Can i get prompt 20 with astarion x f!tav? Maybe she is in her fertile period and very horny or maybe carrying his child and hormones are messing up with her head (idk if u feel comfortable writing about it, i didn't find your rules. If you don't, ok) and Astarion offers his thigh for her to get off :))
“Helpful…”
UA Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts
CW: pregnancy smut
Thirty-six weeks… it’s been. Not that you’re counting. Each day is more taxing than the last… a blissful sort of torture, one you endure with a smile.
Most days.
But, days like today, you question your sanity and doubt your strength.
You couldn’t even count the sum of enemies you slaughtered. You brought down the Chosens of the Dead Three, you massacred an Illithid army….
And now the rapid flutter and kicking in your rounded belly is enough to lay you up for hours. The ache and stretch it is to bring a life into this world takes your literal breath away. Of course it doesn’t help that the child inside is Dhampir… and that its father is equally demanding at times, in different ways.
As you’ve grown heavier, rounder, Astarion has grown more attentive, helping around your cottage in the Underdark. Honestly, you sometimes scratch your head to watch the once selfish, snarky bastard of a Spawn become a snarky, helpful bastard of a Spawn.
There is one way he has relished helping you; the more demand the child inside you places on your body, the more demand your body has on you for… release. Sometimes it makes you cry, how madly you want Astarion to fuck you. Doesn’t matter where or when or for how long.
With that little problem, he’s more than eager to help. The further into your term you get, the worse the ache is, but the more exhausted you are too. Often some days, you just swallow the rage of lust that simmers inside you, but other days, he notices far too easily.
His nostrils flare as you enter your little study. He reclines on the little couch near the fire, the dim light dancing off the brightly colored spines of books around you. Scenting your need, he opens his arms, a familiar invitation to rest against him. You take the last few waddling steps, hands on your knees as you lower your rear to the couch. Your body fills the space between his legs, grimacing as it creaks under you.
Your cheeks are flush with need, and now they burn with embarrassment. “Gods I feel huge,” you bemoan, trying not to make the wooden frame of the couch groan under you again as you shift closer to your Vampiric love. “I can’t wait much longer, love,” you groan, leaning back against the cool hard planes of his torso.
“A few more weeks, and then our little one will be here,” he whispers into your ear, lips pressing a kiss, fingers pulling the stray wisps of hair back over your shoulder. “I’m sure she will be as fierce as you…”
“That’s your guess? She?” You give an airy laugh. “Well, she certainly is already fierce, given the amount of kicking, punching, and spinning that plagues me at all hours.”
A cool hand wanders over the taut curve of your belly, and instantly the child thumps against the pressure. You cry out at the pain, laughing at the look of surprise on Astarion’s face as your belly shifts with the babe’s movement within. “Incredible,” he breathes before looking at you, tilting your face into his by clasping your chin. “You’re… incredible,” lips murmur against yours. “Nearly impossible odds against us to create a dhampir, and here you are heavy with my child. Wouldn’t be the first time we were victorious against the impossible, hmm?”
“Knowing you, it won’t be the last, either,” you laugh, pursing your lips to kiss him slowly, sweetly. Hands work their way lower to the base of your belly, rucking up your skin to hunt down that source of your scent, that center of your searing need. Cool fingers on your skin give you instant relief, climbing their caress higher and higher until the dip inside you. Your aching spine bends even more, tilting your heavy hips to let him explore deeper.
Heavenly, his chilled thumb dances over your constantly hardened clit, his fingers cooling the ever-burning walls of your cunt. You hiss, riding his fingers. But your body is too laden to move like this. Your hips lock up, your back crying out in pain from your position.
And Astarion reads it in the smallest twinge of your face. Crimson eyes widen in concern, and he shushes you, soothing you as you are lifted up in his strong arms. “Ride me,” he purrs. But your hip joints already protest at the idea of being spread for his waist.
A pitiful whimper escapes you as you manage to pull yourself up on your knees on the couch to face him. Those silver brows furrow, hands at your waist to steady you… both of you. His sight roams over your flushed complexion and sweaty brow, and he guides you over his one long leg, propping it up to press beneath you.
“Use my thigh, my darling,” he murmurs, “your saviour is here.” He grins, raskish and conceited. That same line from when he once would reach out to you in combat. But you’re too pent up to tease, burning too hot with a need to find release with him in any capacity.
A hiss escapes your lips as you settle your folds on the bone of his thigh. Hard, corded muscle cools your wet and aching cunt as you grind. Slick soaks instantly through your panties and definitely into the fabric of his pants. But it only makes his hands grip harder into your hips. The fabric of your loose, flowing dress is no match for the iron clutch of his dexterous fingers.
“Fuck,” you curse, bracing your hands on either side of his head as you move faster. That new angle rubs your clit perfectly, the pressure of his thigh beneath you makes your mouth water with the promise of relief.
