I’m Hungry

Being his assistant for five years, it was almost impossible not to notice him. You noticed everything.

The way he walks into a room the confidence in his voice during meetings.

The way he leans back in his chair his long legs stretched out as if the entire company exists just to orbit around him. And his eyes.

Those bright eyes that somehow always catch yours from across the room.

You hate how easily he does it.

Because every single time he looks at you like that, you remember one very important thing.

You're attracted to your boss.

Unfortunately.

You adjust the files in your hands as you walk into his office.

Gojo is already there, leaning back in his chair with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His white hair is slightly messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all afternoon.

He glances up the moment you step inside.

“Ah, my favorite employee"

You place the documents on his desk. 

“You only have one assistant.”

“Still counts.”

You let out a sigh. 

“You called me here for something important, right?”

Gojo hums as he flips through the papers, but you can tell he isn’t really reading them. His attention drifts back to you, that familiar amused smile tugging at his lips.

“You look tired"

“I stayed late finishing the reports you asked for.”

“And yet" 

Gojo tilts his head slightly, carefully studying you.

“You’re still handsome..”

You choke on your own breath.

“Sir–”

“Satoru”

Gojo corrects immediately with a pout.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning.

“We’re at work.”

Hearing your firm voice Gojo just shrugged.

“So? You’ve known me for five years.”

Yes.

Five years of this.

Yet 2 years of pretending your heart doesn’t jump whenever he casually throws an arm around your shoulders after work.

Inside the company building, both of you are strictly professional.

You manage his schedule, attend meetings with him, and help maintain the company’s reputation. 

But the moment the clock hits six,

everything changes, outside the office, Gojo becomes an entirely different person.

The same man who dominates meetings now drapes himself over you like an oversized cat.

The same boss who terrifies other executives casually drags you to late night oden shops.

He even attended your wedding 3 years ago, you remember that day clearly.

Your fingers unconsciously twist the ring on your hand now.

The small band feels heavier than it should.

Then Gojo notices.

Of course he does.

The worst part is that he probably already knows.

You’ve spent two years holding yourself back.

Because if that ring wasn’t on your finger…god.

You would have already dragged him into the nearest empty room and–

You quickly stop that train of thought.

Gojo suddenly stands from his chair.

You stiffen when he walks around the desk and stops directly in front of you.

'So tall...'

You have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Gojo smirked down his eyes turning crescent.

“Still staring at me like that" 

“Like what?”

“Like you want something.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“You’re imagining things.”

Gojo let out a deep chuckle.

“Maybe"

He finished but Gojo didn't move away.

Instead, his eyes flick down to the ring on your finger again before returning to your face.

For a moment, something dark passes through his expression.

“Hey.”

You raised your brow at him.

“Yeah?”

There’s a small smile on his face when you glance back.

“Oden after work?”

You stare at him, lips pressed tightly.

“You ask me that every week.”

“And you still come every time.”

Then you sigh.

“…Fine.”

Gojo’s grin widens.

“See? Five years and you still can’t resist me.”

You roll your eyes and walk out of the office before he can see the faint heat rising to your face.

Behind you, Gojo leans against his desk, quietly watching the door you just walked through.

His gaze drifted down once more.

“Five years" 

--------------------

The restaurant was nearly empty by the time the two of you arrived.

A small oden shop tucked between narrow streets, the kind that stayed open late for office workers who missed dinner hours. 

Gojo slipped into the booth first, stretching his long legs under the table with a relieved sigh.

“Finally, I thought the old man was going to close before we got here.”

You loosened your tie as you sat across from him. 

“You were the one who kept talking to that client for an extra thirty minutes.”

“That’s called networking.”

“That’s called you showing off.”

A moment later two mugs of cold beer were placed on the table along with small plates of grilled meat and side dishes.

The condensation rolled down the glass as you picked it up.

Gojo raised his mug.

“To survive another day with incompetent executives.”

You clinked your mug against his. 

“I’ll drink that.”

The cold beer went down smoothly, easing the tension sitting on your shoulders.

For a while the two of you simply ate and drank, the comfortable silence of long familiarity settling between you.

Then Gojo suddenly looked at his watch, his brows lifted slightly.

“You know, it’s already pretty late.”

You hummed, chewing another bite of grilled chicken.

Gojo rested his chin in his palm, watching you.

