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sisternihil · 3 months ago

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Improper Use 18+

Spawn Astarion x Fem Reader (4.1k words)

Summary: Astarion catches you getting yourself off with the handle of a hairbrush while thinking of him.

Content: straight up just porn, improvised sex toy, improper use of a hairbrush, voyeurism, getting caught masturbating, mutual masturbation, hand job, dirty talk, praise kink, arrogant shitty astarion who uses his cool eventually

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It's when Astarion rubs a calloused thumb pad across the blade of a dagger to test it for sharpness, that he notices your scent from across the shop.

He doesn't pay it much mind. He's been around the lot of you for a few weeks, it's not uncommon for him to pick up on the smell of one of you feeling a little needy. If there was a smell that he knew very well - besides hot blood - it was the distinct notes in the sweat of a person who was desperate to get laid.

But then again, it's you this time, so he runs his thumb across the blade again because he couldn't pay much attention the first time around.

Too blunt, he won't buy it.

Astarion's eyes travel across the room to look at you - to really take in your features - when he catches a glimpse of the redness spreading on your ears, the way your cheeks flush as you examine an object of your own.

Maybe you found a sharper blade than him?

He takes a quiet step to the side - still holding the dagger he is no longer interested in - because there is a table of trinkets in the way, blocking what it is you're holding. What could possibly have you so aroused in this run-down shop of handmade goods? He was always curious, analyzing what somebody had said to you, once he noticed your pheromones in the air. Something probably set you off, and he wanted to know what it was. He wanted to know what got you going, so he could use it to his advantage when the moment struck.

It's when he shimmies his way past Karlach, careful not to touch her as to not burn himself, that he finally gets a clear view of your hands.

This whole time, your eyes have been fixated on a hairbrush. Astarion is only confused for a very brief moment, until he spots the way your thumb runs across the hand-carved ridges of its smooth wooden handle.

When your fingers fully close around it, gripping it firmly, giving it the subtlest of strokes, a shudder travels down his spine.

You wouldn't.

Or would you?

"Are you buying that?" Karlach asks him, pointing to the blunt dagger in his hands.

Astarion snaps himself out of it, forcing his eyes away from the way your lips are slightly parted, the way he could see your pupils dilating all the way from over here. How irresistible you smell.

"No, it's useless." The cheap blade finds its way back into the box he pulled it out from. He clears his throat and wipes imaginary dust off his hands. "Are we done here?"

When he glances back at you, itching to know if you're going to buy the hairbrush, let alone what you plan to do with it, he sees you tucking it into your waistband, skillfully draping your shirt over top.

You filthy creature.

He taught you that trick, and now you're using it to steal something you want to fuck yourself with? If he wasn't so distracted by the uninvited swelling of his own cock, he would be filled with pride. He catches himself swallowing heavily, his mind fixating on the bare skin of your midriff you showed him without being aware of it.

"Let's go," you say to them both with an innocent smile.

"You didn't find anything?" He prods, just to listen to your heart skipping a beat as you feign innocence.

You shake your head, unaware that your cheeks are still red.

Unknowing how you make his skin tingle with intrigue.

_____

Astarion almost forgot all about it, until a sound wakes him from his half-sleep.

Always vigilant, he notices changes in his surroundings even when he has drifted off into a serene slumber. He opens his eyes first - finding only complete darkness. Not paying much attention to the interruption, once again closing his eyes, until he hears the sound again.

It’s you. Gasping for air.

He worries for your wellbeing for a split second before the events of the day flood his mind again, reminding him of that damn hairbrush you stole. How obvious it was that you planned to do something unsavory with it. The way you reeked of anticipation when you ran your fingers across the texture of the polished wood. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. You didn’t even wait a whole day to take it for a spin? You must be in stronger need of a pounding than he initially expected. It bothers him a small bit - not offering himself up for the task, when he had all but been waiting for the chance to strike for weeks.

He forces his mind to wake fully, dragging himself back from the edge of sleep, hoping he could hear another soft sound escape your mouth. Hoping he didn’t sleep through most of it. Hoping you weren’t done yet.

“Hah-” He hears you gasp quietly, making an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest that slowly travels down to his cock. He tries to swallow the thickness forming in his throat, secretly begging the gods for you to be just a little louder so he could hear you better.

“Ah-” You sound pathetic. His nerves fire up in response.

It makes him grow harder, hearing how shamelessly you are pleasuring yourself, not bothering to hide your noises. Everybody else is asleep - you assumed he was asleep as well. You couldn’t have known he would perk up from his rest as soon as a sigh left your lips. Astarion catches himself having to silence his own heavy breathing, as his cock strains against his pants, begging to be acknowledged.

And then he hears you whimper his name. Only quietly, but loud enough for him to recognize the way you usually call out for him. The tips of his ears twitch in unison with his cock. He can’t fight his body then, the way he sits up all at once, only to find himself on his hands and knees, crawling out of his tent as silently as he can manage. Never has he been so grateful to be able to sneak around without much effort.

Slowly - with deliberate movements like a cat - he prowls toward your tent, spending the entire time wishing for you to lose just a little more of your shame. Be just a little bit louder for him. He wants to hear you whine his name one more time, just to be sure. Just so he can go to sleep with the knowledge that it was him you were thinking of when you traced the prominent texture of the hand-carved wooden handle this morning. That it was him evoking that sweet scent of arousal that caught his attention from across the shop. Stealing from a small business, only to then clench and come around the lovingly crafted tool? Perhaps he underestimated you. It fills him with a strange heat he didn’t quite know how to place.

