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pursuitseternal · 7 months

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“Beg me…” Ascended Astarion tells you, you naughty darling… highly NSFW drabble

Also known as I blinked and wrote 2K of dom!Ascended Astarion x turned female reader. Oops 😇😈

Ascended Astarion x f!reader |E| 2K of BDSM

Summary: you burn, waiting for his return, waiting for your punishment…. Waiting for him

CW: degradation, BDSM, bondage, orgasm denial, and the sweet satisfaction that comes with its fulfillment

Continue for your delicious recompense…

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You lay stretched on the bed, arms numb from where they are tugged tight, bound to the headboard far above you. Your legs however, you wiggle, writhing, the ache he’s left between your thighs still burning hot.

And you are powerless to do anything about it. Your folds tingle, left untouched, unsated for the hour he’s been gone. And all you’ve been allowed to do is watch as the clock ticks, left wanting as he attends to matters of state.

Punishment.

You seemed a little too friendly with some Druid, someone… you don’t even remember his name. But the smile you gave was enough to stoke Astarion’s ire and flame his jealousy. Enough to have him sweep you away and bind you to your bed. To tease you with his fingers and tongue until you were close.. so close to bursting. Only to have him pull away.

And then he ordered you… compelled you… not to lose your focus on just how badly you wanted him.

You don’t know for certain if it was your bond, as master and bride, as maker and spawn, that kept your loins absolutely on fire for him, or if it was just the magic of your lust for him.

Does it matter? Not a jot, not as you squeeze your thighs together, the sheets beneath you soaked with your arousal as you wait.

Footsteps approach your door, whimpers escaping your mouth as you tug at your bindings. The clock begins to strike the hour, its resonant chime deafening to your ears, every sense of your body burns with overstimulation. You can almost smell him on the other side of the door, the waft of spice and bergamot making your mouth water.

Making your cunt drip more down to the bed as you hear the faint click of the key in the lock.

The bolt draws back, and he enters at last. His face is cold, eyes heavy-lidded as he turns his back on you to shut the door.

And to lock it again. Pocketing the key inside his doublet.

Your heart races, a slight edge of fear spiking your pulse and clamping around your lungs.

But he only shushes you. “Oh, you naughty little girl,” he sneers. “Glad to smell you’re still so hot for me,” he croons as he turns and crosses to the bedside. Instantly, he shoves three long, cold digits into your cunt.

The hum of approval from his throat is nearly enough to send you into bliss. But he simply withdraws his touch. Not a stroke, or a curl or catch on your clit. He merely pulls away to wipe your slick on your panting belly. “There’s hope for you yet, my sweet…” his eyes flash, his body coming to cage you in, the bed buckling beneath you as he slinks over you, careful not to let one inch of his body touch yours. “….that is assuming you still want me? That you’re not ever going to throw seductive smiles and come-hither eyes at anyone else.”

“I wasn’t…” you moan, but his hand flies to cover your mouth, fingers tangy and wet from your arousal.

“Shhh, don’t you insult me by arguing,” that gaze rakes down your naked figure. His lips curl into a sad sort of smirk. “The least you can do is assure me, darling, that you are mine…”

You nod, vigorously. Your breath stifled, his palm over your mouth and nose. He lifts it away, smiling as you gasp for air. “Yours, only ever yours, my love,” you pant. You strain against the silken bonds that still pull at your wrists.

“Better,” he purrs, “much better. Your body says as much, as well. But you’ll still have to prove it, darling. Prove to me that your words are not false.” The tips of his fingers ghost down your neck, trailing feather light between your shaking breasts and circling over your clenching belly.

His hand comes to slink beneath your ass, his hand clutching hard as suddenly he flips you on the mattress. All that power surges from him, stinging your skin as your world spins. Your numb arms ache, your face buried into the silken sheets. The sounds of his clothing rustling is the only warning you get before you feel the hard, cold lines of his body coming to rest on your back.

He bears all his weight down on you. Crushing you. Suffocating you. But his kiss at the sensitive spot beneath your ear is gentle. His voice, that honeyed melody that only makes you wetter. Hotter. “Are you going to be good, my sweet, sweet little slut, so wet and needy?” He takes your ear between his teeth, his sucking kiss deafening, making your whole spine tingle and twitch under him.

You nod, breathless, pained. You moan, “yes,” wanting nothing more than to show how much you do desire him. To show him how wrong he is to doubt you. You shiver, burning and throbbing in agony. But then you feel his kisses, trailing down the curve of your spine. Heavy, sucking, they ground you. Soothe you. His hands lift your hips, holding you steady, fingers sweeping through your drenched seam, catching your clit with just enough force to make you buck against him.

“How badly do you want me, darling?” he rasps in your ear, bracing an arm by your head to press his hissing lips right against your temple. “You tell me, you beg me, and I might do something about it, my love.”

“So badly,” you buck your hips against his hand, feeling his fingers slide deep inside your channel.

He chuckles as he strokes you. “But how badly, darling?” He withdraws his hands, his tongue lapping at your ear to send tangible shivers through your frame. “Badly enough for you to beg?” Those fingers catch that secret spot only he knows between your slick walls. “Badly enough to have you on all fours, keening for me to fuck you?”

“I… beg... you…” you do keen, relief instantly flooding your core as his fingers dive right back in, as they assume a demanding pace, one finger teasing your clit with such command and precision, your vision blurs.

“Good girl… for now… but you have been such a bad, lustful slut, you know,” he purrs into the creases of your ear, the weight of his body easing as he shifts behind you, his hand caressing over every inch of you, the other still stroking deep inside, bringing you so close to your bliss, you can taste its sweetness and feel its tingling heat just starting to crest.

But then, with a low-throated giggle, he extracts his touch, “You better beg me again for my mercy, better show me you’re not just willing to spread your legs for any powerful male that comes sniffing after you…” fingers claw into the fullness of your ass, squeezing it as he growls in your ear. “After all, you were so easy to seduce, to make you mine… always so wet and greedy and eager for a fuck… maybe a little reminder of how much you’re mine is in order.”

You feel the swell of his cock’s head pressing just at the edge of your folds.

“Remind me all you want, my love, but I know I'm yours alone,” You want to cry, tears in your eyes and drool in your mouth as you moan, “So please, dammit, I beg you. I’ll only ever be yours, and you know it.”

“I do know it,” he croons, mock condescension warming his voice as he slides his length in just an inch or two before he pulls back out, “but I do just so like to hear it from those lips of yours, darling.”

“Fuck you, Astarion,” you groan as he does it again, just the bulge of his head dipping into your wetness.

“That’s what you want… isn’t it?” he taunts you, that silken wickedness in his voice, “for me to fuck you?” An arm wraps around your waist, a single finger slides between the crest of your folds to catch your clit again.

You groan, throat going sore with how loud you cry. “Yes, please, please, my love…” you pant. “My body, my smile, my glances are only for you,” you add. Praying, as he strokes you harder, dipping his cock in you shallowly again, that it’s enough.

“Oh my sweet,” he purrs, thrusting slowly until he fills you, the delicious length, the pressure finally making you whole, “now you’ll taste my mercy.” He laughs slowly. Darkly. “I hope you’ll last, hope you’ll take it like the good girl you want to be…”

Withdrawing, he slams into you, bottoming out at the edge of your channel. Pain. Pleasure. It’s all one. The saccharine relief of him buried and thrusting inside you finally soothing that burn you’ve had festering inside you for hours. You can’t even hold your head up anymore. You can barely keep your face high enough to breathe, letting him plunder you at his relentless pace. Gasping, twitching, bucking. You put all your remaining energy you haven’t had burned up with your desire for him into just riding his cock. Another catch on your clit, and you feel yourself hurling into orgasm. His hands hold you firmly up, even as you spasm and clench so hard around him, that length is almost forced out.

He laughs, slow and deep, setting you down, rolling you on your back as you still twitch with your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Another four orgasms should do the trick, don’t you think, my love… enough to make you learn your lesson.”

You groan, burying your mouth into the inside of your arm to hide the noise of pleasured anguish.

Slowly, languorously, he covers you with his body, its weight a comfort and an arousal, especially as you feel his knee tuck under yours to spread your folds wide. The breadth of his cock sweeping along the seam of your cunt.

“Four?” You gulp, already feeling another wave of climax burgeoning between your thighs. He gives a little thrust of his length over you, and then another. The hardness of his erection sweeps over you, catching every nerve that flares on fire for more in your slick. Your arms tug on the restraints, your head thrown back to press hard into the bed. Every muscle in your legs clenches, heat and pain and pleasure tingle, bursting down every nerve.

You scream as you come again, but it’s muted, covered by his own devouring mouth. “Three,” he breathes over your tongue. “Perhaps more, if you’re extra obedient, an extra good girl.” Reaching over your head, his finger slips into the silken binds around your wrists, the fabric instantly easing. Your hands fly to embrace him, your touch running up and down his back, riding the scars that cover him, gripping into the pert swell to his ass, pulling him even harder into you. You sigh, his cock returning inside you with a gentle little thrust. “My little love,” he purrs as his hand cradles your cheek softly. “Forever mine…” he gives a slow, attentive thrust, the undulation of his hips catching right on every tingling, overstimulated sensitive nerve inside you. “You’ll come for me again, won’t you? And you’ll let me come too?”

“Yes,” you moan, tangling your tongue with his. “For you my love,” you whisper into his mouth, “for you I’ll come for eternity.”