“Your wife won’t be worried?”

You shrugged without much thought.

“We should just eat.”

Gojo blinked.

“…That’s it?”

You lifted your beer again. 

“What, you want me to run home?”

He chuckled under his breath.

“Cold.”

The conversation drifted again as another round of drinks arrived.

By the second mug, the warmth of alcohol started settling in your chest.

Gojo swirled the beer in his glass before speaking again.

“So, how’s married life?"

You immediately groaned.

Hearing that Gojo burst out laughing.

“That bad?”

“It’s...yeah"

“Mhm."

You leaned back, rubbing your face tiredly.

Gojo's aware of how your marriage has been doing, and it's not doing well. 

Falling out of love, and your wife being infertile. It will ruin the whole mood, even during sex.

You two had been trying for a baby even forcing the two of you to have sex just a week ago.

Divorce isn’t really an option either, In Japan, being divorced ruins your reputation. Your wife's family would be embarrassed. And yours too.

Gojo lifted his mug and took a slow drink.

The cold glass pressed against his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he swallowed.

But he wasn’t looking at the beer.

He was looking at you.

Something inside him had changed the moment you said the words.

He set the mug down slowly.

For three years, Gojo had watched you from across desks, across meeting rooms, across crowded company halls.

Always just a little out of reach.

Because of that ring.

Because of that invisible wall.

But now…

You sat across from him with your collar loosened, your tie slightly crooked, shoulders relaxed in a way he rarely saw at the office.

Gojo had never liked your wife.

Not even from the beginning.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, finishing the food and beer.

By the time the two of you stepped out of the izakaya, the streets were mostly quiet.

Both of you had walked to where Gojo parked his car. 

You were very drunk, that much was obvious.

Your steps weren’t exactly straight, and your mind felt heavy and hazy, like everything around you was slightly delayed.

Gojo walked beside you, hands in his pockets. His face was lightly flushed from the alcohol, but he was walking fine.

He had a higher tolerance than you, which meant he was very aware of how drunk you were.

“You good?” 

He asked, glancing sideways towards your form.

“Mm"

You suddenly stopped walking. Gojo halted beside you.

“What?”

You pointed lazily across the street.

“Convenience store.”

“And?”

“Cigarettes.”

Gojo sighed through a small laugh. 

“Of course.”

A moment later the two of you stepped inside the brightly lit store. 

Gojo leaned casually against a shelf while you moved toward the counter area.

You grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then you paused.

Gojo watched from behind as you stared at the small display near the register.

Your drunk brain seemed to process something then your hand reached out.

Gojo eyes squinted, but he froze on his spot

Wait.

You picked up a box of condoms.

Gojo’s brain took a second to catch up, he walked over to you immediately.

“Hey.”

You turned slightly, still looking dazed.

Gojo pointed at the box in your hand.

“Those for your wife?”

You stared at him blankly, blinking as if processing his words.

Gojo frowned slightly.

“…Or a girlfriend?”

The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

You blinked again.

Your eyes looked unfocused the alcohol dulling you.

Then suddenly you tilted your head.

Your gaze slowly drifted up and down Gojo’s tall figure.

Gojo felt something excitement crawl up his spine.

You stepped a little closer, squinting at him like you were studying something complicated. 

Then you spoke.

“Hey.”

Your voice was slow and slurred.

You lifted the condom box close to your cheek, face flushed and your eyes were unfocused.

“…What’s your size, Satoru?”

“...”

For a moment Gojo’s brain completely stopped working.

Silence filled the convenience store.

Before Gojo broke it with a seductive smirk.

"Want to find out?"

--------------------

“Ahn–! Ngh… so big!”

A raw, thick cock plunged deep inside you, pressing insistently against your prostate.

“Hngh!”

Your eyes rolled back almost instantly as the tip brushed that sensitive spot again, sending sharp waves of electricity through your entire body. 

Your limbs trembled, your hips stuttering as pleasure wracked through you.

Fowp fwop!

Your hips didn’t stop, they kept moving, greedily taking him in, swallowing his cock over and over again.

The condoms you had bought earlier had already torn from his size and now discarded somewhere on the floor, completely useless.

Below you, the man you were riding, Gojo Satoru, had his face flushed, the corners of his eyes damp with forming tears. Yet he was smirking, utterly pleased.