“Fuck”, he hears you whisper as he rests against your tent. “Fuck me, harder.”

You’ve always had such a filthy little mouth.

Thoughts of filling it with his cock penetrate the forefront of his mind, now that he knows the exact words you would use to urge him to release himself into you. He feels himself slip away, losing control. The ever growing tightness of his pants makes it impossible to think strategically. Should he interrupt you? Grant you a sweet release around his hard length that is begging for him to do so? One wrong step, and he will mess this up for good, and he knows it. The pressure of the moment only makes the sounds of your approaching orgasm that much sweeter, clouding his brain.

“Astarion, I’m going to come” you whine quietly, pushing the ribbed wood into yourself with less rhythm now. Hearing his name cried from your lips makes a jolt of pleasure reverberate through his body, forcing a sharp gasp from his throat as his cock throbs and he curls into himself, overwhelmed with the ache in his lower belly.

Shamelessly, he pushes the flap of your tent to the side to take in the sight. He doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he wants to see you come undone. His throbbing erection making him act without thinking.

The handle of the hairbrush disappears into your glistening cunt over and over again as you fist the bristled part of it tightly with white knuckles. Your other hand drawing frantic circles on your clit - you're so close. What a shame he won't get to indulge in the sight for hours on end. He doesn't want to bother taking out his hard cock, realizing he showed up to the party a little too late, let alone risk you catching him with it in hand. It still strains against the front of his pants, begging to be released, robbing him of his common sense. All he knows for certain is that he wants to be the one inside of you. He can’t believe he finds himself envying an inanimate object.

Your eyes open in surprise, your pleasure not quite blinding enough to have made you lose your hearing. Your eyes meet him as he kneels there just outside your tent, holding the flap open, devouring you with only a glazed over look in his dark eyes.

He closes the flap of the tent, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he realizes you caught him watching.

You want to cover yourself, to hide what you were doing, but the muscles inside of you clench, rippling in agony, as you're pulled back from the edge of your orgasm. Your hands freeze where they are. A desperate whine escapes your throat, completely out of your control, reddening your face with embarrassment.

Both of your bodies fill with a sweet mixture of shame and arousal, but you're the first one managing to open your mouth to speak.

“Wait-” You plead, almost a little too loud. You damn near wake up the others with your begging.

You don't hear a sound for a moment as Astarion remains in his position outside, fighting the strain of his cock against his pants that just got even tighter.

Gods, so tight now it hurts.

Did you just ask him to wait?

You find him still sitting there, his head thrown back into his neck, his hand gripping the erection in his pants tightly to find some relief, making it visibly outlined under the fabric.

“Astarion”, you whine, finally managing to pull out the handle you were just ramming inside yourself while thinking of him. You want to apologize, want to tell him how horrible you feel, unable to imagine how uncomfortable he must be, having seen and heard you fantasizing about him, when you're only friends and travel companions. Unsure if he's still out there or if he has snuck his way back into his own tent, you crawl toward the flap, lifting it to the side.

Your eyes meet again. Pushing the near blinding waves of arousal aside that crash through you, you decide to still go ahead and try to apologize.

“How much did you see of that?” A terrible start to an apology. There is no chance of talking your way out of it.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” You feel the dread spreading through your chest, knowing there is no coming back from this. There’s always going to be something strange in the air between you now, only because you couldn't keep quiet.

“You weren't exactly quiet, my dear” he forces himself to say with a cool tone, ignoring all the things that your sweet crying did to him just a moment ago. Hoping you didn’t see him trying to grant himself some relief by pressing against his bulge. “I mean, I could literally hear you crying my name from across the camp.” He pretends it didn’t fill his cock with a warmth he hasn’t felt in well over a century.

Astarion laughs. “Uncomfortable?”

“Are you not…?”

He shoots a glance at his bulge. “Anything but.” He exhales sharply, unable to hide his arousal. But he can’t do it, not like this. He had a whole plan.

“Go. Go to bed before I regret my restraint.” Astarion has to force himself to send you away.

Your eyes linger on his lips, picking up on the uneasy way his chest heaves. He thinks he can hide how badly he wants to, but it’s written on the way his eyebrows are drawn together, the roundness of his eyes.

But you don't move. “Restraint?” You inquire further. “Did you… Do you want to…?”

His cock twitches and how it hurts as your hand instinctively motions for him to come inside the tent with you, opening the flap further.

“Do you want to watch?” You whisper quietly, ignoring the heat spreading through you at the suggestion leaving your lips.

He notices the way your heartbeat quickens now, your scent intoxicating his senses even further. You were so close to an orgasm.

Astarion would do anything to be the one pushing you over the edge. Curious about the noise you would make, the smell of your skin. He can’t fathom going back to bed without knowing.

You take note of the way his pupils widen, fixated on your lips as you ask the question. Without waiting for an answer, you crawl back into your spot, resting your head back on the rolled up blanket you keep as a pillow, closing your eyes and squeezing a nipple with your fingers, before letting them find your clit again.

The bundle of nerves still agitated from the orgasm you lost.

Astarion watches hungrily as you take your position again, so eager and willing to provide a show. When his erection strains against his pants one more time, he decides to follow you inside. It won't stop pestering him until he takes care of it.