“Tch, language, darling,” he chides, slipping a hand beneath your skirts to find your clit with deadly precision, even blindly. “Do you want our babe to be born swearing like Karlach?”
You hang your head, laughing breathlessly until your ribs hurt. You didn’t know they could do that. A bite of your lip, and you grind faster, harder, savoring the way your soaked clothes rub over the aching nerves of your folds. Delicious friction that soothes the ache inside you.
And his finger, gods, it coaxes sighs from your lips, circles made to tease your nub from its swollen hood until you’re shaking.
“Come for me, my love…” he rasps as you hang your head closer to his honeyed lips. Words whispered to you a thousand times before seem to penetrate you deep in your belly, the fluttering of your child making you catch your breath. It grips your whole stomach, your climax. The whole swell of your belly tightens, and then tightens some more. Legs shake, and your whole body floods with the burst of pleasure you craved all day. Little strangled noises fall from your lips, until panting, you rest, unable to move off his leg.
“Where would you be without me, darling?” he purrs, slipping his hand deeper between your thighs, stroking and stretching your walls. Feeling them flutter on his fingers.
You huff a humored, tired laugh, “Not pregnant, for one.” He pouts back at you. “And two, I’d be lost without you my love.” You lean forward for a kiss, letting him hold you up. Letting him support you in all the ways he can.
F!Durge who is a Great Old One warlock with Astarion: 3. “I want to please you.” Preferably during the graveyard scene with her telling him that
“Please…”
UA Spawn x f!Reader | E | Smut Asks Prompts
CW: public sex, body worship, whimpering vampires
Kinktober Bingo: tittyfuck
A cool summer night… a single white star flower… and freedom.
Sweet, blissful freedom.
He lays on you, knee hooked inside your own, spreading you open so as to grind his hardening length against your sex. This time is different from your other trysts… this time, you look up at Astarion, his pale skin still damp from washing the remnants of Cazador’s bloodspatter from the battle. From the final act of vengeance.
You can hardly believe you’re here, on his grave in the dead of night. You would pinch yourself to make certain this was real, but the weight of his lean frame grinding against your cunt is enough to convince you. You’re here, and so is Astarion.
His body is everywhere, a crush of sinew as he presses you and spreads you into the dirt.
“My love,” you whimper, caged by his strength, his fervor.
“It’s you I want… all of you, every last piece of your heart and soul, your body and blood…” he raps, tongue tangled with yours, hand fisted in your hair. You can feel his hunger, his desperation, and after today, you wish nothing more for him than peace and freedom… and love.
“Astarion,” his name tumbles in a whisper from your lips as they work against his. “Lay back.”
“Why, when I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here?” you can hear his dripping confidence, feel his lips twisting in a conceited grin.
Summoning all your strength, your powers, you grab his shoulders and roll. He grunts, dust flying as your bodies tumble end for end once... twice… until he stops. The irony of where he lays, head of silver curls just brushing his headstone, it makes your heart stop. Those wide, red eyes stare up at you in shock and in awe. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he chuckles, hands now grabbing at your hips, his own resuming that slow grind up into your clothed cunt.
Your pointer finger presses over his cracked lips, dry from the salt of his tears today. “Hush, love,” you soothe, “you know what you want. Now I’ll show you what I want… I want to please you…”
“Excellent,” he growls, voice scratching his throat in rough and husky tones.
“I want… every part of me to please you,” you respond. Your voice is quiet, sweet. The movements of your body are in total control, trying to move with grace against the desperate buck of his hips into you. Your two hands cradle his face, your fingers thread through the damp silver hair at the nape of his neck. “Starting with these lips of mine, the ones that can’t help but whine and whimper when you touch me…” you breathe into his mouth, your warmth invading his chill, heating him as he cools you. Your kiss is gentle, tasting of innocence and affection, just the brush of your warm, fleshy, pursed lips on his.
You feel his breath hitch, the slightest gasp at the contact, as it breaks his streak of hunger with its adoration.
You grind, slow, torturous rolls of your folds over his leathers… and the slightest breath of a whimper from his lips snaps something inside you. You sit up, grab him by those limp ruffles of his collar and yank him upright with you. He snarls at your sudden aggression, lips pulled back to the right to bare his fang.
You trail rough, open mouthed kisses over his chest and stomach, hands tugging that old silk off his torso. Eagerly, he gives you aid, his pale skin pearlescent and luminous in the moonlight. Your breath catches as you slot yourself between his thighs. A creature of darkness, those red, unearthly eyes making your cunt clench with desire and your heart race with natural fear.
And you love it. You crave it. You want to tame the monster and please him until he’s nothing more than a purring pet nestled between your thighs… “My fierce… devoted… vampire,” you murmur, planting kisses down those etched diagonal lines of his hips. “So strong… so hungry… so free…” you continue, nuzzling the throbbing hardness beneath his pants. You can feel it stiffen, sense it twitch as you sniff it, kiss it, suck it barely through the fabric. Your teeth nip through the soft leather, earning you a low growl and a rumbling, “Hells, my love.”