For @marimosalad ❤️

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Read More Ascended Astarion: “The Rogue You Were”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read More Vampire Rogue Astarion: “Bites in the Night” series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 8 months

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Hihi! I went on anon cause my main blog is strictly sfw, but I promise I'm an adult(29). Anyways, I had this idea of Ascended Astarion teasing Tav/Reader in front of a mirror. He can't see himself, but loves the way Tav/Reader shudders under his touch and them getting more and more embarrassed because all they can see is themselves getting riled up by seemingly nothing, but when they look down, ofc they see his hands working magic across their body.

Lol ty for the clarification and ask! I've been needing some nsfw practice!

Ascended Astarion nsfw under the cut, 18 + warnings. Like this is not implied smut. It is smut, graphic. Possessive, obsessive, manipulative, bad vampire man who loves you. As much as he's capable of. Morally gray human Tav from the start to here. It's only downhill from here baby, m/f angle. But if that doesnt fufill the dream let me know and I can make a gender neutral/ gender nonspecfic no prob! And probably less intense too because this is angsty~~~

Like I went ham, this is a whole ass fic now💀

You frowned at yourself in the bedroom mirror, adjusting your hair for the umpteenth time. It still didn't look right, despite what felt like hours of practice that you'd put into the intricate style.

You sighed as let one of your braids fall down, dissatisfied with what you saw. You didn't exactly look the part of an all-powerful vampire's consort, or at least not with the company you've recently been keeping. But it turned out a significant part of taking over Baldur's Gate was trenched in politics, meetings, balls, social events created for the sole purpose of mind games.

It was exhausting, or at least it was for you. But Astarion seemed to take to it like a duck to water. This life suited him, one of power games and subterfuge, and more often than not, murder. Not that you minded. You were just happy that he was having fun. That he was finally free after all of those years of torment. Even if he was using that freedom for… less than savory ends.

But despite his goals, you had sworn to him that you would never stray. And you intended on making good on that promise.

You just wished that he didn't insist on you being there for all of his "business". You hadn't realized how literal he had been about the whole sitting in his lap plan. It had taken a half-hour conversation to even convince him that no, you would not be doing so in the nude. He still hadn't given up on convincing you off that plan, but you highly doubted that it would help with your current level of heightened insecurity.

Maybe you were worrying for no reason. It wasn't Astarion who made you feel out of place. Well… it was, but not because of anything he did. Just… who he had become. He was so different now, so much colder to everything and everyone but you. More calculating, less forgiving, and just perfect for working with the most dangerous individuals in the mortal plane.

You seemed to be the only living thing he could relax around anymore, the only person who could soften him. It was strange really. You used to remember his softer side, before the ritual. The way his heart would hurt for children and animals alike, despite his failed attempts to hide it. His soft spot for Karlach, those who were brave and brazen, always willing to do the right thing despite the risks. The kind smile he used to have, reserved for beautiful things like the sunrise, the sunset.

Gone, all of it. It was a fact that you didn't like to think about. What you both gave up, things could have been; there was no point to it anyway. It was over. You gave Astarion the choice, this is what came of that. So here you were, obsessing over your appearance in preparation for a meeting with a high-ranking devil.

How things had changed.

You had no idea if you would ever find a way to match up with the company he kept around these days. Maybe it was your own fault for surrounding yourself with otherworldly creatures, but it was hard not to feel inadequate.

It didn't help that whenever you even slightly alluded to that insecurity, Astarion was more than ready to remind you of your… "options".

"You can join us whenever you'd like my treasure," Astarion would say with a creeping grin, "Just one bite, and we can be sure you'll be mine forever. Would that be so bad?"

It was a tempting offer, one that you kept insisting on refusing. You loved Astarion more than anything. But… you wanted that love to stay your choice. An obligation you maintained of your own free will. It's not that you didn't trust him… but to be a spawn had too many implications for you to handle.

"What has you pouting sweet thing?"

You startled when hands suddenly settled on your hip, gripping through the thin fabric of your nightdress. You looked back, relaxing the slightest bit to see Astarion smiling down at you, amused at the fact he'd managed to sneak up on you through the mirror.

"You said you weren't going to do that anymore," You whined as you leaned back into him, your eyes turning back to the mirror. You could see the fabric of your slip indented under his hands, ghost-like without his actual image reflecting back.

"I lied," Astarion said simply, leaning down to breathe you in from the crook of your neck, "Now what are you thinking about pet? I can tell something's on your mind."

You bit your lip, debating for a moment if you should tell him or not. But it's not like he would let it drop, and he was way too good at being able to tell when you were lying. Might as well come clean.

You sighed, "I don't…I don't know if I'm cut out for this."

You expected him to huff at you, maybe even laugh. But instead, the grip he had on you tightened, hard enough to make you gasp. You could feel his fangs scraping against your delicate skin, scratching hard enough to cause pinpricks of blood to bead out.

"And why would you ever think a thing like that?" Astarion asked, his voice harsh and low, "Where else would you be if not by my side hm? Please, enlighten me."

You gulped, your heart rate starting to pick up. You hadn't meant it like that, "That's not what I meant-"

"Then what else could it have meant?" Astarion shot back, his hands digging into you, surely ready to leave finger-shaped bruises. Suddenly he was using that same grip to drag you backward to the bed, effortlessly settling you between his spread legs.

All while managing to still be right in sight of the mirror. You could feel your cheeks redden as his hands started to wander, unceremoniously tugging down the straps of your nightdress to reveal your chest. That was another thing about life after the ritual that had been a surprise, just how different Astarion's sex drive was. It's not like he was a prude before, far from it, but now he was insatiable. Always ready and willing to touch you whenever the urge struck him. Often enough for you to eventually come to the thrilling, if not slightly disturbed realization, that… he was training you. Training your body to always want his touch.

And tonight was no different. You could already feel yourself getting wet, and he had barely done anything yet. But then suddenly he was pinching your nipple harshly, hissing in your ear, "I expect an answer when I ask you a question darling."

You bit back a moan, trying to remember what you were even arguing about as he started to play with your breasts, "I-I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't want to embarrass you."

It was humiliating to admit but it was true. Not many people of Astarion's caliber insisted on a singular lover. There were so many people after him now, people with more power, more beauty, and grace. You didn't match up. You couldn't.

"Nonsense," Astarion dismissed, his hands wandering down to tear off more of your clothing, "Look at you. You were made for this life. Made for me. You're gorgeous."

The compliments mixed with the harsh feeling of his hands ripping your nightdress in two was quite the experience. You could feel his own hardness pressing into your backside, twitching as he threw your ruined clothing to the side.

Then he was gripping your chin, forcing your head back up to stare into the mirror in front of you, "I said look."

You obeyed, eyes widening at what you saw. It was so strange to see yourself like this, fully exposed with your legs spread apart, flushed and panting. It nearly gave the illusion that your very image was what was causing the wetness between your legs, instead of the invisible man toying with you.

You swallowed, your throat dry as Astarion's hands wandered lower, a feather-light touch tracing up and down your slit, "You are everything. The sole reason that I'm the man I am today. There is nowhere else you should be than right here."

"But-" You gasped, your words interrupted by a sharp slap to your inner thigh. You could see your skin start to redden in the mirror, a perfect imprint left in it's wake.

"Darling, are you questioning my judgment? What on earth made you think that was a good idea?"

You frantically shook your head, moaning when his fingers delved deeper, playing with your slick folds, "I-I'm not. I didn't- I'm sorry."

You whined as he roughly pinched your clit, his other hand moving upward to do the same to your heaving chest.

He was starting to grind his hardness against you, a tease of more to come as he murmured in your ear, "There's my good girl. Was that so hard?"

You shook your head, gasping as he finally dipped his long fingers into your cunt. You were already so sensitive, humiliatingly close in a matter of minutes.

"So gorgeous," Astarion sighed, staring straight ahead to the sole image of you, whimpering as he finger-fucked your pussy, "So needy. Can you see how wet you are pet?"

You could, you were leaking around his fingers, that needy, intense feeling getting more and more intense by the moment. It was so embarrassing seeing yourself like this, enough so that you snapped your eyes shut.

A bad idea. Astarion tutted at you, landing another sudden and hard slap to your thigh, "None of that. I told you to look. Or else."

You snapped your eyes back open, watching yourself whimper and gasp as you were played with, the harsh movement of his hand jostling your breasts. You weren't going to last much longer, not with the image of you being taken apart, the feeling of him inside you, the mean edge to your love's words.

"You're such a silly little thing, aren't you?" Astarion growled, fucking you harder and faster. You were so close, but you weren't stupid enough to come without permission. Not after what he did the last time, "Doubting me. Do you really think I don't know what's best for you? What's best for us?"

"No," You whimpered, your hips arching backward to rub harder into his erection, "You're right, I-I'm yours. C-Can I come now? Please?"

"Beg me and maybe I'll think about it," Astarion meanly laughed, relishing in the gush of slick his harshness coaxed from between your legs, "Beg and apologize. Apologize for doubting us. For doubting me."

You could barely get the words out through your own gasps, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean it!"

"Good girl," Astarion huskily laughed, using a clever thumb to rub over your swollen clit, "Now tell me you love me."

"I love you," You said easily, meaning every word, "I love you more than anything.

"Tell me you'll never leave me. Ever."

There was something else behind that promise. An obvious implication that your fucked-out brain was too distracted to see.

"Never," You promised, reaching back for you him. You curled your fingers into his hair. pulling his head down to press his mouth against your throat. An open invitation, "I'll always be with you."

Astarion groaned against your skin, his fangs so close to piercing, "Precious pet, how could I ever want anything else? Come darling, you've earned it."