Astarion lets out a pained groan when he finally lets his aching length spring free from the constraint of his pants. His eye leaks a tear and he whimpers softly as he starts stroking himself to the sight of you splayed out in front of him, red-faced and vulnerable just for him. You would let him do whatever he wanted to you, and he can tell from the way your eyes are shut tight as your fingers circle your clit greedily.

You either don't notice that he sits in front of you now, or you don't care, as you continue to run your fingertips across all your most sensitive spots that make you squirm. When you lightly scratch a line down the column of your neck, Astarion swallows heavily, sensing the thick pulse behind your skin. His sharp exhale makes a smile form on your lips.

You're enjoying this every bit as much as he is, aren't you?

You're his now, to use in any way he wants.

You're so, so desperate for him to have his way with you.

He climbs over top of you silently, startling you when you open your eyes again. Fisting his cock with slow, deliberate strokes, his gaze fixates your lips.

“I want you” you whine. “I want you so bad.”

When he chuckles arrogantly, you realize he won't make it so easy on you.

“Oh darling” he purrs, knowing he's denying you the thing that has been on your mind since this morning, if not longer. Maybe every time he could smell your arousal before it was because of him as well? He wonders how many times you've laid here, desperately filling yourself with your fingers, wishing for him to stretch you out. How you must have been driven by pure desperation and need to seek out something bigger to thrust into yourself while you thought about him at night.

“No, you already made your choice. You could have come to me to help you with your little problem, but you went and stole yourself a little toy instead.” His eyes flick over to the discarded brush, wordlessly ordering you to continue what you were doing a few minutes ago when you were unaware of him watching.

You obey his unspoken wishes, wrapping your palm around the bristles, leading it between your bodies to find your entrance again, catching the sight of the swollen head of his cock pushing out from his fist. You feel yourself growing wetter, imagining it pushing into you with the same vigor.

“That's it, my dear” He spurs you on as you slide the handle back into your heat with ease. You cry out, realizing all of a sudden your new toy is not enough anymore, not when his hard length is hovering above your stomach, not when you have a front row seat to the precum leaking from his pink tip, not when you can watch his knuckles from this up close as he strokes himself more furiously. Not when he is slowly losing his composure as he hovers over you, getting more and more lost in his own need to be in place of the brush.

“Show me how you want me to fuck you”, he grunts into your ear as he leans down to run the tip of his nose over the space where your jaw meets your neck. You move your head to the side, trying to catch him in a kiss, but he evades your mouth, only letting out another pitiful laugh.

“Astarion, I need you” you plead, craning your neck after him.

“How badly? Be a good girl and show me.” His tone grows even more demanding as he withdraws his face to not give you the satisfaction. He plays you like a damn fiddle.

You pick up your speed, pushing it as deeply as it can go, until another soft cry spills from your lips that makes his pupils widen. Retreating from above you, he makes sure to get a good view of what you are doing to yourself - ramming the smoothly carved wood into your cunt recklessly.

“Eyes on me” Astarion orders just as your head falls back in pleasure. You let out a drawn out moan of frustration, feeling the exhaustion in your arm.

“Watch me closely.” With permission to rest your gaze on his hand, you are instantly hypnotized by the slow, deliberate way he pushes his hips upward into his fist. “If that were me, that’s how I would fuck you.”

His eyes study yours as he imagines forcing more of those sweet sounds from your throat with his cock. The way your mouth hangs open, your lips parted ever so slightly, make him want to give in, and give you what you crave.

Leaning over you again, he hovers right above your lips with his own, his heavy breath mixing with yours. He pants into your mouth loudly, wanting nothing more than to kiss you, to run his tongue over yours, to find out how you taste.

He takes note of your changed speed, your adjusting to what he showed you a moment earlier.

“That’s it. Good girl.” He purrs into your mouth. “Maybe someday I’ll do you the honor of letting you come around my cock.”

The ripples of pleasure travelling over your skin and through the fabric of your very being make you whimper against his lips. They're so close now, you would only need to purse yours to meet him.

When you try, he reacts with cat-like instincts again, withdrawing just enough for his face to be inaccessible. It sinks back toward your ear to growl,

“You haven't earned my tongue.”

His lips graze over the column of your neck, finally granting you a kiss on the skin that has grown cold with sweat. It takes all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into the rapid pulse under your skin. You have never smelled more delicious than you do at this moment, your every pore begging for his touch - your holes begging to be filled by none other than him.

It seems to shift something in him, wanting to throw away his caution - his hand now wrapping around yours, urging your fingers to leave, taking control of the brush himself.

He grunts into your ear, pure need drawing from his lungs.

“Do you know how I know you were thinking about fucking yourself with that brush at the shop today?”

He pauses to let you whine a no.

“I could smell your lust from all the way across the room. You were practically reeking with desperation to be bent over and filled.”

“You’re close, aren't you? You want me to fuck you over the edge, don't you? Want me to pound into you, fill you up? Let me show you how the professionals do it, darling.”

One of your legs suddenly gets picked up to rest your foot on his shoulder, opening you up wider for him. He picks up the pace with both of his hands right after he adjusts the wooden handle inside of you. It hits you differently now, the same way the curve of his cock would, fucking up into you from a lower angle. He draws it further upwards when he pulls it back, scooping at your insides, grinding against that spongy spot inside. You abandon all attempts to stay quiet. So does your cunt, its obscene squelching filling the tent.

