the groans that swiftly coat your fingers in blood, following him toward the ground.
“I’d say be wary the next time you come snooping in other people’s business but I’m afraid it’s too late for that, isn’t it?” you tell him, feeling him struggle. Seeing him reach out to grab the knife that sits tightly in your hand, wedging itself further into the apex of his neck. Suddenly, it makes you realize what you’ve done.
You’ve just killed a man in cold blood. And for the life of another killer, no less. Without so much as a thought, you drove this man straight to his grave, knowing that if you didn’t the probability of him gaining the upper hand would only grow. That if he survived and caught on to your ploy, he could’ve taken Astarion away.
You realize then that you’re anything but ready for something like that to happen. Sure, he may be the cause of a lot of your frustrations throughout the day but somehow he manages to balance them out with his charm. With his innate ability to provide you with a space that’s begun to border the lines of comfort the more time you spend with him.
It’d hurt too much to let him go. But it’d hurt even more knowing he’d be going back to his old life. To the one you still know so little about but feel its pain. The never-ending threat of a figure controlling his every movement. He may not have spared the details but you know the last thing he wants is to find his way back there, so you did what you had to do to prevent that. To keep him safe just as you so subtly promised.
Breathing heavily, you let go of the knife and look toward him, asking him if he’s okay.
“Okay? Darling, you can’t be serious!”
“What?”
He’s kneeling on the ground beside you before anything else, reaching to grab your shoulders, pulling you roughly into his chest. “You just asked that man to pay us money and then jabbed a knife through his throat. If anyone should be asking who’s okay here, it’s me.”
“I’m fine. Are y—“
“Shhh.”
Up until now, it hadn’t occurred to you how badly you’d been shaking. Against his chest, you can feel the tremors of adrenaline take over as your head slowly lowers to his shoulder, releasing a loud and shaky breath.
You know exactly what came over you at that moment. The fear of losing the only person that’s ever made you feel happy despite your flaws became too real and it caused you to lose all sense of preservation.
Almost instantly, you became nothing more than a weapon —a striking blade shoved through opposing flesh. You felt the threat of the moment and your mind flew through all the other possibilities, landing on the only ending where Astarion's safety was ensured.
Realizing this, you slowly move to wrap your arms around his waist, feeling him hesitate halfway through.
It’s obvious then you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, so you go to pull away, apologizing under your breath as you feel his grip only tighten.
“Are you okay?”
You’re not sure why he’s asking. Or why he refuses to let you go. “Astarion, I said I’m fine.”
“Yes but are you okay?”
One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, pulling your focus back to him. Forcing you to see the uncharacteristic care inside his eyes as he thumbs your skin. It causes your tadpole to wriggle almost uncontrollably, discovering the connection that’s there. The unspoken bond he shares with you now that you’ve proved your loyalty. It’s enough to earn your honesty. To admit that you’re not okay while he continues to hold you.
You’re not sure why you care so much for him. Maybe it’s the attention he offers in a world where loneliness is often rampant or the way he makes you laugh even during the most unsightly moments. Either way, all you know is that in this moment you’re afraid he’ll hate you for it. For letting the curtain of snide remarks and harsh jokes slip to reveal a body of emotions too big for you to carry by yourself.
“I couldn’t let him take you.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper. So inaudible against the sounds of the world around you that for a second you think you’ve spoke to his mind.
“I see that. You struck him before I could even ask him to sweeten the deal.”
“I’m sorry.”
Astarion snorts and moves his hand, letting it glide across your cheek until it finds purchase beneath your chin. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You saw a dangerous man and took charge. Honestly, it was frightening.”
“You’re not scared, are you?”
“Of?”
“Of me?”
The laugh he lets go of is so full that this time you feel him shake, his frame rattling against yours as he taps your chin. “Not in the slightest, my dear. Impressed, maybe. A little bit turned on too if I’m being frank but no. Not scared.”
not far into the game yet but saw a clip of astarion confessing he hadn’t been able to see his reflection since turning and my brain started whirring like a damn buzzsaw. hope you guys enjoy!
oh, the hungering teeth (astarion x gender neutral! reader, baldur’s gate 3)
You’re nearly asleep, though you seem to be doing your damnedest to fight it. You seem to think something nefarious or other will occur the second you close your eyes; a sound fear, what with the motley crew you’ve gathered, and yet for now the camp remains quiet enough, save for the shifting of bedrolls and the crackle of the fire.
“Even saviors need their slumber, my dear,” he quips, pillowing his cheek in the curve of his palm and watching in delight as your brows furrow. By the gods, he would never tire of that look upon your face, your annoyance tempered only by your rising affection for him.