Then he was biting you, the brief flash of pain the perfect trigger for you to fall over the edge. You came with an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, slumping back into Astarion as he drank from your throat.

You looked as much of a mess as you felt, the stickiness between your thighs glistening in the light. You watched yourself, whimpering as Astarion slipped his fingers out. Just to tap them against your lips, forcing them into your mouth to suck on.

You moaned around them, light-headed as Astarion popped off of your throat. You sighed as he licked at the wound, enjoying the brief moment of rest. You weren't naive enough to think that you were done yet. Not when Astarion was still hard, his cock pulsing against you.

"See?" Astarion huskily laughed, licking the blood off of his lips while he played with your tongue, "You're perfect. Perfect and mine."

#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #check the intro warnings #graphic #m/f pairing

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annikin-annotates · 6 months

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Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety).

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor.

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown.

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile.

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.”

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear.

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her.

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest.

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong?

And so the cycle would continue.

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful.

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be.

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away.

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug.

And what a grave she had chosen.

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her.

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit.

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground.

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers.

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face.

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up? She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?”

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion.

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes.

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.”

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created.

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time.

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him.

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back.

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood.

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

#astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion my beloved #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #f!reader x astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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verbenaa · 4 months

Text

venus in furs

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+ only

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Ascended Astarion, dom Astarion, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, slight degradation, guided masturbation, vaginal sex

𝑎/𝑛: back with another one, friends. I didn't ever think I would really write ascended Astarion, but what can I say?? I hope you all like this one, I definitely enjoyed writing it and getting out of my comfort zone a little bit! Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The air of the palace is cold against your exposed skin as you walk through the halls you now own, wearing nothing but an ermine cloak and glittering jewels, your stride confident amidst the darkened hallways.

These halls were once filled with the smell of decay and the leftover dust of ages past, a distasteful reminder of the horrors that had occurred here over centuries. You had made sure upon Astarion’s ascension to rip out as much of the place as you could, making decisions with that of an aesthete’s touch, ideals of what a grand palace should look like for your lover.

Dull red carpets were hastily replaced with elegant emerald green, every oppressive drapery torn away from their rods and transformed instead into flowing brocaded silks, old and rotted furniture sent to be thrown into the river or to burn, it mattered not which end it met. Such matters of what happened to the furniture were beneath you.

You had much loftier concerns to deal with, now.

After all, what use was being His Dark Consort, if not to wile away your now infinite hours doing whatever you so wished, consequences be damned?

You stride towards the ballroom where two thrones of gleaming gold sit side by side on a newly raised dais, not caring whether the servants you passed noticed your state of dishabille. You knew they would turn their eyes from you, they would never dare to look upon you in such a way without his express permission.

At last, you make your way to your destination; chandeliers dimly lit with tapers of dripping wax hang from the ceiling, illuminating the richly woven tapestries decorating the walls. It was a shame you still couldn’t manage to get all of the blood stains out of the floorboards from the battle with those dreadful wolves, but you supposed there were worse trophies than those of your victories. You were content to let them serve as a reminder to all those who entered this place of who it was that had eventually won the battle.

A quick step up onto the dais has you exactly where you want to be, your eyes flitting between the twin thrones, resplendent with whorls of gold crafted into scenes of animals at hunt, the seats plush with dark velvet. With naught but a minute glance towards your own throne, you instead bring your gaze upon that of Astarion’s.

You settle into your lover’s throne and arrange your cloak around you, the blood red of the velvet sliding against your curves as you move to recline, the contrast stark against the milky fur of the oversized collar, dark dots smattered across the expanse of alabaster like drops of ink against a page.

The jewels around your neck and in your ears shift with every movement of your body, the pear-shaped ruby of your necklace—practically the size of your palm—encrusted with crystal clear diamonds heavy as it rests upon your collarbone.

You wait for Astarion to find you, just like this, your body on display for him in the way you know he so likes. Soft curls of anticipation settle deep within your stomach, embers of pleasure eager to transform into a wildfire.

Astarion, thankfully, does not keep you waiting long, his muted footfalls upon the covered floors catch upon your ears soon after taking your desired place. The knowledge he is finally here and so close has you sitting up slightly straighter.

You know he will be able smell the scent of you, the heady aroma of your slow growing excitement will lead him right to where you lay in wait for him. You arrange yourself for one moment more on the throne, a siren’s smile on your face as you await the presence of your lover.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The last thing Astarion expects to see when he walks into the ballroom is you, lounging indolently on his throne of all places, wearing nothing but the dark red of an ermine cloak and dripping in jewels.

He has to give you credit, he supposes; when he walked in from the city after a series of decidedly droll meetings with decidedly useless patriars, finding you waiting for him like a little treat dying to be tasted did not make his list.

How very lucky you are, it seems, that when he scented your arousal on the stairs he decided instead to investigate rather than moving on to whatever work awaits him in his office.

You had always liked playing these kinds of games, your subtle machinations something he was always happy to bear witness to with a smile on his face.

His perfect, pretty Dark Consort and her quaint little schemes.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you.

His eyes trace your frame, from the white and black of the fur trim that rests against your naked flesh, hiding your peaked nipples from sight as your crossed legs obscure the telltale wetness he knows is forming between your thighs.

You flutter your lashes prettily at his perusal of your body, a coquettish tilt of your head at his interest.

With predatory intent, Astarion makes a slow circle around his throne with inhuman grace, his eyes never leaving you. You feel the intensity of his gaze against your skin, your hair, your lips—every part of you on display for him and him only.

He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

He completes his circle and his eyes meet your own, his glowing claret gaze darkening and you know with certainty that he is pleased at your offering for him.

“Won’t you bend the knee for me, my Lord?” You feign innocence in your question, eyes roving greedily over his clothed body, taking in the fine tailoring of his intricately embroidered velvet doublet, the skin-tight fit of the finest leather pants highlighting the beginnings of his erection.

“Is that what you would like, dearest?” His eyes bore into your own, a mocking smile alighting his plush lips at such a request.

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think? To be greeted with such a gift like myself?” Your thighs open for him as you recline further into the velvet, your wetness glistening in the dim candlelight.

“How presumptuous of you, my sweet Consort.” despite his words, a spike of heat works its way through your body at the sight of his knees moving smoothly to the floor in front of the throne you have now made your own.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips absentmindedly as he comes to settle his chest between your open thighs, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

Astarion doesn’t miss the sight of your tongue brushing against your lips, and he can’t help but think of other things that your mouth is capable of. He runs his hands up and down the outside of your thighs with surprising delicacy as his eyes move to your dewy center, now exposed to him.

“I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, pet.” His hands make their way to your waist, thumbs brushing teasing patterns against your skin as he leans in to press a kiss to the softness of your lower belly, breath catching in your throat at the closeness of his lips.

You have but a moment to relish the feeling, the hands at your waist moving to yank you out of the throne upon which you sit. You quickly find yourself chest to chest with your lover, your exposed center pressing against the growing hardness still hidden behind tied leather for mere seconds before your world is turned once more; Astarion moving you onto your knees as you now face the seat of the throne you had just occupied, a spot of your own wetness darkening the velvet cushion as your ribcage presses hard against the golden frame of the throne.

A hand makes its way from your waist to clasp against your throat, the feeling of his fingers pressing in on your windpipe exquisite.

“Because you’ll have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.” His words fall hot against your ear as he speaks, lips brushing against the tender skin as your face falls at the thought of being denied what you had been so sure he would give you, a small noise of discontent falling from your rouged lips.

You feel the hand still resting on your waist move up to unclasp the fur cloak from your throat, the heavy fabric falling to the floor behind you with a muted thud before Astarion moves to grab and throw it aside. He quickly presses close, eager to replace the lost warmth as his hand makes it way back south, the embroidery of his doublet pressing against your exposed back, every caress of the threads like fire against your skin.

The hand around you neck tightens infinitesimally, the additional pressure drawing a gasp from your lips as his other hand continues making it way lower, sweeping through the curls at the apex of your thighs before coming to cup at your dripping wetness.

“I don’t take orders from you, lover, and it would do for you to remember that.” His fingers slide through your folds, drawing a noise from both of your lips at the feeling.

“Gods, look at you. So desperate already, and I’ve barely touched you.” His words are a whisper against your neck, reverent despite his prior condemnation. Fingers trace at your entrance, their touch light and teasing as he continues his scolding.

“What a little tyrant you’ve become. Daring to sit in my throne and to make such demands of me.” His tone is mocking now as he presses those two fingers at your entrance, pushing in to the knuckle, leaving you no time to acclimate to the fullness. A whine falls from your lips as his fingers move deep, eyes falling shut and head lolling forwards the hand still squeezing lightly at your throat.

Astarion allows the gesture, his hand softening its hold to instead stroke at the graceful column of you neck as your head falls back to rest upon his velvet draped shoulder.

The fingers inside you find that spot deep inside, curling to press into it with relentless intent. Moans fall from your lips as his fingers fuck into your pussy, your wetness aiding their slide in and out of your wanting body.

“Look at how easily you cry for me, my sweet.” His words spur you on, your hips riding his hand as his fingers find their rhythm deep inside you for but a moment before he mercilessly pulls them from of your body.

Astarion’s fingers leave you empty, a whimper filling the air as he drags the hand that had been pleasuring you up your body, leaving a trail of slick across the heated skin of your stomach to the place in between your breasts.

His wet fingers leave your body to hover in front of you, your head coming up off his shoulder.