Finally, he had you like this bouncing helplessly on his cock.

Flap! Flap!

The love hotel room reeked of sex, filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin, your sweaty bodies grinding together without restraint.

Gojo’s hands squeezed your thighs tightly, fingers digging into your skin as your hole clenched around him. 

A soft whimper escaped his lips at your tightness before he leaned closer, voice low and breathless.

“Hnn Y/N you feel so good…”

You nodded dumbly, completely lost, your mind hazy from the overwhelming sensation.

“Toru! Mhm! Good ahhn! More!”

Flop! Flop!

You lowered yourself further, your chest pressing against his, your tongue lolling out slightly as you chased his lips, desperate.

“P-please… kiss me Toru♡”

Your hot breath fanned across his face, your needy expression so close, and something inside Gojo snapped.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back. Now he hovered above you, a dark smirk curling on his lips. 

He pushed his hair back, revealing blown out eyes and a flushed face filled with something far more intense.

“I hope your wife doesn’t mind me breaking you.”

You let out a needy whine when his hips stilled, the sudden lack of movement making you ache.

“I don’t care I wan you m-move!”

Gojo lowered his head and started to move his hips.

Fwop fwop!

The same electrifying feeling returned, making you arch your back. The pleasure overwhelmed your body, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Shit–nhhn! Good more, Toru!”

FWOP FWOP!

Hearing your moans and whines, Gojo’s hips rutted harder against you.

Every time the leaking tip brushed your abused prostate, your toes curled in satisfaction.

“Y/N I love it so good…”

Just a little more… he's so close.

Just one more kiss to your lips.

One more squeeze from your hips.

And one more bite to your sensitive neck–

and then Gojo would finally–

“Cumming!”

Gojo’s tip thrust harshly into the deepest part inside you.

“Too deep–! Toru!!”

As you arched your back, you felt his cock bulge, warmth spreading as he released inside you.

The way it hit the deepest part of you made your body jolt, pleasure spilling over as you came, your stomach messily coated with your semen.

Your body twitched from the overwhelming sensation, both inside you and along your cock.

“Huff huff…”

Both of you tried to catch your breath.

As your senses slowly returned, you lifted yourself up on your elbows.

Gojo leaned in to look at you.

Gulp.

You swallowed hard when you saw the hearts in his pupils and drool trailing down his mouth.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“Wanna suck you off”

The way you whimpered, looking at him with pleading, needy eyes.

How could he possibly say no to that?

Gojo nodded just as dumbly before he lay down on the bed, excitement rushing through his veins, making him hard again.

But you did something unexpected.

“Huh? hmff!”

You buried your ass in his face.

A chuckle escaped you before you spoke,

“Better clean it for me, sir.”

Gojo wasn’t complaining he was in heaven.

He had always fantasized about this, about eating you out, about having you like this.

and now it was finally happening.

He could die right here, between your thighs, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

As he started, teasing your rim with slow, deliberate movements with his tounge, you glanced back at his dick.

And oh.

It was big. Thick. Leaking pre, twitching just from the taste of you.

You drooled at the sight, breathing heavily like a starving man who had finally found food after days of hunger.

It was so big… maybe taking him like this could satisfy your craving for a week.

Without another thought, you pushed forward and took him into your mouth.

You tried to deepthroat him.

It was a struggle at first his size was overwhelming, forcing soft, muffled moans from your throat as your lips stretched around him.

“Mhmm…”

The sensation shot straight to Gojo’s brain, making his hips buck instinctively into your mouth.

Tears formed in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat again and again.

‘So thick…’

Gojo’s tongue continued working against you, licking, tasting, but his focus was slipping.

Because your mouth was working on him just as relentlessly.

‘Unfair, so unfair’

How could he concentrate when your tongue kept lapping at him like that?

When your throat tightened around his dick.

When you gagged on his thickness, your body trembling every time the tip pressed deep into your throat.

If he could only see your face right now.

It was a good thing he had started recording everything on his phone.

The camera lens glinted, capturing every bit of debauchery happening in the love hotel.

And just the thought of it, Gojo couldn’t hold back anymore.

His hips stuttered as he let out another load.

“Ngh~ mmm!! ♡♡”

Gojo whimpered, his eyes rolling back from the overwhelming pleasure.

Thick cum spurted from his tip, forcing you to swallow everything.

