And I Am So Here For It - Tumblr Posts

swell 18+ fem!reader x astarion, 1.9k

You gently nudge him to the bed and ask if he’s willing to indulge you, and he confirms with those smouldering eyes that he’s ‘been thinking about it all day’. - feral pregnant sex with the elf. that's it. based on this NSFW piece by the ridiculously talented @mutualcombat (to whom i am also legally married, fun fact) cw: 18+, breeding, pregnant sex, squirting, creampie, sub astarion, riding, so little plot it's not even funny, p in v

Hot to bursting; his ‘unhinged woman’ now pacing the cool terracotta of your kitchen, barefoot.

His plush princess. Wholly doted on. The swell of heaving breasts on red-hot belly and the residual stony heat of a summer’s day in the Gate settled thick in your home. Not a cold bath, as he’d never allow such a shock to the system this late on; but when you feel the balls of your feet lose their searing tightness while treading the cold stone it gives you an idea.

When you take Astarion’s wrist and lead him up the staircase in a determined lust-march, he mentions something about it being his ‘lucky day’ and you want to lift your skirts there and then despite the blossom of blush on your cheeks. Take him on the wrought iron and watch the flowery imprints bloom on his bare ass.

Steps later. You gently nudge him to the bed and ask if he’s willing to indulge you, and he confirms with those smouldering eyes that he’s ‘been thinking about it all day’. A deliberate nod and a gulp - heavy and laced with ruinous grit. 

You sink to your knees and run the flat of your tongue over his clothed cock, delighted to find the half-hard swell beneath his breeches; the spot where the evidence of his day-long desire has seeped through into a dry salty puddle prior, now pulled taut between your teeth and wetted once more with a mouthful of warm spit.

Ravenous. Deft fingers unlace his fixings and you descend like a waiting bird to find him hard. Harder by the moment. Thick pearly ooze at the velvet head and seething through closed teeth, your tongue determined to give him reason.

One long lick along his perfect slit and you’re hooked.

Cool, like some highsummer treat. Your head rolls in heavy circles as a flattened tongue catches each eager twinge of his prespill; each twitch of his cock fruitful in giving more of his salt over to your keening hunger. Fleshy. He groans. 

When you catch his eye you see tears brimming carnelian at the stimulation, your teeth covered by lust-bitten lips as you take his tip into the scorching wet of your mouth, kneeling at his knee, haunches bearing the weight of your swollen torso. Fattened belly. His spill some enchanted seed in giving you the dream; the ability to bear life unto him, and you’ve never craved the taste of it more. Maybe it’s the elven genetics; maybe the vampirism; but the genuine wanton throb each mouthful gives you at your core feels akin to the effect of succubus spittle.

Wet. Everything is stupidly wet. 

Cheeks covered in a clear glaze of spit and his precum, the swelling flesh between your legs absolutely sodden in easy desire. You lack underwear. He must know this, smell your amplified arousal. A few gentle bobs of your head and he’s completely enraptured. Lost in the salacious glint of your eyes as you look up to him; resting back on his palms in sheer delight.

He tastes perfect. Familiar. Your favourite thing to drink. The cool length of his cock as he angles baby thrusts into the waiting wet you offer so freely, so covetous of him.

“Little kit, are you thirsty?”

You lift your head and look at him through heavy lashes, unhollowing your cheeks and feeling the now-salty spit gather in thick ropes from roof to tongue.

“I’m struggling with poetics, so please; let me show you what I need.”

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and rise to your feet, gesturing for him to disrobe as you unlace your loose-fitting clothes. 

He sits there bare for a few moments, glimmering with desire as he watches you shed your clothes and kick them aside. A glistening thin string shows the full spool of your arousal and you hear him choke as you move him to lie flat on the floor, atop some thin rug over the board.

“I intend to have you completely and utterly drunk on me.”

He watches you above him, the wobble of milky full tits; the round bulge of your loaded belly, skin tight, and the way both seem to bounce in the low light as you descend back to your haunches - this time, hovering over the crux of his erection in a gentle bob.

“Listen to me - lie still, and let me at you. Please.”

You take a moment to watch for his reaction, for any hint at discomfort with your heavy-handed seduction.

Nothing but want. Eyes aflame and rapid between your own and the space where you’ll meet. Your cunt aches for him, spasming in heat and desperate to hump the cool evidence of his desire. 

“Take me.” Given in a sob, a sybaritic groan. You allow him a few precious moments to run his icy tip up and down your sodden folds before rocking it into position to just slightly breach your hole. One slight dip of your hips downward, two dips, the consequential wiggle of your full tender chest; and then you sink onto him in sheer elation. 

Heaven. Pure heaven. A full cunt of his doing has become your favourite treat whilst so heavily knocked up, be it with cock or his cum; full to bursting, messy and delirious at his command, and he’s oh-so-happy to indulge when the need seizes you.