“Does it please you?” You ask, nibbling him as he twitches against your lips through his pants.
“What do you think?” Astarion laughs breathlessly, his hands working to unfasten the straining gap. But, your hands stop him. “Naughty,” you chide him, bringing his fingers to your mouth to suck and nip those too. “You are figuring out what you want… you want me. And I, what I want is to please you. Not let me… allow me… to please you.”
You slink his leathers down just enough for his cock to emerge, hard and pulsing and ridged with those familiar veins that weave perfectly around his length. Barely stopping to wet your lips, you suck him in, the taste of salt and musk, that addictive flavors you know by heart now covers your tongue. “Hells,” he groans, leaning back on the ancient headstone. “You really are lucky I don’t need to breathe or you’d steal my breath, darling,” his silken voice catches in his throat, husky and deepening as you take him into your mouth. You want to feel him on every inch of you, your skin screaming to press against his smooth cool body.
It’s a desperation, a drive to satisfy him and please him as he has never been before. Your hands slip your breasts from the collar of your shirt, the buttons loosening to let them spill out. And all the while you bob your mouth up and down, letting his cockhead brush the back of your throat. His shaft is slick with spit, drenched from your lips.
Perfect.
The warm softness of your breasts cradles his cock as you press them around that slick shaft. Crimson eyes wide, his fang bites his own lip to give a trickle of his own blood down his chin. Gaze devouring the sight of you in his lap, he groans, hips bucking to thrust his cock up into your tits. With every plunge upwards, you suckle the weeping head of his cock. And it takes all your strength, your concentration, to keep your breasts pressing snuggly around him.
His nails dig into the dirt, clawing their way deeper in total… complete… ecstasy. “Love… my love,” he grunts, eyes wild with desperate need, blood trickling down his chin.
“Pleased?” You whisper between sloppy kisses on his cockhead.
“Very,” he snarls in reply, one hand reaches to yank the back of your head, fingers knotted in the small, fragile hairs at your nape. He pulls you forward, crushing your mouth to his. Copper and metal tickles your tongue as you taste his own cut lip. His hands lift the skirt of your gown, lining you up just right, cock pushing and pulsing against your soaked underthings. “Keep pleasing me… please,” he purrs, desperation tasting so sweet on his darting tongue.
You shift over his cock, a single pull of your clothing and she slots right inside your dripping cunt. Then, you ride him with abandon. There is nothing else in the world… no enemies, no threats, no tadpoles. Not even strangers spending late night vigils by their loved one’s graves. At least… you wouldn’t know. Not with the way you are keeping vigil on his grave. He fills you, buried to the hilt as you start to bounce. His nails dig into the crest of your hips, lifting and slamming you back down, matching the thrusts of his hips. He rolls them, matching your downs with upward snaps, thumb wandering into that sweet heated crux of your thighs to catch your clit. You hiss, grabbing his wrists. “I was supposed to please you, my love,” you hiss as he circles your aching, tingling nub faster.
“But making you come, watching you fall apart on my cock… nothing would please me more, darling…” he purrs, that voice no longer velvet as he huffs and growls, rough with his own exertions as he fucks you. Those arms wrap around you as he pulls himself to sit up, your body slamming down with wet squelches as you bounce on his lap. Only now, in this position, he can taste you, kiss you… bite you.
Fangs on your skin, buried in your neck… the ice and heat are nothing compared to the searing drive you have inside you to please him. To make him come undone, to love you and to feel your love in return.
It’s a warm whirlwind of pleasure and pleasing, of desire and disastrous mess as you come on his lap, and he fills you with his seed. As he bites your neck and slurps down your blood between ragged breaths once he’s come inside you.
You catch your breath, damp foreheads pressed together as he grips his hands into your ass. His cock is still hard inside you, warming now with desire and fresh blood. Hips lift slightly, a silent request for you to move more. Move again. And then his lips whisper one word against your own.
My dear, could you write something with spawn!Astarion x reader using 15 and 18, pretty please?
Love your work!!
(just realized I sent this without saying if it’s with spawn Astarion or ascended Astarion lol)
“Oh for a skeleton key…”
Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Asks Prompts
CW: Astarion being a smug bastard, is that a lock pick or are you just happy to see me?
“Can you tell me what you did wrong?” he’s laughing in your ear, his voice making you smile even as you search the store of the Zhentarim in the Underdark. In your hands is the evidence of your failure—your last lock pick, broken into useless pieces.
“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer back at him, annoyed.
“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear you admit it…” he gloats. “Just speak true… darling. Say you need me and my skilled fingers….”
You roll your eyes so far back you wonder if they’ll stick. “I’m not gonna say it…” you huff, folding your arms over your chest.