“‘m not tired,” you mumble, a filthy lie if Astarion’s ever heard one - and he’s heard plenty. “I have a few hours in me yet.”
Astarion releases a breath, reaches a hand toward your face and traces a nail along your cheek. He thrills as you shiver, your eyes slipping closed for the first time all evening, and continues his caress along your jaw until he can graze his thumb along the soft swell of your bottom lip.
“Really now, darling,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low until it’s little more than a hush between you. The rest of the camp falls away in these moments, leaving just the two of you to soak in the warmth of the fire. He watches the glow sink into your skin and wonders if you would taste of the flames, if only he dared to ask for a bite. “I know it may not seem so, but I can assure you that the earth will continue turning even without your watchful eye to guard it.”
You huff a laugh, and though it’s barely more than a breath and heavy with fatigue, Astarion finds himself leaning in, wanting to chase it.
“Doubtful,” you say, and this time it’s his turn to laugh.
“And yet you must try,” he returns, watching the glide of his thumb along your lip, the way your breath ruffles his sleeve. “The rest of us will endure, if only for the night.”
You smile then, and he feels it, the slow curl of your lips against his thumb, the twitch of your jaw against his palm. He’s so enamored by the curve of your lips that he misses your eyes, lids parting to seek out the planes of his face.
“You worry too much.”
“Hmm?” Astarion catches your gaze, only to find you reaching for him, rubbing the pad of your thumb lightly between his brows.
“There’s always a furrow here,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. Your thumb glides along one brow, smoothing the hairs there, and your lips quirk. “Strong brows, silver in the moonlight, and always dancing.”
He huffs a laugh, though his chest has grown tight - with realization, with adoration.
“Your eyes crinkle when you laugh,” you continue, thumbing along the delicate skin beneath his eye. “Piercing eyes, they are. Ringed by thick lashes. Red as rubies, or blood.”
Astarion’s fangs ache within the cavern of his mouth, though it isn’t quite a meal he hungers for. He feels flayed open, suddenly, dreadfully exposed, and yet he does nothing to stall your words or to escape your gaze, even as it swallows him whole.
“High cheekbones,” you murmur, the tips of your fingers tracing his cheek. The delicacy of the gesture is so at odds with your fierceness in battle that it nearly upends him. “They pinken after you feed, did you know?”
Astarion’s lips part to speak, though it takes a clearing of his throat to free the words glued to his tongue. “Hadn’t the foggiest.”
Your nails drag along the edge of his jaw, digging softly into the skin there. It gives beneath your fingertips as though his skin has been molded for your touch, and his mouth parts on an exhalation of your name.
“Darling - “
“Soft, here.” Your voice grows hushed, contemplative as you trace the bow of his lips, his breath warm against your wrist. “Always, even when you’re sneering.”
“I don’t sneer,” Astarion protests, but the words carry little weight. Your skin is too soft against his, your smile too warm, his thoughts too muddled by the sharp bite of affection he feels for you.
“Liar.” The accusation comes without heat. Astarion bares his fangs regardless, more tease than threat, but you’re well-prepared, your thumb slipping along his tongue and grazing the sharp points of his incisors.
He freezes. Some part of him wonders what he must look like, what the others might see, were their eyes to drift beyond the flames to your bedrolls - his mouth parted around your thumb, your skin wet with his saliva, his eyes blazing through the darkness like rubies, like blood.
“Minx.” It comes out garbled, without bite. An inferno roars within his chest, sinks into his limbs, his belly, burning him from the inside out. What a wicked, wonderful thing you are.
Your lips curl into a warm, loving smile. The swell of your thumb presses against his fang, the soft pop of pierced flesh roaring through his ears like a dragon’s roar. The scent of your blood - sharp, sweet - fills the air.
Astarion releases a sound he’ll be haunted by later - needy, desperate, hungry - and pushes his brow against yours, his curls tickling your face, your breath warm against his lips.
“Rest,” he commands you, his fingers knotting in the fabric at the small of your back. “Lest you tempt me further, and we both lose sleep this night.”
You laugh, a soft sound laden with approaching slumber, and press your fingers to the strip of flesh bared by the collar of his tunic.
“As you wish,” you murmur sleepily. You say it so easily, so readily, succumbing to his whims without thought, and Astarion squeezes his eyes shut and tucks you close, feeling the depth of the power he wields filling him to the brim, cracking him open, and spilling over.
stormborns
origamiaround
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
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