He presses his forehead into yours, staring deep into you with half lidded ruby eyes as both of you breathe heavier - your mouth gasping for air under his.

“You want to imagine that stupid brush is my cock?” He growls against you as he thrusts it into you with precision over and over. “Pounding into you? Making you scream?” Astarion has to hold back his own moans to get the words out, inching closer and closer to the edge. “You dirty little thing… Stealing it… Hah… Did you think no one would notice? Did you…” He lets out a whine. “Think I wouldn't notice?” He curses under his breath, his face growing more and more red, his thrusts with the brush getting more sloppy as his words fill you up further, getting you closer. He fists his cock with reckless abandon as his face collapses into your neck.

His hips thrust his cock into your fist, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth with an eagerness you didn't expect after his distant demeanor. You watch the reddened tip push out from your palm with unrelenting eagerness. You try to stroke him, but his hips bucking into you with determination do most of the work.

“I taught you that trick… Taught you how to… Lift things…You filthy… little…” He suddenly grabs your hand and places it on his throbbing cock, giving himself a free arm to hold himself up with. The warmth of your grasp envelopes him, making him shudder and whine, collapsing into you just a bit further as he does.

When his sweaty face comes back into your view, he looks completely lost in the moment, before he finally, finally presses his lips into yours, filling your mouth with his whimpers. His length is so slick and thick in your palm, it fills your mind with even more curiosity about how he would feel inside of you.

When you feel him start to throb, he picks up the pace with the handle inside of you, his hips growing more sloppy with their movements, his mouth dropping to your neck again, so that every one of his honeyed words doesn’t have to travel far to reach you. You take over the stroking then, matching the merciless pace of the wood inside of you.

“That's it” he cries out in pleasure. “Just like that.” His hips thrust helplessly and uncontrollably into your palm, no order to be found in the chaos of the way he chases his own release. “Good… girl…” He pants like a dog into your ear. “Right… oh… right there” he whines.

You feel the coil of pleasure inside of you tightening with every word he cries against your neck, every desperate pant from his lips sounding like a heavenly gift sent just to ruin you.

The pitch of his voice raises as he pleads, “Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop… don’t-”

The first thing you feel is tipping over the edge yourself, followed by the heat of him spilling himself over your fist, then dripping on your stomach. The next, his lips back on yours, his tongue and teeth eager to devour you whole as you both ride out your high together and he grunts ferociously against your tongue.

His curls around yours for what feels like an eternity, as he slowly lowers the weight of his body atop yours, trapping the mess between the two of you. It takes him an ungodly amount of time to catch his breath.

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sisternihil · 4 months ago

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Wholesome and fucking hot 🥵

your obstinate charge | astarion ancunin

Astarion has never been allowed to say 'no' before. When he does, he realizes who he wants to say 'yes' to. You realize that he could kill you here, right now, in any number of ways. He could slit your throat, drive a dagger beneath your ribs & pierce your heart, bleed you dry until you're nothing but a memory upon this land. You realize this, and yet your body relaxes in his hands. You trust him completely.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, afab reader but any pronouns, durge reader, act 2 spoilers, previous abuse, smut, oral (f! & m! receiving), blood drinking

word count: 5.3k

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hello! i wrote this last year and posted on ao3, and i wasn't going to cross post since my blog is mostly jjk, but i reread it and was really proud of it, so here it is on tumblr! ty for reading & hope you enjoy!

Everyone at camp can see that Astarion is in a foul mood.

You arrived back at Last Light after your first journey to Moonrise Towers, finally having arrived at your end goal to destroy these tadpoles, and before you could all share your discoveries with the rest of the party, Astarion strode off towards the waterline, ducking into darkness before you could grab him.

You stare after him for a moment and shake your head. Then you turn towards the fire, folding your legs under you as you ready yourself for dinner.

Gale passes you a wooden bowl of the same stew you'd been eating since arriving in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. "How did it go?" he asks.

You shake your head again, shoving food in your mouth, and lift your shoulder in a shrug. "We found Ketheric," you explain, offering the memory of your meeting to Gale through your tadpoles. He grimaces as you share the images of Ketheric pulling the axe from his chest. You withdraw your mind from his and continue to eat. "We've convinced them that we're True Souls, for now. We'll see where it takes us."

Gale begins to speak over his own meal, airing his many ideas to the party as the others gathered around the fire. But your thoughts drift, and you aren’t even lucid enough to feel guilty for ignoring him; all you can think of was how you know Ketheric was somehow involved in your previous life, that life you can't remember. Determination begins to burn deep in your chest; you must find out what this all means.

Before you can try to sort out your disordered thoughts, Karlach plops down beside you, the heat of her warming you on all sides as she digs into her stew.

"Hey," she says through a mouth full of food, "what's wrong with Fangs?"

You shrug, pulling apart your warm roll of bread. "How am I supposed to know?"

"'Cause you're all cozy with him, or whatever." She looks at you, her bright eyes keen and knowing. "Whatever happened today, you know what must be bothering him. Maybe you should go check on him."

You almost laugh. "He doesn't want to see me," you tell her.

She gives you a stern look before returning to her meal. "Just think about it, soldier," is all she says.

You all finish your meal and talk about your plan for the next day before retiring to your own tents for the night. You change out of your armor and clean it, rubbing off stubborn stains of goblin blood. You try to lose yourself to sleep, but it does not take you, with your many worries for the next day. And, even though you don't want to, you can't help but think about what Karlach said.