“Shame,” he purrs, “that chest looks promising, let’s hope for gold…” He leans in to kiss your cheek. “All you have to do is say please, my cheeky little pup, and I’ll help you crack it open.”
You just give him the most annoyed, teasing, disgruntled look you can muster, even if your heart is pounding to be so close to him. “You can’t guilt me on this. You should really just help because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Ha!” He laughs so loudly, the spores of the closest mushroom burst and make you a bit befuddled. Or maybe that’s just what it’s like to be so close to your vampiric sometimes-lover. “You should know by now, when have I ever done anything just because it was the right thing to do…” His tone is melodramatic and mocking, arms twirling as he mimes a bow. “Astarion the altruistic is a fairytale,” he teases, pulling you close to him again. “Astarion the devilishly handsome… the dexterous god amongst men…”
“You’re not that good,” you huff again, careful not to roll your eyes at him again.
“Better than you… you need practice with your hands, darling if you’re going to lead us to our survival against the Absolute.” He pats himself, pulling out one pin of a lock pick to slide effortlessness into the chest’s padlock. Then, he flashes you that smug, fanged smirk. “Oh dear, I can’t seem to find the other piece to my tool…” his hand grabs for yours and presses it into the waistband of his pants. “Be a dear and look for it for me, while I do all the hard work and keep this pin in place.”
“What?” you snap, his hand sliding yours into his pocket.
“Time to demonstrate your own dexterity, darling. I know I have that other pin somewhere on my person,” he chuckles, that arrogant, seductive laugh of pure sin. “Fetch it for me, and I’ll take care of your little lockpick problem.”
You feel around his pocket, his leathers so tight, you barely have room to move around in it… you can feel a few gold coins… some gems he’s nicked along the way… and then something presses into your palm.
And it isn’t a lockpick.
Your swallow is so audible, even you can hear it bouncing on the cavernous Underdark walls.
“Oh… for a skeleton key,” he taunts as he has while picking locks an innumberal time. “Found it yet?” he mocks. “You do know what you’re looking for?” He thrust his hips into your hand, his one freehand holding you by your arm, the one digging into his pocket. “A reminder? It’s long and dull at one end… and it’s an incredibly powerful tool when wielded with my skills…”
You snarl, disgruntled and having had enough of his smug attitude. As you pull your hand from his pants, his grip stays you where you are. “Ah, ah, pet. Don’t you want this chest looted? If you stop…” He pushes your hand back into the depths of his pocket where you feel his erection fully twitching in anticipation. “If you stop, I stop. And if I stop, you’ll never get the reward of what’s inside…”
Congrats on 1500 followers! Can I please play your Smut Ask game? Please? 👉👈 🫣
19. “You’re all mine” - “hm…” - “say it” - “I’m all yours.”
Ft. Astarion x Reader
“I’m all yours…”
Act 3 Astarion x Reader
CW: tooth rotting fluff, mating press, creampie
No more Underdark, no more Shadow Curse…
Sunlight once more on your skin, and Astarion couldn’t bring himself to leave it. Rivington was loud and crowded, but you don’t care. Not when you can see him smiling again now that you managed your way through the darkness of Reithwith. Back in the City….
Back into the sun.
It took some convincing, but Gale finally agreed to let you and your love take an afternoon to lose yourselves in the light.
Just a picnic, you had offered to Astarion. Well, a basket of food for you, a scroll of lesser restoration, and your neck for him.
Away from the crowds and eyes now, you spread your blanket on the grassy hill. The sun at its zenith, you can feel it tingling and burning your skin.
But Astarion craves that, you realize, as he pulls off his cream, ruffled shirt and lays at your feet in naught but his leathers. You scan him, shaking your head. That smirk on his face already tells you it won’t be long before those warm brown trousers are set aside too. He picks up the scroll to heal you and giggles. “Somebody planned for some extensive aftercare,” his smirk deepens.
You just give him a knowing smile, flounce your skirts, and settle on the blanket beside him. His fingers tease the pale pink ruffles in the hem of it. “I didn’t think you would ever wear something so… delicate. I almost don’t recognize you without a shiny, metal can on your body.” His crimson eyes rake over your form, noticeably lingering on the skin that shows— your legs beneath your skirt, your forearms that dart from the short frilled sleeves, and your bosom that bursts out the top of your bodice. “…almost,” he breathes, eyes settling on the marks that have grown on the side of your neck.
One arm extends towards you. Your heart in your throat, and down you go, already laying alongside of him, sprawling in the sun and cradled by his arm. His cool breath wafts over your neck as he nuzzles your bite scars. “I only need a taste, I swear…” comes the age old request, his little ritual of asking each time, even if the answer is always the affirmative, whispered like a prayer from your lips.
His fangs sink in slowly, his skin warmed all over by the heat and radiation of the sun. You know, as your blood runs and courses through both your bodies, you know he actually feels alive.