You give a gentle rock, allowing him to settle with the sizzle of his ice in your heat before you shift a little to reposition him. Your hands find his legs and curl them up to your hips for leverage, your feet and knees holding you in a bent squat over him; and resting ever-so-slightly on the pillow of his tilted ass you grab hold and you ride. 

The pressure. Molten lava brewing in the core of a towering infernal volcano. The ease with which his cool cock is coated so thoroughly in your slick as you slam onto him in fevered bliss, slipping into you as if something trivial. You remember a time where he was broaching on too thick; and now you take no greater pleasure than adjusting so easily to him.

Once you find a rhythm you’re unstoppable. 

There’s a moment where he gives you the kind of face he only gives you when he’s on the verge of frustrated tears, staccato whining, needy huffs as you plough yourself on his prick and feel each throb of ice inside your cunt like he needs you to. Begs you to. Asks if he feels good enough for you, his paramour; with wanton abandon and another pulse of prespill directly into your ravenous hole.

Babbling, too. Laboured breaths. 

He’s your good boy; the very best for you, always at your side in these late months of your swell for you to use - and he’s doing so well like this, at your mercy, legs wide as you tell him he’s your best little whore and his cock furiously kicks in search of relief in between your legs. 

In the heady cocktail of sweat and sex he even whimpers thanks. Begs forgiveness. Grateful. He bred you like you were naught but a bitch in heat and now you ride him whilst weighty and hot with the result of his loins. Pleads to you for clemency in the face of the irrefutable evidence of your leaky tits and swollen belly. He put a baby in you and now lies brittle as you claim even more of his spend and you’ve never in your life seen him look so thoroughly ruined. 

Flesh meets flesh. His brows knit together and you’re furious. Desperate to milk every drop from him. No cramp could give him reason to take your hands from their support on his legs; no ache nor pain could convince him that this wouldn’t be the perfect way to die.

By the time his own hip-cants grow sloppy you’re still hungry. You take his wrist as he lies back from his elbows to rest his head on the rug, and place his hand where his cock enters you so he can feel it. The gush each time you bounce upward, fresh wetness coating his length in a sticky gloss. The stretch of your hole each time you take him from tip to hilt. He practically foams at the mouth as his head looks up once more to watch the space below your swollen belly. 

And you ride. You soak him in your pleasure. Glubs and moans and some feral growling - a threat to bite as he shifts to move his hand back and use his elbow for support once more. Every burning inch of you needs every part of him, and even then; would you be satisfied?

When his hand reaches a little upward to jerk at the engorged nub of your clit you feel your own rapture incoming in some lecherous barrel toward your core. More praise. He’s doing so well for you, your sweet boy. 

Then - in the softest voice, you hear it. A plea.

“Can I?”

If you could kiss him in encouragement, you would - however you’re both aware of the sizable barrier in your way and it does nothing but make him harder. More desperate. He did that to you, he says in bewilderment each and every time. You want to ride him through the tsunami of his high but there’s a tiny voice in your head that tells you once he empties his balls he’ll be too wet to continue riding. Too soft, if only for a short while. You’ll go insane if you can’t cum around him. 

“Not ‘till I do.”

It lights a fire in him. His thrusts become sharper and deeper once more as you press down on his knees to support your angry weighted frame. He wants to give it to you. To feel you wetten his cock with your climax. 

“Use me, then. Please.” 

And with that, you do.

You impale yourself something heavy on him at that toe-curling angle where he’s hitting the dense spot inside you with the plush of his cock head and within moments you’re seeing stars. He’s ecstatic as he feels the first flutters of your orgasm and yet he doesn’t relent, tears at the corners of his eyes and the edges of his mouth practically foaming. Begs in hoarse-frenzied whispers to feel your relief. The crescendo of your pleasure.

Pressure builds and you know you’re there. Your channel fills and you’re stuttering to a halt, pinning him down with your weighty hips. 

You lift, and feel the gush. Your squirting cum all over his cock, his abdomen; the flat-woven rug. Astarion pulls you back onto him with urgency as you reel in delirious laughter so he can feel the tight contractions of your cunt. Your head tilts back and you’re bordering on tears yourself.

Nothing has ever felt this good. No sex, no sun overhead nor dip in cool water. You’re shaking above him while he writhes to hump you in search of his own release; and he very quickly finds it in the sopping wet of your walls.

He loves you. He loves you more than anything. He shoots his desire into you as he has so many times before, in desperate thrusts and waiting holes; but this is you. His love. His fertile angel. Sown fresh by him once now as you will be so many times over. 

You have forever, and nothing less will do.

"Urban decacy proves a pervasive motif in 1984" you mean, the make-up brand? damn, I didn't know Winston was a drag queen

Goofy ahh expression

I love how they act like siblings

now that i’m hearing the glitches they are quickly becoming a source of comedy to me

Sam thinks he can take care of himself? nuh-uh, get glitched, assigned wet cat/baby shrimp/loserboy by the CCTV

Gwen “hasn’t been arsey”? lol, glitched again, called out for bitchiness by the Watcher