Astarion’s pulls his fingers apart, shining strings of your arousal clinging between the digits. The sight of it has the both of you entranced as Astarion slowly brings those fingers together again and presses them against your lips.

“Open.” The command is clear in his voice, and you open your mouth without a second thought.

He settles the fingers on your tongue and you obediently close your mouth around them and suck at your own wetness coating the digits.

“Such a good girl, barely having to be told what to do,” His praise is like velvet running across your skin as you hollow your cheeks around the digits in your mouth, your essence heavy on your tongue.

“You taste divine, don’t you think?” You are powerless but to nod in agreement, empty core clenching at the honey dripping from his words.

The taste of yourself in your own mouth like this is downright lewd and you know without a doubt that if the heart that sits in your chest could beat once more that your face would be flushed as red as the roses you now choose to decorate with.

You can feel Astarion’s hardness through his pants, pressing into you from his place behind you, cock twitching with every movement of your tongue. His fingers make their way out of your mouth before reaching down to tweak at a hardened nipple, your saliva coating his digits as they rub circles around the nub.

“Do me a favor, darling, and stay on those knees of yours.” Astarion’s lips brush against the delicate skin of your ear once more, his words a seductive whisper as he rises behind you.

You look over your shoulder as he stands at his full height, your face at eye level with the hard bulge still hidden behind leather. A corner of your mouth tilts upwards as you turn on your knees to face him fully, hands coming up to rest on his upper thighs as you look up into his eyes.

Your fingers rub the leather covering his strong legs, head moving forward to rest lightly against his covered erection.

The sight of you down on your knees is that of sin incarnate, Astarion’s breath hitching slightly before that same wicked smile creeps back onto his features.

“May I, my Lord?” Your fingertips inch upwards with your words, playing with the waistband of his pants.

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think?” He uses your earlier words against you tauntingly, his haughty smirk deepening at the devilish raise of your brows.

You see fit not to answer him with words, instead letting your hands do the talking as they make their way to the laces covering his erection. With several quick motions of your fingers the laces fall open and you free his aching length, placing a kiss to the tip.

Astarion groans at that first brush of your lips against him, hips jumping at the touch as his cock bobs in response.

You mouth at the crown, reverent brushes of your tongue moving on the soft skin of his shaft have his head falling back with a sigh. Astarion brings his eyes back to your form on the floor beneath him, knees resting on the ground as your nipples pebble in the chilled air, lips and tongue working him with the motions you know he loves.

You lick a stripe up a vein on his cock before taking his heat inside your mouth, cheeks hollowing against him as you suck. The action has him moaning, your lips and tongue moving to work him as you slowly begin to bob your head.

You continue your ministrations, sucking him into your mouth as your hand comes to help you touch what you can’t easily reach with your mouth, pumping him at the base as your tongue caresses the crown of his cock.

The noises Astarion makes is like music to your ears, the sound of his carnal moans only serving to drive you to move your mouth faster and deeper.

“You can take me harder, can’t you?” His words are uncharacteristically breathless as his fingers card through your hair, gathering strands into a makeshift ponytail in his fist as his other hand brushes against the high point of your cheek.

You nod your head as much as you can with your lips wrapped around his cock, humming in confirmation as your eyes look up to meet his own gaze, glassy with lust.

Astarion pumps his hips at your blessing, moving his cock in and out of your mouth with slow motions as your tongue brushes against him. Your lips open wider to accommodate him, hand on his thigh squeezing in encouragement.

Pleasure rushes to your core as Astarion’s hand fists harder in your hair, his hips moving faster now as he sets his pace, your moans around his cock spurring him on as he moves closer to your throat, eyes watering involuntarily with each thrust as he nears the back of your mouth.

He hisses at the pleasure, at the sight of you letting him fuck your mouth however he pleases as your eyes flash upwards to meet his own, the beginnings of tears dusting your lashes as he pushes deeper into your warm mouth.

Few things compare to the knowledge that Astarion is under your control like this, and you know he won’t last long as you breathe in through your nose, relaxing your throat for him to press as deep as he wants with a flutter of your lashes, stray teardrops falling onto your cheeks as you can only imagine the thoughts floating through his pleasure-addled mind.

As Astarion looks down upon your form below him, taking him so very well, he can’t help but think that the deepest and darkest parts of him covet you like this always. Lips wrapped tight around his cock, unable to think of nothing but him as he fucks your mouth, your lips sealed around his cock.

The beautiful blush of your lips, the crystal of your tears, the claret of your blood.

All for him and him only.

He comes on your tongue with the thought, his spend going down your throat in hot, salty spurts. You swallow him greedily, intent on not wasting a drop as the hands in your hair tighten as Astarion’s hips buck into your mouth with abandon as you drink down his seed.

With a sigh the hand in your hair loosens as Astarion comes down from his high, your mouth still moving over his softening cock. You slowly pull off him, tongue licking at him as you go, collecting the remnants of his come off him before you let his length fall from your lips.

With one last swallow, you look up at him from your place on your knees, licking at a stray drop of his come that escapes your mouth. Astarion brushes his thumb against your closed lips, his eyes still hot with lust as your tongue darts out to lick at the fingertip.

With a nod of his head, Astarion gestures to your cloak where it lays long forgotten against the cold floors. With a coy smirk up at him, you bring your hands to the floor and crawl over towards the soft velvet.

Astarion follows your every sway of your body as you move, and when you finally lay yourself down onto the cloak, back resting against the lush material, he follows. He wastes no time to lower himself above you, hovering, as he takes in the vision of you resting beneath him.

His Dark Consort. His blasphemous Queen.

He would do anything for you.

His eyes rove your naked form, burning the memory of the way the deep crimson of the cape highlights the color of your skin, the open yearning in your expression and complete submission to him into his mind to last the entirety of his eternal life.

Astarion finally touches your body, no longer satisfied with a simple gaze, a hand brushing back your hair from your face before making its way down your body. You let your legs fall open for him to continue his exploration, eagerly exposing your wanting center to him as he bends his head down, giving an experimental lick up your slit, collecting your wetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to come, my love?” You nod your head, a whine escaping at the promise in his voice.

“Then I want you to make yourself come while I watch.” He releases your legs, moving to stand before making his way to his throne.

He sits down with the grace of a king, his gaze expectant on your naked body as you part your legs for him once more.

His words are unexpected but you waste no time, not willing to wait lest he decide to abandon your pleasure all together. A hand skates its way down your body, bypassing your aching breasts to go straight to your clit. You rub at your pearl with delicate fingers, your motions second nature as you let yourself fall headfirst into the feeling of pleasure as Astarion watches you from his place on his throne, his cock already hard again.

Your eyes fall shut as you continue your ministrations, head falling to the side as your pleasure drives higher and higher with every motion of your fingers.

“Eyes on me, darling.” His words are hard, the command clear in his voice has your eyes opening fast and landing back on his form.

You watch Astarion where he sits, taking in the sight of him as your fingers continue drawing circles around your clit. He reclines back in his throne, a hand drawing lazy touches up and down his cock as his own eyes are fixated on your fingers at your most intimate area.

With a breath your hand leaves your clit, moving further down to touch at your weeping entrance.

If he wants a show, you will gladly give him one.

Without waiting, you plunge your fingers into yourself, pushing them as deep as you can. Your own are nothing compared to the length and elegance of his own, but they will have to do for now. You fuck yourself on your fingers, quickly adding a third in an attempt to recreate the feeling of Astarion’s own.

Your fingers shine with your wetness, Astarion groaning at the sight of you fucking yourself like this, knowing you won’t last much longer at the rate you are going.

“Slow down, darling,” A smirk plays at his lips as he notes the shaking of your thighs.

“You can’t come until I say so, and I’m not ready for this little performance to be over quite yet.” You whine at his command, but slow your fingers obediently, moving them inside you at a slower pace now.

Your fingers work diligently as your eyes don’t leave Astarion’s from where he sits some feet away. His attention on you only serve to drive you higher, those crimson eyes never leaving you.

Your legs widen so Astarion can better see your motions as your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, fingers still moving in an easy rhythm that drives your higher and higher with every pass.

You know that he loves to see and watch you like this, and there is nothing you love more than leaning into that yearning, eager to let his dominance wash over you.

“A-Astarion, I can’t hold off much longer.” It takes effort to keep your eyes on him, trying to push off your orgasm as long as possible, thighs shaking once more with impending release.

“Let go, my love.” His permission feels like a balm, hand at your chest coming down to rub at your clit as the fingers inside you speed up their thrusts, intent to bring yourself to orgasm as fast as you can get there.

You had waited so long to finally be allowed to come, to get the pleasure you desired and deserved, and while you wish that it was Astarion’s hands instead of your own, you supposed beggars could not be choosers.

Your orgasm hits, limbs seizing and hips bucking against your fingers, head thrown back as a moan leaves your painted lips, back bowing with pleasure.

“Beautiful.” Astarion murmurs the words low, barely audible over your own moans as you come on your fingers, orgasm washing over you as you writhe on the floor in front of him.

Your body relaxes in the wake of your release, limbs loose against the cloak on the floor. You ease your fingers out of yourself with a slight wince, the digits soaked with your own come. You lay there for a moment, your senses coming back to you as your eyes finally open and glance back at your lover.

“Come to me.” His words are expectant, and you force yourself to rise despite the pleasant exhaustion weighing down your limbs, walking to the throne and standing in between his knees as he spreads them to make room for you.

Astarion’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing the fingers that had filled your core to his own mouth before he wraps his mouth around them.