He wants to live, and now, he feels like it—the bloom of life within from your blood, the blazing light of the sun on his pale skin.
It doesn’t take much to coax him, just a sweep of your hand across his lower back, and he’s on top of you, sucking loudly in your ear. That ruinous body of his slots between your thighs, and now you realize just why he had teased you so often to wear a dress for once.
His lips drink you down, but his hands, those cool, featherlight hands skate up your outer thighs. The whisper thin fabric of your skirt ghosts up more and more… until he’s rucked it up around your waist.
His voice tickles your ear as he moans into your neck. “Oh… darling, I can already feel how wet you are. All this… just for me?” Fingers tease your panties, right where your dampness gathers. “Such a display of carnal lust, you wanton minx. All this is mine… you’re all mine…”
“Hmm?” You pull yourself out of your hazy cocoon of bliss and warmth, your body growing warmer and more aroused by your lover’s weight and the sun’s heat.
“Say it,” he orders, punctuating his command with a roll of his hips into your mound, even as his fingers press that damp gusset of your underthings to catch you clit.
You loll your head back to center, opening your half-lidded eyes to look up at him. Sunlight glows like a halo around his silken, silver hair, making it hard to see anything of his face than the gleaming crimson of his eyes. Your answer bubbles to your tongue as you lift your hips. “I’m yours, all yours,” you breathe.
“If that doesn’t just warm my undead heart,” he purrs. “How about a treat for my treat… it is a summer picnic after all…”
His mouth presses sweetly and softly against your lips. Wet and insistent, his tongue presses between your lips, and you let him in. He squishes your breasts as he shifts his weight, his hands hurrying to free his cock as he just lowers his leathers enough. That warmed, blunt cock head teases your entrance, your panties barely a barrier between you; and it’s one he so easily conquers with a slight tug of his finger.
“There we go,” he purrs as inch by inch he fills you. He’s slow and tender, working inside you with gentle rolls of his hips. All is warm and heavy, full and undulating. His mouth is locked to yours, his cock buried deep in your sex. And you have to keep your eyes closed, the light of the sun almost as blinding as how brightly he burns for you.
Drowning in the rhythm of his fucking, you are swept further into your bliss with every roll of his hips. His cock, thick and perfect, drags across every inch of your cunt, catching those places that make your spine arch and your belly coil with heat. Hot within, hot without. He presses his heavy frame into you, driving you into the blanket and dirt. He groans in your mouth, the metallic taste of your blood still strong on his tongue. Wave after consuming wave, his thrusts snap against you, that addictive flesh-slapping sound muffled by your simple skirts. He grins, lifting your thighs to press them to your chest. Your cunt bare to the light and revealed to the sun, now his thrusts echo in your ear and down your spine.
He floods you with pleasure, all your skin exposed for his touch. His thrusts grow erratic, his breathing against your flesh ragged. He’s near, so near… just a little more and you know he will tingle with pleasure in his balls and warm with bliss from the inside out.
A roar in your ear, and he fills you, coating you with cum deep inside your cunt. It’s enough to make you tremble and cling, to buck and writhe as your match him in his climax.
Hot all over. And just as loved.
Your hands trace the scars on his back, thier rises and ridges familiar by heart. But for now, his skin’s heat matches the afterglow of that slow-rolling passionate love making.
He’s warm and sweet, mischievous and cunning…. And he’s all yours.
Your screams echo off the rafters, vocal chords grating as your voice cracks from overuse.
From screaming in pleasure as you come yet again on his fingers and tongue.
Somehow, your body still isn’t drained dry completely from all the sweat and blood and arousal he’s stolen tonight. Somehow, when you come, you’re even wetter than before. This time, you can hear it, the wet squelch of your juices as you clench and shudder in your release. Astarion gives a low, reverberating chuckle. It rattles your bones and vibrates your cunt as he lazily licks you clean.
“Good, my consort,” he purrs. “Again.”
The whine that comes from your gaping mouth is pathetic, even to you. “Please…” the word barely passes your cracked and croaking chords.
“Again,” he just commands. A nip on your inner thigh, and he sucks deeply from the blood that seeps out. “If you wish to well and truly please me, you’ll come again on my tongue, and then again on my cock, and then again…. Until you’ve reached your ten count for today.”
He sucks loudly, slurping your blood with those wet and dripping lips. “And what was your current count again?”
Shit. Your mind is a mess, a blur of hazy pleasure that can barely keep reality from fantasy any longer. “S-s-six?” you answer, unconvincingly.
Long nails dig into the supple flesh of your thighs, and he bites hard again into your skin. This time to punish. “Don’t tell me my pet has lost count…” His tone is ice and velvet, threat and promise wrapped in honeyed tones. “If you’ve lost count on how many times you’ve climaxed, you know what happens…”
“We start over,” you groan, trying to close your thighs to give your swollen, aching folds a moment of respite. “N-n-no more, please, I can’t…” the weak words tumble from your lips, only earning a sly crimson glare from between your thighs.