"Maybe you should go check on him."

So, unable to sleep, and unable to think of anything else to do, you leave your tent and make your way towards Astarion's.

You walk over, the chill of the night making you shiver. You almost hope to find the tent closed up for the night, to find him already trancing for the night, but the entrance is still tied open. You peek inside, expecting to find your companion reclined and reading a book by candle light; you try to prepare yourself for whatever sly flirtation he has for you.

Instead, you find the tent empty.

You frown; you know that Astarion hasn't been able to find suitable prey since you'd arrived in the cursed lands, so you can't imagine that he's out prowling. You stand there for a moment, at a loss and trying to decide whether or not to just go to bed. But you sigh, as whatever blackened heart inside you pushes you forward.

You, thanking your lucky stars that he wasn't trying to hide when he skulked away, follow Astarion's tracks down towards the river.

—

You find him propped up on his elbows across the river, staring out across the water. You don't bother to try and hide your footsteps; you simply cross the river, taking care not to lose your footing on the loose stones along the way.

"Come to collect your obstinate charge?" Astarion sneers without looking at you as you approach.

You sit beside him, tucking your knees against your chest. You try to keep your dirty shoes off his cloak that he spread out on the ground beneath him.

Those words are familiar enough; that dreadful Drow called him that to your face when she asked for him to bite her. "She really got to you, huh?" you ask, resting your cheek on one knee as you turn to look at him.

He's still in his armor from the day, and he'd found a bottle of wine somewhere in the crates surrounding Last Light on his journey over. It's something cheap, something you're sure he finds repulsive, even as he drinks. He stares across the river towards the inn, and he's silent for so long you resign yourself to the fact that he's ignoring you. Then, as you're deciding if you should just leave him to his thoughts, he shakes his head and says, "I can't get it out of my head. The way she leered at me."

You watch him, waiting for him to speak. He swirls the bottle of wine and takes a drink, then grimaces at the taste and lets the bottle hang loosely from his fingers. He doesn't look at you as he thinks.

Eventually, he sighs, the sound light and airy. "I was being too precious, wasn't I?" You can tell he's trying to convince himself, to talk himself back into some dark line of thinking he'd grown accustomed since being turned. "We could have used her potion. A moment of unpleasantry doesn't matter if there's a fine reward. I should have just gritted my teeth as always and let her have me for a bit."

You feel your heart sink at his words. "Astarion," you whisper, unsure of what to say next.

He barks out a laugh, a short, derisive sound. "Oh, darling, I don't need your pity." He throws the bottle of wine towards the water, and the glass shatters against the river bank. Wine starts to spill into the river, spreading like blood.

You shake your head, confused by how quickly his mood shifts. You struggle to keep up. "Astarion, I don't pity you," you tell him. You turn to face him properly, to take this conversation seriously. He still doesn't look at you. "But you have the right to say 'no.' You don't belong to anyone anymore."

At those words, he shifts his gaze from the waterline to finally examine you. His eyes are narrow, the expression behind them inscrutable. "You really believe that, don't you?" He laughs again, but he's not amused. His voice is bitter as he continues, "Yes, well, I must admit, a part of me feels sick when I think about getting on my back for breadcrumbs again." He tilts his head, suddenly curious. "But you, you could have convinced me to take the deal. To just push through and get the potion, and we would've all just moved along with our lives. Why didn't you?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Your voice is slightly incredulous. "You said 'no,' and that's your right. I'm not here to force you to do anything." You, now, laugh without mirth. You know enough about not having a say in what you do, with your strange visitors haunting your every move.

Astarion is still watching you. He has to admit to himself, he doesn't understand you one bit. No one in this life or his last ever showed him any ounce of kindness; even the gods couldn't be bothered to look his way. But here you are, some insignificant wanderer with gore for brains and a strong propensity towards gruesome violence, sitting beside him and telling him he had a choice. "But you could've," he pushes, and he suddenly reaches forward, dragging aside your neckline to reveal bruised teeth marks from where he'd last fed. You stiffen slightly, caught off guard by his quick movements. "What have I done to deserve any of your grace? I deceived you, tried to hunt you in the night, have taken everything I could from you with no promises to give any of it back."

"Astarion," you whisper, and for the first time, you think you are finally seeing him. "What makes you think you have to earn it?"

And that, finally, is what breaks him.

He rises up on his knees and takes your face in his hands, and there's a frenzy there, a desperation that makes you tense. You think he might shake you so hard your ruined brain will rattle around in your skull, and you watch the thought form behind his eyes. You realize that he could kill you here, right now, in any number of ways. He could slit your throat, drive a dagger beneath your ribs & pierce your heart, bleed you dry until you're nothing but a memory upon this land.

You realize this, and yet your body relaxes in his hands.

You trust him completely.

The look in his eyes is suddenly wild, confused, exasperated. Of all the prey he's ever hunted before, why did you have to be the one he showed the monster to? Anyone else would've run; you should've, too. Yet here you sit, on this riverbank beside him, looking into his blood-red eyes because he's led you right where he wanted you. Surely you aren't too stupid to see that.

Yet here you are, staring at him with those big, trusting eyes as he holds your life in his hands.

There must be something wrong with you, he decides then. Beyond the parasite in your head, and beyond the spells of very bloody memory loss; there is something fundamentally, elementally, seriously wrong with you. It's the only way he can explain to himself why you're still sitting here, prey in its predator's sight, unwavering & unafraid.