He licks at your come, tongue sliding against your fingers in a bid to collect all of your spend, intent on letting none go to waste. The feeling of his tongue on your fingers drives a wedge of heat right back to the spot between your legs, Astarion’s eyes never leaving your face as his tongue glides up and down your fingertips.

With one last motion, he sucks hard on your fingers before pulling his mouth away from your hand.

“Sit.” The command is simple as his hands grab at your waist, pulling you to him.

Your knees land on either side of his hips, his cock brushing up against your empty core as Astarion’s lips finds your own.

His kiss is demanding, passion and control combined into a fiery thing that you answer with the same emotion, mouth opening to his tongue as it sweeps inside to taste.

You’re breathless when Astarion breaks this kiss, his lips moving to press kisses against your jaw.

“Turn around and face the doors, darling.” His smile is absolutely deviant as you obey his words without a second thought, excitement building at whatever he has in store for you.

Your body twists over his own, settling onto his lap as your bare back rests against his velvet doublet. His length presses against your slit like this, your come slicking the shaft. Astarion’s hands caress the curve of your waist as you lean back into him, your head turning to brush your lips over the skin of his neck in a light kiss.

The hands on your waist move further down your sides and over your legs, stopping at your knees to grip underneath each, lifting them up and over the armrests of the throne. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight burn in your thighs as your legs stretch open, every inch of your aching cunt on full display.

He bares you entirely like this, anyone who dares to walk by the open doors and look inside would see every bit of you. It’s a small blessing, you think, that any servants have long made themselves scarce once they realized the debauchery taking place.

“Such a good girl you are, darling, keeping yourself open for me like this.” The hands holding your legs move up to stroke at your thighs, before one wanders higher towards your center. Astarion drags his fingers through your wetness, fingers spreading your folds and collecting the wetness on his fingertips as he circles your clit.

His lips find the tender skin behind your ear at the moment two fingers push inside you, sliding in knuckle deep before pulling back out again.

“You put on such a good show for me, darling. I think you deserve a reward.” He kisses your neck, those fingers pushing in once more to massage at your inner walls.

Astarion is intent on building you back up to a frenzy, his years of knowledge of your body to press and rub against everywhere he knows will only bring you higher.

He will always worship you, you who helped him rise to this new height, assisting so selflessly in handing him such power. It was the least he could do, to keep and covet you so tightly you could never want or dream of anything less than an eternity by his side.

The old Astarion could never care for you the way he does now, could never gift you such unimaginable riches—gowns of the finest silks and tulles, an endless supply of silvers and golds, jewels of unbelievable value.

No, he couldn’t offer you even a fraction of what he can now. His poor excuse for companionship was all that he had to offer you back then.

You deserved better, and better was what he would give you.

“You’re a vision like this, darling, held open for me while I make you come.” He mouths at the skin of your neck, never slowing in his movements.

His fingers hook inside of you, pressing against your g-spot with relentless efficiency, your cries spurring on his motions. You can hear the sounds of your wetness with his every motion, can feel yourself dripping onto the soft leather of his covered thighs beneath you.

Your orgasm hits you without warning, that familiar warmth coursing through your veins Astarion’s fingers still press on the softness of your walls as your cunt constricts around them. You writhe in his lap, hips riding his hand as he presses kisses to your neck as his fingers continue their work. You whine at the sensations, body moving closer towards overstimulation after reaching your peak twice in such a short time.

Astarion grants you a moment to recover as his fingers slide out of you, hands instead moving to bring your legs down from their place over the chair as you pant listlessly against his chest, body still shaking from the pleasure he had given you.

“Please, fuck me.” Your words carry a certain softness in their desperation that has Astarion’s cock bobbing against your entrance once more as you move onto your knees above him, looking back over your shoulder to see him grabbing his cock as he positions it at your entrance.

You lower down eagerly to take him inside you in a smooth glide, ignoring the slight twinge of overstimulation as you press all the way down until your hips meet, a hiss leaving his mouth at the feeling of your warmth finally wrapped around him.

You moans fill the air together, Astarion’s hands finding your waist as you glide yourself up and down his cock, taking him deep with every motion downwards, hips grinding into his own when he bottoms out. His lips caress the skin of your spine and neck, one hand on your hip helping you move up and down him, the other buried in your hair, keeping it out of the way of his roaming lips.

Astarion lets you move above him at your own pace, moaning into your skin as you work yourself on him, your hips undulating above him in a seductive dance as you take him deep on every slide down before gliding back up, barely keeping the head of him inside before you begin again.

Astarion’s grip on your hip tightens as he begins to guide you in harder motions that have you picking up speed, his fingers digging into your skin as the lips on your neck switch from kisses to light nips of his fangs.

“Harder, Astarion.” Your words come out on uneven breaths as he thrusts deep, cries of pleasure falling from you open lips as he takes control.

“Off, darling.” He pants, other hand moving to join the one at your hip as he moves you off his cock, your wetness coating it.

On unsteady legs you move to stand by the throne as Astarion gets up behind you, his hands never leaving your body as he quickly directs you back. Your knees touch soft velvet as you move to kneel on the seat, hands grasping for purchase on the golden whorls as Astarion sheathes himself back inside you, hips sliding home on the first thrust.

The carved gold bites into your palms as you hold on, legs widening for him to fuck you harder as his hands find their way to hold onto your hips, pulling your body back against his own as he fucks you with little delicacy.

Gone is the easy, sensuous pace of earlier, replaced by your mutual desperation for something harder. His cock is impossibly deep like this, hitting what feels like every nerve ending inside you with the pump of his hips.

A hand grips your hair and pulls your head back roughly as his teeth nip at your earlobe.

“Is this what you wished for, my dear?” He whispers the words, hips snapping into yours. “To be fucked like a whore? On my throne, like this?”

You moan at his words, pussy clenching hard on his cock as his skin slaps into your own, the sound echoing against the elegantly carved wood ceiling.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He chuckles into your ear as you gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, his mouth licking a stripe up your neck.

You deign not to answer him, knowing your body tells him everything he needs to know about that particular line of questioning.

His cock hits a particularly deep spot inside you, and you cry out at the sensation, pain and pleasure mixing headily in your veins. Your hands clutch harder onto the throne under you in an attempt to center yourself, efforts in vain as Astarion continues to fuck into that same spot near your cervix.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of him so deep, wanton moans falling from your lips with abandon as pleasure streaks through body, burning brighter than the sun.

“Will you bleed for me, sweet thing?” The words aren’t quite a question, more hypothetical in nature. You know he will take, and you are always willing to give to him, even after all these years. You nod your head regardless, as best you can with Astarion’s fingers still gripping in your hair, never mind his hard thrusts in and out of your body.

His lips fall against your neck, nose nudging against the skin there as his breath is hot where his lips caress the skin behind your ear. The hand in your hair loosens, allowing you to move your head further to side, baring more skin to his searching mouth in invitation.

He bites down, the fragile skin of your neck breaking like it has a thousand times over, your blood dripping down in rivulets as Astarion drinks you in. Your blood stains the diamonds and rubies around your neck, facets dancing with every push of Astarion’s hips against your own in the dim light.

Every suck of Astarion’s mouth against your neck brings you closer, cries falling as you both soar higher and higher towards your peak. His hips continue to move, never slowing in their rhythm as he drinks, blood continuing to drip down over the peak of your breasts before falling onto the gilded throne beneath you.

All it takes is a few more thrusts from Astarion before you come apart, body bucking against his own as he continues to suck at the flesh of your neck, every pull from his mouth bringing the pleasure higher as you crest wave after wave of our climax, white hot heat rushing over your senses. He works you through your orgasm, never slowing his pace as he fucks you through the height of it, allowing you to luxuriate in the euphoria.

Astarion follows shortly after you, the feeling of your cunt clenching hard against his own heat divine as he loses the final threads of his control. His hips press tight against your own as he empties himself inside of you with unrestrained moans as he extricates his fangs from your neck to press his brow against your shoulder, tongue licking at the spilled blood that runs down your body.

Astarion stays inside you, his cock softening as his come leaks from your joined bodies down onto the skin of your thighs, pressing kisses to your shoulder as your breathing slowly evens out.

Finally he pulls himself from your center, helping you off the throne as he bends down to grab your discarded cape from the floor nearby. He settles it back around your shoulders as you lean against him, looking up into his eyes.

“What ever are we to do with you, darling?” He sighs the words in mock distress, a finger coming to lift your chin up towards him as he smirks.

“I suppose maybe I need to be better disciplined?” Your smile answers his own, voice coy as you toy with a button on his doublet.

“Then lead the way, pet, there’s still much I can teach you.” Your answering smirk is all the permission required as Astarion leads you to the bedroom, intent to make good on his promise before the night is done.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #ascended astarion x tav #my writing

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bananasfosterparent · 6 months

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Me, excited to see a female Tav x Asc Astarion story with potential to be good: 🥹😍😈

The story: "She was supporting his ascension but why oh why does it feel sO wRoNg?! Regret! Abort! Do not pass go, do not collect $200 ! This is so wrong! So horrible! Tav is a victim! Tav can only be a victim!! Ascended Astarion cannot know what happiness and love are!!!"

WHERE are the ride or die female Tavs?! Where are the dark romance stories?? Why does Tav always somehow suddenly regret his ascension, sometimes right in the moment or well after when it's done and they're at the palace?! It's so silly.

Why do people love writing him and Tav in pain and agony all the time??