“Well, is it six?” he taunts you, licking his lips that are a frightening mess of your juices and blood. That sharp, predatory glint gleams brighter in his eyes. “Or are we back to zero, my delicious pet?”
“No!” you cry, tears in your eyes and a smile on your face. “S-s-seven!” you pant, groaning and writhing as he pries your legs back apart, a warm palm on each one.
“That’s right, my dear,” he smirks at you, tilting that head, sweaty silver curls falling over his forehead and almost into his intensely staring eyes. “Now, you eager little thing, shall we continue?”
He doesn’t give you time to breathe, much less reply, before his face is deep in your cunt. Your world reduces down to the breadth of his tongue laving your cunt and his hot breath warming you flesh, already on fire and swollen for more.
21. "You look better with my hands around your neck." F!Dark Urge Old One Warlock because she has a thing for the neck (both for her and for Astarion)
“Breathless”
Spawn Astarion x F!Reader | E | Smut Asks
Kinktober Bingo!: Breath play
CW: breath play, choking, semi-public inappropriate use of invisibility, keep quiet
📸 by @nenalunes here
“Are you certain you’ve done it right?” Astarion whispers into your mouth. “Remember the last time you cast Invisibility at the Wizard shop and lost your focus…”
You stifle the laugh in your throat by biting your lip. “No no, why would I ever lose concentration?” you giggle quietly.
That devious fanged grin, widens as he whispers in your ear, hips pushing you harder into your bed in the corner of the Elfsong, even as your other companions mill around after supper. “Would you like me to give you a reason? Or maybe two… or three… or four…”
You burst into flirtatious giggles before his cool, dexterous hand claps over your mouth. “Darling, tsk, my foolish darling, they might not be able to see us but they could hear us,” he croons, hips grinding at a tantalizingly slow pace… dragging so slowly over your panty-clothed sex as he humps you still in those leathers. “Now, keep quiet,” that lean body undulates over you, just wave after wave to shove his cock into your folds through your underwear. He's hard, so hard you can feel the ridge of his cockhead through that shining, supple leather of his breeches. “Silent as the grave,” he laughs, breathless against your lips.
Between those intoxicating presses of his sex against yours, he slips a hand to tease your clit, just enough to make you gasp and squirm.
And a wanton moan escapes your mouth, even as your companions begin to shuffle and wander around the room.
Even if their eyes deceive them thanks to your spell, their ears would not mistake that noise.
You choke, Astarion’s rakish smirk bares all his teeth down at you as his talented hand caresses your neck… before he closes around it.
His grip is present but light. Just enough to make you desperate, just enough to bring those little dancing spots over your vision. Your breath whistles deliciously. And the way his fingers close around your throat is a perfect fit, feeling almost as tantalizing as when he bites.
The way those crimson eyes lock into yours, you realize he’s hearing your thoughts, those tadpoles of yours still a boon and a curse. But now, it makes him lick his lips, craning your choking throat to one side even as he grinds against your clit. Cool lips sigh a cool breath into your ear, the precursor you crave to the big moment… to the instant his fangs slice your neck. He bites, and you keen, your voice rough and stilted as he throttles you, but your body has a mind of its own. The whine that escapes you is high pitched and needy, your hips slamming on the sleigh bed beneath you as you need more of him. His lips make surprisingly quiet work of drinking you down, just a demonstration of his control compared to your lax approach as you mewl yet again.
His smirking lips push against your ear, his hand easing enough for you to get a lungful of air before he squeezes even tighter. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” he rasps with playful laughter, repeating the same mantra you’ve heard him hiss at himself while being his stealthiest.
You try to giggle, but your breath is too trapped beneath his commanding touch. He releases you, just as those little sparks start to dance over your vision. “Easy, darling, I wouldn’t want you passing out on me before I make you come on my cock,” he chuckles near silently as he shimmies his leathers down. “I need you alert enough to keep that spell of yours going so no one sees just how desperate our leader is for her lover…”
Gods, was he right. Desperate, needy… especially when those lithe and skilled fingers went to work around your neck. You try to keep your excitement quiet as you feel that blunt tip of his cockhead against your mound, and you eagerly give aid to sliding his pants just low enough.
Fucking in a room full of companions was a challenge enough. Doing it while maintaining concentration on your Invisibility spell, and staying quiet enough to keep suspicions low… Well, the task at hand was daunting.
And thrilling.
You wrap your arms around his neck, rolling your hips until he slides himself right inside. His tongue tangles with yours, his fangs dragging with sweet pain on your lower lip. Just the soft pads of his fingers dance over the sinews of your neck… pushing where you’re tight and scratching his nails right where it gives you tingles and shivers down your spine.