You finished by cleaning him thoroughly, your tongue tracing along his length until he was spotless.

Your hazy eyes then focused on the phone camera in front of you.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed Gojo’s softened cock only for it to harden again at your touch.

The head of his cock brushed against your cheek as you spoke breathlessly,

“Mine, this big dick is mine♡”

--------------------

When you returned home the next day, something just as surprising from fucking your boss happened 

“I’m pregnant.”

Everything around you stops.

Your breath catches and your mind going blank for a split second before everything crashes back all at once.

“…What?”

“I’m pregnant” 

Your wife repeats, laughing softly with her eyes glistening. 

“You’re going to be a dad.”

Immediately, you pull her into an embrace, tighter this time, like if you hold on hard enough, everything else will disappear.

“I’ll do better” 

You don’t say at what.

You don’t need to.

Because in your mind, it’s already decided.

You’ll be a good husband.

A good father.

-----

It has been a very long time since Astarion has had anything that’s truly been his. He’s spent the last two centuries being Cazador’s prisoner and has only just begun to rediscover what it’s like to be a person again and now he’s losing the only person to make him feel like he’s enough to Gale of all people!

Astarion tells himself it doesn’t bother him. You’re free to talk to whomever you wish; he’s not your keeper, nor your lover, not really, despite the flirtatious banter between you. And still, as he watches you exit Gale’s tent with a smile and the tension that had been ever-present since the Nautiloid finally eased, the sour taste lingers.

He sits back against one of the logs surrounding the firepit of your little camp, arms crossed, watching you with carefully manufactured indifference. You don’t even notice him at first. too busy thanking Gale for something, voice light and sincere. Astarion’s jaw tightens. It’s ridiculous really, how easily the wizard can earn that kind of smile from you.

When you finally make your way over, he’s already schooled his expression into something charming and careless. “Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Positively glowing. Should I assume Gale’s responsible for your newfound radiance? I hadn’t realized you found the studious type so…” It feels so hard to force the words out he almost fears he may choke on them, “enrapturing.” He feels sick.

You blink and Astarion hates that he finds the confusion cute. “Enraptu-” You laugh, like the thought hadn’t even struck you, “Oh, no, nothing like that. Gale and I are just friends.”

Lovely. So he couldn’t even blame some misguided whim of the heart for your straying. Was he truly so pathetic that you’d rather have Gale warm your bed if you were looking for something noncommittal?

He forces a light laugh, brittle and elegant. “Just friends, of course. How very… wholesome of you.” He gestures vaguely, a careless flick of his fingers that doesn’t quite disguise the tension in his shoulders. “And here I was, imagining something scandalous to entertain myself with. A shame, really.”

You study him intently, that faint crease appearing between your brows - the one that always makes him feel as if you can see straight through him, and he hates that feeling almost as much as he needs your attention on him.

“Astarion,” you say, wary but careful, like the way you’d crooned over the stray dog and the owlbear cub, like one off word would send him fleeing, “is something bothering you?”

“Who, me? Not at all.” He smiles too wide, teeth flashing like a challenge. “Why ever would anything be wrong? I’m merely delighted to know our resident wizard has found such a devoted pupil.” If the word came out any sharper, Astarion knows you’d be bleeding. But your look doesn’t waver, and suddenly all that practiced charm feels like paper armour. He exhales, glancing away. “Fine. Perhaps a touch. You vanish into his tent every night, return with that… glow about you, and I’m left to assume the worst. Forgive me for having an imagination.”

The corner of your lip twitches slightly, barely discernible, but Astarion still catches it. He hates that he wants to kiss the laughter right out of your mouth.

“You could’ve asked,” you say, settling beside him without invitation, the glow of the fire catching at the line of your jaw, the slight swell of your Adam’s apple in your throat, the faint flicker of your pulse thrumming under your skin. “Before you assumed the worst.”

The silence stretches between you, broken intermittently by the crackling and popping of the fire. Astarion knows he’s being cruel, that he should apologize for making assumptions about you instead of just telling you that he was feeling jealous, but he’s still not used to his words being given weight, to the idea that someone - you - would care to hear what he thinks. 

“Gale’s been helping me with something… personal,” you start slowly, arms crossing over your chest in what might be the first defensive move Astarion’s ever seen you make. “But not - not like that.” You inhale, like bringing yourself to continue hurts, “He’s been showing me a few spells that help my body feel more like my own.” 