#f it #im not a fanfic writer fr but i am about to make my own #ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion

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littlejuicebox · 2 months

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Midwinter Carol 10 / The Trunk

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7] / Click here to read on AO3.

Summary/Setting:

Fifteen years after the Ascendant and his lover went their separate ways, they run into one another at Wyll Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala. One dance is all they share. A week later, a cataclysm of events, spurned by Eirianwen’s return, uproots the life Astarion had been building for himself.

One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. Astarion is forced to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

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“Wait, Ani,” Astarion warns when the sorceress releases his hand, her fingers ghosting across his as she walks away. She instantly starts to wander when the servants swarm them at the dungeon doors. The entire situation had caused quite a ruckus, and Astarion is caught between quelling his employees' concerns and providing them various instructions. He’s simultaneously signing something to Melga and Thrak as he tells another servant to send the maids upstairs.

In moments like this, Astarion is reminded that he is constantly surrounded by people and yet always alone. It’s his fault, he knows; he prefers to place himself above others, an easy way to ensure he will be able to look down his nose at them. He holds everyone far beneath him, apart from the one woman he keeps on a pedestal, built up in his mind like a goddess he worships and a religion only he follows.

Eirianwen glances back at Astarion, where she is paused on the stairwell leading to the second floor, and he lifts his gaze to her, quickly pointing to the ring on his finger before turning to answer another question from his steward, Pascal. The cacophony of voices and questions around him, all needing guidance, is unnerving. Ani recognizes the man Astarion is talking to, but is shocked to see how much he’s aged in fifteen years. He’s almost completely gray. Time is quite different for humans; she often forgets the luxury she has as an elf.

It gives her more time to hold grudges and run from mistakes.

She spots the ring on Astarion’s hand and then peers at her own hand resting upon the shiny oak banister, frowning down at the marred flesh. Despite his previous motion, the sorceress is still somehow shocked to see the matching band on her own finger. Her brow furrows as she continues to walk up the steps.

What had she missed? How long had she been asleep?

Questions dart through her mind faster than she can climb the grand staircase toward the room she used to share with Astarion. She’s still walking up the steps in a dazed, daydreaming state. Ani’s almost to the second floor when a sudden bolt of pain shoots through her body, culminating in the overwhelming need to vomit. But no, she couldn’t possibly do such a thing, she hasn’t eaten in—

Eirianwen retches. Hot, acrid bile spills onto the perfectly polished marble of the second floor. She’s doubled over and gasping for air when another violent spasm attacks her body and more green fluid spews from her mouth. She suddenly feels feverish as a throbbing pain pulses in her hand, igniting the entire limb in fire. Two servants rush to clean up the mess as a familiar arm comes around her shoulder.

“I don’t think you should be standing quite yet, darling,” Astarion murmurs, and without another word he sweeps Eirianwen off her feet and into his arms. He walks to the bedroom with Ani pressed into his chest; she just barely hears the rapid cadence of his heart.

He carefully places her on the chaise lounge in the bedchambers; it’s a piece of furniture she’d picked out, incidentally. They’d made love many times, in many positions, on this same chaise. He’d carried her here, wrapped around him, more times than he can remember. Recollections flash through his mind in rapid fire and he swallows as he blinks them away.

He leaves her there to speak to the servants on the landing and then quickly returns. Eirianwen feels awful. The taste of bile still sits in her mouth. When Astarion returns he breezes to the carafe next to the bed, on top of one of the side tables, and silently fills a cup with water. Then he hands it to Ani.

She drinks in silence. Gods, she’s parched. Holding the glass is difficult, never mind the weakness she feels in her hand. Her body is shaking.

“Who… who was that down in the dungeons, Astarion?” Eirianwen finally asks, her voice sounding hoarse, as she lowers the empty glass from her lips.

“Delilah. She stole the God Killer,” he replies as he gently takes the glass from the woman and places it on the side table. His brows stitch together as he watches Eirianwen. He’s never actually interacted with someone after Delilah’s poison has done its damage.

Ani’s eyes clamp shut. Her head is pounding. She’s trying to follow along, but it’s hard to think past the pain in her body. Another wave of nausea flows through her and she retches; no sooner had she made the sound than Astarion appeared at her side with a waste bin. But nothing comes, there’s nothing left to regurgitate.

“The dagger Edmund used was laced with a very potent poison. You slept through the worst of it but the effects will probably be there for a day or two longer. The rings are… working. But Delilah’s draughts are stronger than anything you’ve seen before, I’m sure. You were out for a few days, darling. Your hand…”

He trails off as his jaw clenches. He shakes his head and gently gathers Ani’s hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way should she vomit. Deft fingers perform the action without much of a thought, as if it hadn’t been fifteen years since he last styled Ani’s hair for her. “Jaheira is looking into it. She mentioned conferring with Halsin.”

He senses Eirianwen’s heartbeat spike up a fraction at the mention of Halsin, and feels that sickening twist of jealousy rise in his gut— perhaps being stabbed by the God Killer had been a moderately better feeling than that sensation— but quickly stifles it. “Now… we can talk more. But let us get cleaned up and then eat something. It’s quite a bit to discuss. Would you like to bathe first, or should I, darling?”

Astarion bathes first as Ani waits in the bedchamber. A set of servants bring her a tray of fruit to snack on while she waits, and the sustenance improves her physical state, if only a bit. Her spotted serval cat, perched upon the chaise, meows away. She listens to Umber’s ramblings and scratches distractedly at the large feline’s fur, occasionally murmuring a response or two.

When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a plush crimson robe and toweling his hair, Astarion meets the sorceress’s gaze and notices she appears to be staring through him, lost in her own thoughts. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, brow furrowing in concern, before he asks, “Are you doing alright, Ani?”

She blinks and then snaps back into the room, her blackened hand flexing against the feline flicking its tail next to her.

“Umber says you let her sleep with you in the guest room, and that you’ve been taking care of her while I’ve been asleep. She likes the steak and lamb she’s been eating here far better than the birds and mice she eats on the road… you’re spoiling her, Astarion,” Eirianwen says with a weak smile, glancing to the side before stroking the cat’s ear. Umber purrs and then focuses her jade eyes on Astarion.

He drops the used towel in a basket at the end of the bed as he moves toward the cat and strokes a single curled finger up under her chin. The creature moves to playfully nip at his digit, affectionately holding it between four sharp canines with no intent to cause harm. This must be how Eirianwen often felt, all those years ago, with a part of her body seemingly always caught between his fangs. Doting on a dangerous creature.

“I think she would’ve preferred to sleep next to you, but Jaheira suggested it would be better to not. She’s smaller and far cleaner than Scratch— it was less of an inconvenience.”

He won’t tell Ani he actually enjoyed the company. It sounds too pitiful.

Umber releases his hand and then hops from Eirianwen’s side with a flick of her tail. She ducks and hides under the bed before emitting a meow; Ani’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly before it smooths again. After a moment, she moves to stand. Her eyes lift to examine Astarion in the process.

“Your ear is still split,” she murmurs. Eirianwen had never seen a laceration last this long on Astarion; his vampiric regeneration had always kicked in by now. Though she knew the God Killer’s capabilities, it was still unsettling to see.

Astarion begins to lift his hand to his ear, but before he makes contact, Eirianwen has her fingers pressed to his flesh. A cooling sensation spreads from lobe to tip as a spell mends the slice along his pinna. And then, almost by force of habit, Ani idly traces her finger down the edge of his ear as she pulls away.

The fleeting sensation causes Astarion to stiffen as his body flares with an unexpected wave of powerful, raw, aching desire. His heart jumps. His cock does, too.

“Mm.. do that again, darling,” Astarion purrs from where his head is resting on Ani’s lap.

Eirianwen fills the tent with a soft, melodic tinkle of laughter as she gently tugs on Astarion’s ear once more, coaxing a little moan from his lips, “Oh, you like that, do you?”

“You know I do, darling,” he responds while he palms at the bulge forming between his legs as his lover continues to methodically massage his earlobes. Astarion groans and rocks his hips forward as a small, relaxed smile spreads across his face, “and that’s why you always pretend to do it by accident when we’re in the tent.”

He was putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

Eirianwen seems distracted as she pulls away from him; she hadn’t even realized what she’d just done. Astarion thinks it’s simply a small, habitual sliver of comfort she’d so routinely offered once upon a time, but it causes his breath to catch and all the same. The hope he's kept locked in his heart threatens to break from its cage. His ear feels as if it’s on fire, but when Astarion reaches up to inspect it, he finds a perfectly healed pinna.

He clears his throat and then opens his wardrobe, aiming to pull out a set of clothes for himself as he says, “I’ll speak to the servants about preparing lunch while you bathe; I’ll be in the office when you’re done. You’re welcome to borrow something of mine for today, though I know it won’t fit correctly. I’ve sent for your things from Wyll’s— I apologize, I should have sent for everything sooner.”

“Oh… it’s not a problem, Astarion,” Eirianwen responds, still lost in a fog as she walks toward the bathroom. Umber meows from under the bed once more. “Thank you.”

After calling down to the kitchen about lunch, and to secure a meal of short ribs for Umber, Astarion returns to his office. The pungent smell of lye assaults his senses and he quickly moves to toss open a window. The room appeared normal, apart from the gauzy white curtains flecked with blood. No one would think a murder occurred just an hour ago.

Astarion vaguely thinks the curtains will have to be replaced tomorrow just before his eyes settle on the mountain of paperwork precariously stacked upon his desk, all requiring his attention.

Business never quit.