Those hips roll with expert precision, that slutty waist of his undulating and flexing even as his hands tease your neck. Lips push on yours, his corpse cold breath filling your lungs, his exhale for your inhale. Your breathing grows rough, your whines more pronounced and needy, making his fingers cease their exploration of your neck. A moment's pause and he looks down at you with lust-blown eyes, black and dilated wide. “Beautiful,” he groans. “So beautiful…” his fingers squeeze your arteries and windpipe in a matching rhythm of his fucking. “But you look much better with my hand around your neck…” he croons, his plush and smirking lips twist sharply as he squeezes.
And instantly your walls flutter and your belly heats. You can feel your blood rushing to your cunt even as it struggles to reach your brain.
A strangled moan sneaks past his grip, his lips crushing yours as he kisses you, gagging you as you come undone. Your vision blurs, his hand releasing your throat as his thrusts grow erratic and clumsy. With his own stifled whimper, he comes, cock pulsing and throbbing as he fills you.
Something about the way the air kisses your skin… the way your heartbeat is full in your ears, you realize it… The magic breaks, and poor Gale as he crosses towards his bed confirms it. His brown eyes wide as he stares at you entwined in your bed before he rounds on his heel. Your concentration is decidedly broken now as you pant and swallow air.
Astarion laughs. “Well, if your magic is broken, we can always just think sneaky thoughts…” He nuzzles your neck. “Gods,” he purrs, kissing the places on your neck that ache the most from his hand, “don’t I just love to leave you breathless. It’s quite a sight…”
#8 Ascended Astarion x Reader 🥵🥵🥵 because I want to just keel over and die, apparently
“I’m going to ruin you”
From my smut asks | Ascended Astarion x reader
Your dress was too tight, but no matter. It’s on the floor at your feet. A pile of silken shreds.
Ruined.
Your face is warm and wet, tears running down your face. Kohl smeared down your cheeks and scarlet lipstick wiped across your chin. But it’s also no matter, the shade of paint matches the drying dribbles of blood from your lips and neck anyway. From where he’s drunk his fill from your body. A perfect match of color, meant just for him.
Or so he says.
A pretty face, now ruined, too.
As for his face… well… that’s buried in your cunt, lapping and sucking at your clit. His fingers stroke you, his nails digging just slightly, just enough into the ridges of your channel to bring you close. Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, like static on your tongue and fire in your veins. “Good pet,” he purrs, his lips lifting slightly as he speaks to catch the lips to your cunt on the tips of his fangs, “how delicious you are… blood like the finest vintage and essence like the sweetest of nectars. Such perfection.” He croons as he flashes his crimson eyes that seem to glow in the dim firelight up at you, his silver hair framed between your quivering thighs. “But such perfection is meant to be owned, to be possessed.”
He bares his fangs at you as he leans towards, eyes drinking in the way you come on his fingers as they catch that innermost secret spot in your cunt. “Perfection never lasts,” he croons as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them, sucking your juices with swipe after swipe of his curling tongue. “It is made to be ruined,” he chuckles, clutching your thighs to lift your ass. One thrust and he’s speared you on his cock. The pulsing, throbbing hardness rams against your cervix as you scream. The downy mattress bends under your combined weight. His skin is lustrous like pearl and rippling with corded muscle, the body of a warrior, last testament to the selfless hero of Baldur’s Gate he once was. Now, the Ascendant feasts on your blood and cunt, eyes glowing with intense satisfaction as he watches you unravel more and more with every second you spend under him.
“You are perfect,” he just purrs again and nips at your lower lip, his voice a melody over the rhythm of his snapping hips, “and I’m going to ruin you.”
UA Astarion x Reader | Smut Asks Prompts (personal request by @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation )
CW: Eye fucking, body worship
The way your hair curls around your ears…
The wrinkles when you laugh…
Sharp piercing eyes…
That dangerous smile…
That was what you had told him so many tenday ago, a broken mirror in his hand and vanity raging a tempest inside his undead soul. Now, he sits very still, posed and perfect. The light caresses his form as Oskar puts the final touches on his work. A near-flawless likeness, captured in oil. Gaze darting between them, between Astarion the painted and Astarion the decadent bastard in the flesh as he lounges on the scarlet chaise, there is so much more you wish you had had the bravery to tell him that night. When he asked you to be his mirror.
No amount of poetry or paints could do his ruinous beauty justice. You love him and all the ways his undeath has frozen his beauty. Like those dark circles beneath his eyes that bring out his gaze, that make the crimson of his irises glitter with vitality. Like the way the sharp cut of his jaw draws the eye inexorably to his pointed ears. Gods, and those ears, the little ways they twitch and flush and wriggle depending on his mood… his hunger… or his arousal.
Staring at his ears as he poses, you feel warm, and quickly you have to calm yourself.
A deep breath, you look away until your heart finally levels back into a steady thump. But the temptation is too great to keep ogling him as he lounges. After all, the artist can appreciate him for a few hours, but he is a man you may call yours. Your lover. Your partner.