He can see the way your heart has sped up by the ticking of the vein at the side of your neck, can practically taste it in the air - you’re nervous, but Astarion can’t fathom why. If anyone understands not feeling at ease in one’s own body it’s him. 

“It’s- Well, I suppose I’ll just come out with it, huh?” You press on quickly, like if you’re interrupted you may never be able to say it, “I’m trans, Astarion. I was born with a body that didn’t fit and Gale is helping me with spells that let me continue my transition.”

Astarion blinks, the words hanging in the air between you. For once, he doesn’t have a quip waiting on his tongue. He just studies you—really studies you—as though seeing you anew. The flicker of the firelight paints your expression in gold and shadow, and all he can think, absurdly, is how steady you sound for someone baring so much of themselves.

“I see,” he says at last, quietly. It isn’t derision, or disbelief, or sarcasm - it’s thought. Real, deliberate thought. He feels like everything he’s learned about you to this point, all the little behaviors and quirks and tells, has been rewritten, not warped, not changed, just viewed under a new light that makes them feel all the more important now that you’ve shared something so important to you. 

Your shoulders tense, like you’ve already braced for whatever terrible thing comes next.

“I imagine that must take an incredible amount of trust,” he continues slowly, “letting someone wield that kind of power over your body.” His gaze flicks toward Gale’s tent before returning to you. “I can’t decide if that’s brave or foolish.”

“Maybe it’s just necessary,” you say after a moment, leaning back against the log behind you. It’s… easy, the way you say it. Like rewriting yourself from scratch isn’t the bravest thing Astarion can possibly think of. “The first step to feeling whole.”

He nods slowly, feels a bit like the warmth from the fire, the heat of you beside him, is finally thawing whatever he has that passes for a heart. You’re not different, he knows, from the man he’s grown close to. This will not make him start treating you differently or viewing you as any less, but it feels important that you’ve trusted him with this. 

“For what it’s worth,” Astarion says, drawing your attention away from the flames and back onto him, “I think who you are is very handsome.” He grins a little, eyes darting just briefly back toward the wizard’s tent, “And that you can do much better than Gale.”

Your lips kissed down his back, warm hand slowly jerking him off, he felt like nothing more than putty in your hands.

“You still haven’t told me want you want.” His nails nearly tore through your bed sheets. You and your talking. You love talking when you’ve got his head in a haze.

“Wh-What?” Astarion nearly cried as your hand let go of his weepy cock.

“How do you want me tonight hm? My treat.”

Flipping Astarion onto his back he finally considered the question. There’s no lack of variety between the two of you, gosh it was hard to pick if he’d ask you to just to go back to what you were doing before until he was shaking or-

“Mage hand.” It’s not truly a traditional mage hand, rather a very special version you had learned the scroll of.

He bit his lip at the idea of the blue form being wrapped around your hips, perfectly angled for you to fuck him the way he needed you too.

You grinned before a glow began in your hands. “Veni Et luva Me.” With a flick the glowing penis was wrapped around your hips, standing up and proud.

Astarions fang practically punctured his lip as you stroked the phallic object. It was clearly meant for you and he told you as much whenever he could feel it deep within himself, stuffing him full.

Vulnerable. Something he’d only ever feel with you.

You leaned over to kiss him, and he could feel the warmth of the mage's hand press against his thigh. He tried to focus on the way your nails gently scratched up his pale thighs to distract himself. Focusing on the sharp sensation, but the tip slowly bullying its way inside of him made him gasp. “You’re doing so well, Astarian.” You cooed, one hand moving to cradle his head to your neck. Tears burned his eyes, and he took a deep breath.

-----

Nothing has been “normal” since your escape from the nautiloid, but you’d settled into your new life with your merry band of misfits. You’ve grown used to the rumble of Halsin’s snoring, to the ever-present bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel, to the prickle of Gale’s magic against your skin. You still don’t like it, but you’ve even become accustomed to the faint squirming of the parasite in your head and the strange powers it provides.

But now, only three days’ travel from home, from Baldur’s Gate, the rules have changed again.

You’d been speaking with Astarion, helping him by copying out the runes carved into his back when you hear it, hear his voice asking “Why would you help someone like me?”