He grimaces and grabs half of the hefty stack, trying to move the scrolls into a desk drawer. Surely much of it can wait; had it been truly pressing, his steward would be breathing down his neck this instant. As Astarion relocates most of the documents, the small piece of parchment Pascal delivered – gods, had it been less than 24 hours ago? – sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar sigil, flutters to the floor, catching Astarion’s attention. He’d forgotten all about it.

Long, lithe fingers retrieve the letter and deftly undo the wax fastening. Scarlet eyes run across the page and instantly narrow at the simple, foreboding message.

“You will find me in Elturel when you are desperate enough.

– Lady Lysandra Morgan”

Astarion re-reads the message. His fingers tremble as they fold the paper and shove it into his pocket. Desperate. He wasn’t desperate for anything, not even for the return of the God Killer. He had no true use for the dagger, nor any plans to use it; he’d certainly slain enough gods for an eternity by now.

But then a sudden shock of acid through his veins, beginning at the ring and shooting up his arm, pulls his mind to Eirianwen. He hears her stifle a whimper of pain through the walls. A sickening feeling begins to grow in his chest.

He fears he may already know where this path leads. He may have unknowingly carved the way for the both of them.

Astarion is scribbling his showy, looped signature on yet another scroll when Eirianwen enters the office. He turns his head to greet her, but the moment he does, his breath is stolen away and his mouth suddenly feels as if he hasn’t drunk anything in centuries.

He’s certainly used to thirst, but perhaps not like this. He’s sitting mere feet away from an oasis, longing to delve into her depths.

She’s dressed in his old camp shirt. He must have a strange look on his face, because Ani halts, frozen in place.

“I— I hope it was okay to borrow this,” Eirianwen says, looking down as she tugs at the bottom hem of the clothing piece, where it grazes just above her mid thigh.

It’s clear she isn’t wearing a brassiere. The threadbare cotton grazes against the peaks of her breasts, and the darkened patches of skin around her nipples are barely visible through the white fabric. The winter air from the still-open window has chilled the room significantly; the tiny buds hidden beneath the blouse are stiffening in response. His eyes flit across her chest and then back up to her face before she notices.

Is Ani even wearing briefs or is she entirely barren under the—

Astarion coughs and rips himself from his musings as he forces himself to tear his gaze away. He finishes signing the scroll in front of him and grabs another as he murmurs, “Yes, that's perfectly fine, darling. Though, I wonder… where on earth did you find that?”

“In the very bottom drawer of your wardrobe…” Ani starts, her voice containing a strange tinge of something he cannot identify, as she settles herself on the tufted leather sofa across the office. She focuses on her blackened hand, bringing the other hand to rub against the marred flesh. “I looked in the other wardrobe drawers but nothing else seemed… comfortable.”

Astarion hums a distracted response, continuing to place his signature on documents to avoid staring at the woman mere feet from him. There is a silence that stretches a moment too long.

“I found all the jewelry,” Eirianwen blurts, and then her hands come to cover her mouth as if she’s shocked by her own admission.

Astarion does not need to ask for clarification. She is, of course, referring to the several anonymous commissions he’d made over the years from her parents in Silverymoon. A trunk full of never worn, customized pieces had been locked and tucked away under his bed, until now, when Eirianwen presumably ripped it from its hiding place. The contents alone must be worth close to half a million gold. He’d spent nearly the entire first year’s worth of blood money on unneeded jewelry, designed for someone that would not be around to wear it. Astarion often wondered if her parents thought about their daughter when they, unknowingly, made each piece for her, much like he thought of their daughter when he designed it.

His fingers twitch just enough to cause a wavering loop in the signature he’s scrawling. His jaw starts to clench as he stares at the parchment before him a second longer before rolling it back up and moving to yet another scroll. “What possessed you to look under my bed?”

“Umber,” Eirianwen explains hastily, “she… she said it smelt like my parents under your bed. And, of course, I really had no idea what on earth she meant but she was insistent and— and—“

Ani stops, her eyes shutting and fingers coming to press into the lids as she tries to form a question from scattered thoughts. Astarion chews his own cheek as he considers how to answer the question she isn’t able to ask, and then he lifts his eyes to look at Eirianwen as he taps the quill upon the desk once, twice, thrice. She opens her eyes to meet his gaze, and he offers a simple half-shrug… his face is unreadable.

“After I performed the Rite and you almost died in the dungeons, I promised I would always take care of you, Ani… did I not? I am not one to make a promise lightly; you, better than anyone, know that.”

A gust of air blows through the open office window and grazes against the bloodied curtains, causing them to drift from the windowpane as the two elves stare at each other. Eirianwen sucks her lower lip between her teeth but says nothing.

“I…” Astarion sighs and shoots his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers twist the snowflake signet pinky ring, the only commissioned piece he actually wears, “I… hope the money was… helpful in your travels. I know you had expressed wanting to travel together after— but…”

He trails off, forcing his eyes from the ceiling and back to meet Eirianwen’s gaze. He cannot actually meet her eyes, so he focuses on his favorite vitiligo patch instead. He is horrible at this. This should not be as hard as it is.

Ani nods and then opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted by Pascal breezing into the doorframe with a thick ledger in one hand. He doesn’t peer up from the document as he says, “Lord Ancunin, lunch will be served in the solarium in ten minutes as you requested. Thrak and Melga are currently burning the spawn’s corpse—“

“Thank you, Pascal,” Astarion interrupts, his tone tight with irritation. The steward glaces up, confused about why he is the recipient of his boss’s ire. But his eyes widen in realization when he spots Eirianwen in the room. He snaps the ledger shut.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, and after an awkward pause, inhales a sharp breath before saying, “Lord Ancunin, when you have a moment, I’ll need to go over the ledger with you. I have some… concerns.”

Pascal makes to leave the door frame, and at the last moment pauses and turns to address the sorceress, “Good to see you awake, Lady Eirianwen.”

“Spawn corpse?” Eirianwen asks, whatever warmth had grown in her chest toward Astarion instantly freezing over as Pascal disappears from the doorframe, calling after one of the servants as he goes.

Astarion rakes his hand through his hair and nods with a grimace. He cannot ever outrun the mistakes of his past when the woman before him remembers every single one. He is thankful that she is not running away, at least. “Yes, but– darling, like I said, we have a lot to talk about. Lunch first. You haven’t eaten in days, and we cannot have this discussion until you eat. Please, Ani.”

He only ever says please when he's desperate; he's delaying the inevitable, he knows. But can he not pretend for a moment longer, before fifteen years of hurt cuts him to the bone? He’d already survived death from some version of Eirianwen today, he isn’t certain he can survive a condemnation for his mistakes from this version, too.

But, he supposes, he has no choice. When it comes to her, it unfortunately seems as if he never does have a true choice, at least not if he wants to keep her within his orbit. He has always been putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

----

Tags: @anukulee @viowolf

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #baulders gate tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x original female character #midwinter carol #ascended astarion arc #ascended astarion #ascendedstar #ascended astarion fic

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experimentalmadness · 5 months

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Break the Cage

Synopsis: Tav is confronted after letting Astarion ascend and letting herself be turned into a spawn. Astarion is, of course, there to intervene. But there is far more to her choices than meets the eye.

Hurt/Comfort, mentions of serious past abuse, angst with a fluffy ending. Soft(er) Ascended Astarion,

A/N: I swear I'll post these all in a multi-chapter collection on AO3 soon, but in the meantime you can find more of my Astarion/Eidel fic here

***

“You’ve let this go too far, Eidel!” Jaheira’s voice was full of that insufferable righteous anger Astarion had had quite enough of.

He lingered behind the door to their chambers in the Elfsong, peering through the slight crack as he watched the older druid pacing like a panther. Meanwhile his newly made consort held up her hands placatingly. “Please stop shouting.”

“It was bad enough you let him execute seven thousand souls, but you let him make you his spawn?” Jaheira continued, “What were you thinking?”

“It was my choice,” Eidel’s soft voice carried no hint of doubt.

“Choice is something you will never have the luxury of again.”

“Jaheira, please, I’m still me. Nothing’s changed.”

Astarion watched as his consort tried to reach out to the elf only for Jaheira to take a disgusted step back. “The druid I had come to know would never have allowed so many to die for such a selfish decision.”

“I never said it was easy.” A mournful tone crept into Eidel’s voice. “I will spend my eternity balancing those scales…how can I make you understand?”

“You cannot.”

Eidel sighed. “Very well, but…you will stay, won’t you? Our goals are still the same. We need all the help we can get to stop the Absolute.”

“I stay for the sake of this city and its people, of course,” Jaheria said. “But you have let yourself become an abomination.”

Astarion saw Eidel stiffen, her eyes going wide. “Don’t call me that. Please.”

“Why? Do you suddenly dislike the truth? You are a druid, Eidel, a creature of life and nature and you allowed yourself to be severed from the natural cycle of life and death. I never took you for a fool until today.”

“Is it foolish to want safety?” Eidel asked, her voice whisper-quiet. “For him? For me?”

“Enjoy your safety in the little cage he will put you in.”

“I’ve spent my whole life in a cage!” A screaming rage the likes of which Astarion had never heard from Eidel before burst out of her. Even Jaheira seemed taken aback by the sudden onslaught. “All my life, Jaheira! I know what captivity is. I’m free. And no one can take it from me. Ever. How dare you! How dare you!”

Her body was not built for anger. She shook and dissolved into tears. Astarion decided his curiosity was fully sated and he walked into the room. “I’ll thank you not to distress my consort further,” he said, coming to stand next to Eidel.