Eyes dart to his shoulders, to their masculine broadness, to the angles of his clavicle and the two scars in his sinewy neck that stare back at you. His cream silken shirt is pulled open—Astarion insisted that if he’s going to be painted, he should present all his best assets. And you pray to every god in gratitude for it. Those ridges and rises of his chest, his abdominals make mouth water. Those pink nipples of his pecs draw your eye, your mouth recalling with exact detail how it feels to suck on them. To squeeze them between your teeth.
You must be licking your lips loudly, because it draws his pointed, vermillion gaze to you. A spark of mischief ignites in his eye. A flare of his aquiline nose and you know without a doubt he’s scented that warmth pooling between your thighs.
The slightest shift, and his fingers pull the edges of his shit up higher on his belly. That fucking left brow arched just a shade higher as he watches your reaction.
You know your eyes widen and your cheeks flush to see those glorious muscles that cut his lower half in a v… the deep grooves of his waist that disappear disappointingly beneath his waistband. You don’t even have to try hard to recall with perfect accuracy what the cock that’s nestled in that bulge of his leathers looks like… smells like… tastes like. You’re blatantly staring now, licking your lips, and the slick sound of oil paint smearing on canvas is not helping to distract you. Your own thighs feel oiled, your slick soaking your small clothes.
Even posing for a portrait so he may finally see himself in all his vampiric glory… Astarion is a menace. Your menace. Shaking your head, you mouth the single command, “Behave.”
His answering stare undresses you, and your knees visibly give out just a single, slight tremor in response. The rest of his body remains frozen but his eyes roam over you, up and down, dwelling on the parts of you that he delights in the most: your buckling knees… your drenched sex beneath your leathers… your heaving chest and your own matching set of bite marks etched permanently in your flesh.
You have to break your stare from him first or else you’ll do something reckless and improper. Retreating to maintain some shred of propriety, you move behind Oskar as his brush swipes up and down, left and right, capturing Astarion’s rakish smirk and pearlescent skin. After a few more brushstrokes, Oskar jubilantly proclaims it finished, and you step back to admire it in its entirety.
“A masterpiece, to be sure….” Lost in thought, you trail off, noticing how the artist’s eye has missed so many of those little weathered details of his face… laugh lines at the crease of his mouth, bags under his eyes… ridges and rises of his sculpted chest and belly you know by heart now. “It’s a beautiful likeness, but I still prefer the real thing….”
“What?” Astarion snaps from his chaise, bolting to stand beside you, his ruffled shirt hanging haphazardly from his shoulders. The moment he looks at his portrait, you can hear his lungs suck in air—a teeny gasp he holds in his undead chest. You watch him… his eyes scanning his image, lips quirking up and down… smiling and frowning alternatively. He grips his own chin, the image of judgment, bushy silver brows furrowed in deep contemplation as he starts to nod.
“Well?” you finally prompt him after a long, heavy, and increasingly awkward silence.
Still nothing from your vampire, even as the artist sways in his toes, awaiting his praise. You immediately fill the vacuum. “Thank you, Mr. Fevras, we will cherish it.”
Pleased with your response, and even more pleased to leave, he departs once he hurriedly gathers his things.
Astarion remains locked in his place, frowning as he grips his chin. Deep in thoughts, maybe even memories, you think of using the tadpole or a spell for a moment to detect his thoughts…. Instead, you choose to stand next to him, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist in a sidelong embrace and resting your head on his arm.
A laugh in your throat, you quote your favorite Tiefling companion: “Copper for your thoughts?”
“Hmm,” he offers. Nothing more at first. Taking a deep breath, he threads one arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “Well, darling, I see why it was so easy for me to seduce you… yes, I see what all the fuss has been about…”
Gods, you can feel the smirk he’s making as he rests his head on top of yours.
“If it’s any consolation, it’s good likeness, but I still love the wrinkles when you laugh, old man,” you mock, brushing a thumb at the corner of his eyes.
“Tch, I told you, I may be centuries old, but I’m not your doting grandmother,” he feigns offense, his voice outlandish in tone, but the smile on his face as he looks down at you belies the words themselves.
“Centuries old, undead, and not a day over forty,” you tease.
“Thirty-nine, I’ll have you know.” He corrects, a wag of his finger in your face.
You look up at him, laughing to yourself, “And just how long have you been thirty-nine?”
He huffs dramatically, a sarcastic, cheeky sigh as he turns towards the door. “I’m not one for math, nor details, darling,” he taunts in that sing-song voice of pure impudence.
He cards his hand through his hair, a petty and vain smile on his face as he assesses the painting once more. But beneath all the arrogant jests, he seems more complete, more self-assured, if that was even possible, now that he has finally seen his face. One, long, affected sigh, and he gives a conceited smirk. “I’ll tell you one thing, now that I’ve seen my eyes, red is definitely my color…”