At that look in your eyes, that brave, corruptible expression, he leans closer. He says your name, and it's like the last prayer he'll ever speak. "Tell me what you want," he whispers, and he's almost begging.

You lean in, too, until the tip of your nose brushes the slope of his, and you breathe, "You."

And then he's kissing you, and you let out a small gasp, because you can't believe this beautiful elf has chosen you. He breathes you in, his hands still cupping your cheeks, and you thread your fingers into his silvery curls, beckoning him closer. One of his hands traces down your side, wrapping around your waist and holding you closer so you can feel the lines of him through your camp clothes. You gasp again, surprised by his unyielding grip, and his tongue slips between your parted lips, searching, exploring, tasting. You groan quietly, low in your throat, and his other hand traces from your cheek to your neck, fingers searching for the source of the sound. They find it, and they squeeze…

With his hand on your throat, feeling your pulse through the delicate skin, Astarion is nearly hypnotized.

He wishes that hunger deep in his belly would fade, would disappear and leave him to enjoy this, to lose himself in the moment like he hasn't in two hundred years. But it burns hot, and he can hear your heart beating strong in your chest, quickening as he moves against you, presses into you. It gnaws at him, spurned and getting harder to ignore, and you feel him bracing, beginning to pull away because he shouldn't do this to you— he can't—

You pull back from him, and he wonders how you could have possibly known his thoughts and braces for the impact of a stake in his heart—

Instead you tilt your chin and arch your back, and your hands in his hair lead him right to where he needs to be. His mouth brushes the pulse at your throat.

His vision flashes red; he can feel your blood thrumming against his lips, feel the seductive brush of each pulse against his mouth. He groans, and he wants to fight it, because gods he wishes things were different, but his lips part and his jaw opens, and he's biting into your throat.

A breath hisses from between your teeth at the sensation, at the ice traveling down your spine and chilling you to the bone. His mouth on you is unyielding as he cradles you in his hands, drinking you in in every way possible. Your eyes fall closed, and you begin to float, your thoughts becoming lighter than the clouds. You smile, because you can still feel him grasping at you, wanting you, needing you.

You trust him completely.

That hunger inside him pushes him to drink you dry, to tear your life from your hands until it burns in his chest instead. But he pries himself away from your throat, mouth dripping with scarlet and breath stuttering from between his lips. You can feel his chest heaving against you, can feel air fanning against your neck. You're still smiling.

"You," he gasps, easing you back down against the ground beneath you as he licks his teeth clean, "you ruin me." And then he kisses that smile on your mouth, and he's hovering over you, holding himself above you. It feels like a question.

When he pulls away, you open your eyes to see the stars painted over his shoulders. He looks predatory, like he's standing over the tattered remains of his latest hunt, but you see the softness in his expression, the vulnerability. He doesn't want to hurt you; he doesn't want this to be like all the other times, and he surely doesn't want this to be the first of its own terrible kind. He wants you, you realize. Not your blood, not your power, not your protection or your loyalty or your allegiance; he wants you.

You're ready to let him have you, if he'll take you.

"Astarion." You whisper his name, and he leans closer, his curls brushing your cheek. It tickles, and you giggle under your breath.

He tries not to stiffen at the sound. He forgets how soft you are sometimes, how gentle. It creates an air of innocence, though he watched you tear through goblins and cursed undead only hours before, and he knows without a doubt you can handle yourself. For a moment, he feels like the monster under the bed again.

But you touch his face, so very gently, and kiss him. Softly, sweetly, you call him back to you.

"I'm yours," you breathe, "if you'll have me."

And oh, it’s not even a question.

He’ll have you, he decides, pressing you back against the ground until rocks dig into your shoulders. He’ll take whatever you will give him, and when you’ve had enough, he will probably still be on his knees before you, begging for more.

Before that thought can scare him away, he trails his touch over your thin, casual clothes, grasping at the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. He pulls back to look at you, to admire you, but you — suddenly cold and bashful — wrap your arms over your chest.

You hide from him, and he’s suddenly confused.

He examines the nervous look in your eyes, the way you're flushed in embarrassment and trying to hide beneath him, and all the little puzzle pieces suddenly click into place. This is new to you, he realizes. Maybe not truly and entirely; maybe you were taken to bed in whatever life you had before, but you don't remember that now. For you, with your absent memories and shattered persona, this was your first time.

It's suddenly all too much for him, and he shrinks away from you, leaning back into his heels. He holds his face in his hands, and he shakes his head ever so slightly, because it's too familiar a sight, to pin down bright innocence beneath his hips and drag it into the darkness. He wants to run away, to curse you for ever asking him to come to your camp and join your little band of misfits.

For a moment, he wishes he never met you; at least he wouldn't have to question every action he takes.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as he recedes from you, and very slowly and gently take one of his hands in yours. He's shaking, just barely, but your throat seems to close with a flood of emotion.

"Astarion," you whisper, and you gently pry his hand away from his face. His eyes are shut tightly, his lips twisted in a grimace. You bring his hand towards your lips, and you leave a kiss on his palm, feather light. "Astarion," you say again, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Of course, you have to be the first person to say those words. The first person to encourage him to say no, when all he wants — for the first time in two hundred years — is to say yes.