You respond without thinking, not even looking up from your sketch. “I care about you, Astarion. I’m happy to help you.”

He shifts slightly, twisting to look at you over his shoulder. “Not that I don’t appreciate the declaration of your devotion, but that was rather out of the blue, don’t you think?”

“Not really?” you say, “You just asked me why I’d help.”

Astarion is quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t say that.”

You blink, eyes finally lifting from the parchment balanced on your lap to study him. Astarion loves mind games, thrives on the little bit of control they give him that he’d lacked for so long, but you’ve gotten good at reading him in the time you’ve been travelling together and you know he’s not playing with you now.

“I could have sworn-” you shake your head, dismissing what you thought you heard as a passing impulse, an errant daydream. “Never mind.”

Astarion hums agreeably but his eyes don’t waver from you, sharp as always but intense in a way you haven’t seen before. “What a pleasant sight,” his voice hums through you, “Wonder what else I could do to have you on your knees…”

Visions flash behind your eyes, perspective warped like you’re seeing yourself from someone else’s eyes. 

You, kneeling before Astarion with your hands settled against your thighs and your head tipped back so you can watch him, fingers twitching like you ache to reach for him and are only just restraining yourself. 

You, sprawled on your back near a roaring campfire and Astarion settled on your lap, pale thighs bracketing your hips. There’s a smile on your face as you offer him your wrist and he takes your gift - because that’s how it feels, like something to be treasured, hidden close to your heart and protected - and then you can hear the hitch in not-you’s breath as his fangs sink in and then liquid gold as your blood floods your mouth and he moves against you. 

The vision shifts again, to you curled up with Astarion, your arm curled around his waist and your head on his shoulder like it had always belonged there. Not for the first time, you’re struck by the strangeness of looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes, but the look of absolute trust in your eyes as you shift to look up at Astarion - at yourself? - and not-you’s mouth opens and “I love you” spills out with all the ease of something said a thousand times before.

A cold hand touches your face and you’re wrenched back to the present. Astarion is looking at you intently, worry evident in his brilliant ruby eyes. 

“Darling, are you alright?” He studies you, eyes trailing over the length of you like he’s looking for a wound that isn’t there. “You seemed rather lost in thought.”

Thought? Was that it? Had you been hearing- seeing- Astarion’s thoughts? Did he really want those things with you? Blood and sex, sure - those were things you’d shared already. But that intimate sort of trust - love? You’d never expected that he'd want that with you. 

You can feel it when he looks at you, not quite full thoughts but snippets, fragments - warm, safe, happy. There’s a sensation of  butterflies in your stomach and you have to ask before you choke on the wings.

“Astarion, are you in love with me?”

He freezes, eyes wide and startled. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might not have been able to see the mask starting to slip back into place. There’s a tension in him now, you can see the desire to run, can feel his thoughts whipping into a whirlwind. It’s a frantic mess of “Lie- run- yes- hide it- admit it- Cazador will use this against me- lie-”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes downcast like he can’t bear to look at you while he says it.

It’s such an Astarion-typical deflection that it gets a smile out of you. You roll your eyes, hands moving to cup his face and tug him closer until you can kiss him.

There’s a fraction of a second where he hesitates against you, frozen under your fingers, but the moment your lips touch he’s surging forward against you, his hands in your hair. There’s a flash of “Oh” and then “Good- Great- Wonderful,” that has you grinning against his lips. He pulls away after a few seconds and looks at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Am I to assume then, that you share my… interest?” There’s an echo of “say yes. Sweet Hells, please say yes,” and an ache in your chest, a yearning you’re not quite sure how to process.

You do your best to block his thoughts and feelings out, to focus only on your own. You think of the way his eyes shine when he’s amused, his wicked sense of humor, that infuriating charm. The white hot rage that flooded you when he told you what Cazador had done to him. You think of the future and can’t picture it without him at your side.

“I love you.” The words are easier to say than you’d expected, and the smile that overtakes him, bright and unrestrained, reassures you that you’ve made the right choice in telling him.

“Oh thank the gods,” slips past your mental barricade as Astarion moves to pepper your face in kisses and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

“Would it-” he interrupts you with a kiss, “be a bad time-” he kisses you again, “to mention that I’ve-” another kiss, “been hearing your thoughts this whole time?”

He leans in to kiss you again before your words sink in fully. “You WHAT?!”