For a moment, he’s bitter, and you can see the flash of frustration in his eyes when he finally opens them. But it’s gone in a moment, and he grins, flashing his teeth as he leans back in. “My dear,” he says, his silver tongue and honeyed words his only protection against the overwhelming confusion that’s threatening to settle over him, “I want this, trust me.”

He moves to catch your mouth with his, but you put your hand on his chest and stop him before he can. Your brows are creased, pulled together in concern.

The message is clear; you won’t let him use you to destroy himself.

His eyes flutter closed once more, and he breathes deeply, reminding himself where he is, who he is with. When he opens his eyes, they are gentle, softer than you’ve ever seen. You think, for a moment, maybe he has grown to trust you, too.

Slowly, without that same underlying malice, he leans in, close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I want this,” he repeats, his voice so quiet you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it. But then his mouth is on yours again, and he returns to his work removing your clothes.

His movements are slow, now, methodical. Like he’s trying to shake off decades of ghosts as he slides your pants down your thighs; maybe he is, you think. The fabric reaches your ankles, and you help him wriggle you free, and he tosses the clothing aside. Your underwear soon follow. Then, for one long, languorous moment, he looks at you, naked under the moonlight. Your mouth is red and sinful from kissing him, and the chilly breeze of the ever-present darkness raises goosebumps along your skin. Your nipples grow hard and pink, and you shiver. His gaze continues lower, to where you nervously squeeze your legs together in one last attempt at preserving your decency.

He wants to ruin you.

He brushes your thighs apart with one commanding swipe of his hand, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. Pupils blown wide with desire, he stares up at you through his lashes as he dips down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the valley between your breasts. He settles his body between your legs, and he veers to one side and licks a line towards one nipple, catching it between his lips. The wind cools his saliva until you’re shivering, and you’re not sure if it’s the cold or the pleasure as your head tilts back, your body arching against the ground.

Astarion suddenly sucks, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls at your nipple. You gasp, and he relishes in the sound, watching you bare your throat to him. He gazes up at you, admiring the sight, as his hand slips between your thighs.

Suddenly, you gasp when fingertips stroke against your core, revealing your glistening slick. Astarion groans, the mound of your breast still in his mouth. “All this talk,” he teases, reaching up and grabbing your jaw in one hand. With the other, he rocks his touch back just slightly, barely brushing against your clit. “You should be the one telling me how much you want it, desperate little thing.”

Your face burns at his words and his casual tone, but you can’t even argue with him before he sweeps his tongue into your mouth. He licks your teeth, and at the same time he presses two fingers inside you, and you let out a broken moan against his lips. You can feel his wolfish smile as he pulls back before pumping back inside you.

You can feel how wet you are, can feel it dripping down the inside of your thighs. He moves slowly, though, allowing the gentle stretch of his fingers as he kisses you. His thumb draws lazy little circles over your clit, and he catches each of your moans with his mouth, learning exactly what you like with a few strokes of his expert hands.

Then, just as your breathing starts to hitch and break, he pulls away, taking his hand from the wet heat between your legs.

The sound you make almost comes out as a whine, and Astarion laughs, watching you flush deep crimson. “Someone needs to mind their manners,” he chastises playfully, and then he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Your flush impossibly deepens, and you almost look away in embarrassment. But you can’t tear your eyes from the shameful scene, and you can tell that he knows how much it turns you on to see him like this. He grins again, and then he dips his head, disappearing between your thighs.

Before you can process his quick movements, you feel him lick molten heat up your core, and you throw your arms out to the sides, scrambling for purchase. You gasp his name, and you feel him chuckle more than you hear it.

”Yes, my dear?” he asks before running the flat of his tongue against your clit.

Your body stiffens, and your face lifts to the heavens. “Don’t stop,” is all you can muster.

And he doesn’t.

He eats you out until you’re shaking, falling apart under him. He presses his fingers back into you, three this time, and sucks on your clit while he strokes you from the inside. He stares up at you while he does it, watching you writhe in breathless, beautiful agony. One of your hands finds his hair, brushing through his curls with a touch that’s much too gentle for what you’re suffering at his hand.

You can feel your pleasure mounting, tightening like a coil deep in your belly while heat flames between your legs. Your moans are coming out in pants, now, barely intelligible noises that break against the riverbed. Your hand in his hair tightens, gripping for dear life and holding him there and pushing him away all in the same movement, and your back bows off the ground, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head as he pushes you higher and higher—

Then, like a band snapping, your orgasm rocks through you, and your vision goes black while your hips stutter and your core clenches and quivers.

Bliss washes over you, and you slowly come back to earth, and you find Astarion unbuckling his armor, nearly frantic in his movements.

”Astarion,” you croak, reaching for him.

He leans over you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips, his tongue. His hands tug feverishly at the buckles.

”Astarion,” you sound like you’re begging. “Astarion, please—“

He huffs playfully, still pushing off his leather armor one layer at a time. “What is it?” he asks, sparing one hand to stroke gently at your throat. “Do you need some attention? Aren’t you just obsessed—?”

”No,” you whine, finally rising up on your knees and reaching for his hands. “Let me— I want you to feel good.”

By now, his chest is bare, and he’s kicked off his boots. “Sweet thing, the thought of being inside you is driving me insane.” His leather pants slide down his thighs. “Do you want—?”

”Astarion,” you say again, your voice emphatic. You take his hand and bring it to your mouth, parting your lips against his fingers. “Please.”

Astarion freezes suddenly, staring at you with an expression of recognition. His eyes trail from yours down to your mouth, where his fingers sit. He can feel the heat of your breath, and he grows impossibly harder at the thought of what you’re asking.

It’s something he’s so rarely done since being turned. A pleasure he’s so rarely accepted.

Your lips brush his fingertips when you speak. “I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, and then you take two of his fingers in your mouth.

His stomach drops as he watches you, and his cock twitches at the sinful sight of your lips wrapped around his long pale fingers. You watch his pupils dilate, and his lips part slightly as you slide your tongue down, swirling gently. Your own desire pools in your belly, watching him watch you.

Please.

He nods, his breath starting to hitch slightly at the idea of filling that mouth. You smile, and you draw back until his fingers leave your mouth with a pop. Then you ease him back gently onto his elbows, picking up where he left off by dipping your fingers into the band of his underwear. You look up through your eyelashes, watching his chest heave up and down.

”Tell me to stop,” you say sternly, and he nods, understanding your meaning. So, having his confirmation, you continue.

You slide his last layer of clothing slowly down his strong thighs, watching every reaction your movements elicit. Watching for any sign of trepidation, of apprehension. But you only see desire, and one of his hands goes to your hair, knotting in your tresses. Encouraging you further.

You move your hands lower and lower, and your mouth begins to water as you follow the shaft of his cock. He’s gorgeous in every way, and when you finally reveal the pink head, glistening with precum, you have to hold yourself back from devouring him.

You tug his underwear the rest of the way off, and then you kneel in front of him, sure that whatever gods may be listening have placed him here in front of you.

You dip your head forward, wanting only to touch him with your mouth. With his hold on your hair, hopefully that would give him enough power to say no if it became too much. Tentatively, and watching for his reaction, your tongue slips out from between your lips and licks a gentle line along his shaft, giving you your first taste of him.

Astarion’s entire body stiffens at the sensation, and you do not move again, waiting for some sign that this was okay. After a moment, he tugs at your hair and very gently touches your cheek, and the look in his eyes is clear direction for you to continue.

You brush your lips against him, leaving gentle kisses, and then your tongue follows to the head of his dick, tasting his precum before swirling and bobbing deeper.

Astarion throws his head back, and he keens as you take him into your mouth. It’s a broken sound, but his hand in your hair pushes you deeper, and you obey. You drool when his hips cant forward, and you match his movements by swirling your tongue and pulling back before sliding all the way back down. He almost can’t believe the skill of your mouth, with how innocent you looked not five minutes ago, but then his thoughts scatter again when he hits the back of your throat.

He wants to press you down until you’re choking on him, wants to cum in your mouth and make a mess of you—

But he stops himself, pulls you back by your hair and kisses you, because he needs to fuck you.

He’s panting when he grabs you by the throat and lowers you onto your back. “Say it again,” he tells you, half delirious with the need to be inside you. “Say you’re mine.”

”I’m yours,” you respond immediately, eyes shining in the moonlight.

He groans your name, cupping his hands under your thighs. He wraps your legs around his waist, lining himself up at your entrance. Your cunt is still dripping for him, and he presses his fingers against your clit, watching you jump as he touches the swollen bundle of nerves. He laughs, a breathless sound, and then he places one hand beside your head, staring into your eyes as he slides inside you.

Thank you, he wants to say. Thank you for saving me.

But that’s much too vulnerable a thought to share, so he simply rocks his hips into yours, watching your mouth fall open in pleasure.

He’s perfect, you think as he slides back out of you before slamming back in, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. He’s perfect and he’s here and he’s yours, and you want to tell him so, but you can’t even speak, so you squeak out moans and scrabble at his chest as he fucks you.

He watches you quickly come undone beneath him, and when he decides he needs more, he lifts one of your legs and props it over his shoulder. The new angle lets him hit a target inside you that has you seeing stars, and you’re a drooling mess beneath him, eyes glazed over with pleasure. His fingers once again find your clit, and he rubs those practiced circles, just like before. He watches your chest heave, and your lips try to form his name, but he’s knocking the wind out of you with every thrust. You feel him inside you, on top of you, all around you, and you know that this is dangerous, that this is the sort of magic that will keep you coming to his tent every night.

And oh, how you both want to tear each other apart each night.

You feel your second orgasm building, so much faster than the first, and you gaze up into his eyes, watching him fuck you, and it quickly becomes too much.

“Astarion,” you finally gasp, your voice pitched so high it almost breaks, “pleasepleasepleaseplease—“

The sound of your voice threatens to send him over the edge, and his thrusts begin to turn wild, frantic. He shoves himself into you until you come apart, unraveling at the seams. Your cunt clenches over and over again, pulling him closer from the inside, and before he can pull out to empty himself on your stomach, you grab his shoulder and tilt your hips forward, begging him to stay there.

Begging him to cum inside you.

The thought shatters him, and he moans into the crook of your shoulder, thrusting erratically as he rides out his own orgasm. You feel his cock twitching inside you, and you hold him close as his thrusts slow, then stop.

As you hold him, you press gentle kisses to his face. His forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. His lips. He kisses you back, slowly, deeply. Then he pulls himself out of you, and you almost regret the sudden emptiness. But you can’t think about it for too long before he lowers himself to the ground beside you, and you follow him, still kissing every inch of him that you can reach.

”I’m yours,” you remind him. And even as you both start to clean up and head back to camp, he remembers those words.

He belonged to no one, but maybe one day, he wouldn’t mind belonging to you.