Jaheira seemed torn between guilt and anger. She looked as if she wanted to reach for his sobbing Eidel out of an abundance of remorse, but he slung an arm over Eidel’s shoulders, drawing her into a comforting embrace. He spared the older elf a small smile of satisfaction. Jaheria’s impotent glare was oh so rewarding.

“Eidel,” Jaheria sighed. “I did not mean to…there are other paths to take, child.”

“I think you’ve done quite enough,” Astarion gestured towards the door. “Off you go.”

Jaheira laughed without humor. “You cannot order me about, my lord.” Her voice dripped with disdain.

“Whoever said anything about ordering? You’re going to leave of your own volition because I need a moment alone with my consort. And you are upsetting her.”

“I…would like you to leave now, Jaheira,” Eidel drew herself away from Astarion, eyes shining and wet. “Please.”

“I see you for what you are, Astarion,” Jaheria said as she turned on her heel to leave. “Even if she does not.”

The door slammed shut behind her. “Well. What a thoroughly unpleasant woman,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Don’t you worry, sweet thing, I’ll keep a watchful eye on her where you are concerned.”

Eidel had stopped crying, but her hands were still balled into trembling fists and he could feel her sorrow and rage pouring off of her. The tadpole allowed for him to sense her emotions, but now he could feel them as if they were his own. The bond he’d forged with her was new, and unknown. Maybe it held some magic he had not yet accounted for. Astarion frowned, not particularly enjoying tasting Eidel’s emotions at present.

“I am not an abomination,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Of course not,” Astarion assured. “You are perfect.”

“You won’t put me in a cage.”

He smiled. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t need reassurance to believe what she felt in her bones. But he gave her one anyway. “Unless you consider the Gate and all of Faerun to be one?” He hardly had to worry about her leaving his side. He could feel how terribly badly she wanted to always be with him. Her freedom, and his, aligned perfectly. And for such natural, darling, obedience he’d give her everything.

She inhaled deeply, and her trembling ceased. “I wish I could make her understand. I wish I could make them all understand,” she lamented.

“We don’t need their understanding,” he soothed, placing his hands on her shoulders. “We are far above needing their approval. We have each other.”

A smile flickered at his words, but did not stay. Eidel’s eyes were still downcast. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“Darling,” Astarion laughed, “you should have done a lot more than that.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe. To keep us safe.”

He was losing her to something dark he couldn’t identify. “Eidel. Whatever did you mean when you told Jaheira you were kept in a cage?” He’d heard her mention her life before this little adventure only on the rarest of occasions. He knew about the cage, about the fact that she had fled from somewhere before the nautiloid had found her. But the rest was an utter mystery.

“I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ah, that old song. How many times had he heard it? How many times had he let it simply slide away. “I find that puts us on rather uneven footing, wouldn’t you agree? You know all there is to know about me. All my dirty little secrets. I’ve shared everything with you. And yet you hide your past from me?”

“Astarion it’s…it’s not a nice story.”

“Oh and mine was such a fairy tale?”

Eidel had that look she often had when they touched upon her life. Prey hiding from the predator. He could smell her fear, a sickly curdled scent that wrinkled his nose. Eidel paced, walking a small five step by five step square from the hearth to the group’s chest and back again. “That’s about it,” she said, standing in the middle of the invisible square. “The size of my world for as long as I can remember.”

It was barely enough room to lay down in comfortably, even for one as slight as she. “It was always dark. I was always cold, hungry. I was a child and then not. There were figures always passing me in the dark but they never spoke to me. I would reach for them. I would scream at them. I learned to talk from the rats and spiders that would creep into my cage. When they would touch me they cut at me with sharp knives. Spoke in incantations. Shouted at me in frustration. They took parts of me with them every time. My horns first,” she reached up under her bushy ashen black hair to the flattened stumps that hid under. “Then my wings,” her hand went next to over her shoulders, reaching for the empty limbs that no longer existed. “Then my tail.” She touched her lower back, swishing her hips as if she still expected a muscle that no longer existed to move in response.

“I had no thoughts for a long time. Not until the animals taught me my first words. Then I thought. This was the whole of the world. But the rats would tell me of the sun. Of the trees. The spiders told me of the soft places in forests. And I learned a new word: freedom. And I learned to want things. They taught me how to change my form and then I escaped. A spider crawling through the dark cracks of the earth until I found what lay outside my underground world. And there I was. And it was bright and beautiful and…lonely. I don’t know why I was kept in that cage, in the dark. I don’t know why they hurt me. And the more I think about that time the more I feel as if I’m back there. I will never go back. So that’s it. You know as much as I do now. Please never ask me again.”

Astarion didn’t know what to say. There was anger simmering beneath the surface, but there was more. Understanding. Empathy. Emotions that twisted inside of him, vile and pathetic. She reminded him of his own degrading past, standing in her invisible cage like that. He wanted to look away. “You have a deal,” he said, “I never want to hear anything so unpleasant from your lips ever again. Now, come with me.”

He held out his hand and she was all too eager to take it. She was cold to the touch, a fact Astarion was still getting used to. He missed the gentle warmth she often radiated, but it was more than the chill of death on her skin. She looked dead. Her eyes were a blank, and her awkward bird-like legs shuffled alongside him like a thrall. An intolerable sight. He led her out of the rooms and up to the Elfsong’s roof where the afternoon sun was blazing bright.

“Here we are,” he announced with a small flourish of his hand. “A far more fitting setting than those dreary rooms below.”

But Eidel only blinked. He felt her mental exhaustion, felt the weariness in his own bones. “Eidel,” he touched her cheek. “Enough of this. You were not made to be kept in the dark.”

“Why was I made?” she asked softly, haunted by specters of her past.

“Oh, I don’t know, darling, hardly anyone knows those things,” he scoffed. “But I know that I made you for the sun. For the world to lay itself at your feet.” He turned her wrist over to kiss the twin bite scars he had placed there less than two nights ago. “I made you to be adored.”

He grinned as the light slowly returned to her eyes at his words. “You belong here,” he gestured around the open air. “So let’s have no more talk of such dreadful things.”

“No,” Eidel said before she brought herself against him. Astarion wrapped his arms about her out of reflex. “I belong here.”

He chuckled, “You sweet sweet thing.”

“This life? Freedom? It means nothing without you,” her words were deathly serious. None of her usual joyful, naive charm. “That was what I was trying to make Jaheira understand. Maybe she is right, in a way, maybe I am an abomination… I don’t know.”

“I can tell you definitively you are not, darling.”

“But, Astarion, I’d have sacrificed more than seven thousand souls for you. To protect you. To give you the world. I love you and it scares me. I cannot lose you.”

“And you never will,” he said, full of false gaiety. He tried on a laugh, but pulled her tighter still. Her words reached down into him, tearing something loose. He was the Vampire Ascendant, untouchable, invulnerable, but not against her. It was horrible to feel so keenly, disgusting to hold this fluttering bird and find her heart as valuable as his own. “We are bonded, you and I, for eternity.”

She still tasted of sorrow when he kissed her. “Eidel,” a gentle, teasing chastisement was on his tongue, but that wriggling, ugly vulnerability crept in when his guard was down. “I love you,” he said instead, surprising himself. It was not followed by a desire, a question, nor a command. He only wanted her to hear him say it.

Her smile was as warm as the sun, a shining gem he had all to himself. She let out a small, joyful laugh that sounded like her truest self again. “Perhaps that is what we were made for, after all.”

#Astarion #Ascended Astarion #Eidel #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #if they're both obsessed with the other is it a red flag?#not evil not controlling but a secret third thing #that gross couple that won't stop making out in public

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velvetluna666 · 4 months

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Damn Tumblr really be hatin on my nsfw drawings. (I originally posted the full with hearts censoring the main bits but nope got taken down) Sooo here's a super cropped version?? Let me know if ya'll have a different line idea. I am struggling w/ picking the right words... Once I'm settled w/ the line I'll post uncensored on Twitter/X as usual :3

Uncensored on Twitter/X

I am a ho for possessive Astarion so I was gonna put something about that in there but I couldn't come up with a good line...

#astarion #astarion fanart #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion #astarion x f!tav

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brabblesblog · 5 months

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Commissioned this piece for a scene in Whither is thy beloved gone?

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pursuitseternal · 5 months

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“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut

Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.

CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

The First Day…

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A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)

Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel

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You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”

Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.

Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.

You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.

And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?

You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.

“Leave me,” he barks back.

“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”

Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.

If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.

You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.

“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”

You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”

He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.

“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”

You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”

“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”

He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.

He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.

You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”

“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.

You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.

“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.

You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”

“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.

You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”

He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.

“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.

“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.

You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”

“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.

“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”

He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.

“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”

“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”

“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.

A bit nervously.

You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.

You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”

You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?

A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”

You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”

He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.

Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.

Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.

Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.

You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.

You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”

You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.

Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.

Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.

New words, new titles, same obsession.

Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.

Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.

You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”

Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.

“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.

“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.

“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”

You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.

“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.

“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”

“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”

“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.

“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”

“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.

Or, at least he lets you…

He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.

He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.

You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.

Not that you need it.

But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.

Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”

“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.

“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.

“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.

“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”

“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.

And you take full advantage of his ease.

You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.

He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.

But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.

You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.

Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.

Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.

His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.

A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.

“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.

Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.

You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.

You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”

You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”

“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.

“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”

“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.

“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”

He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.

And just for him.

You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.

A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.

Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.

His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.

He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.

“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”

You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.

“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”

You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”

“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.

“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.

Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.

They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.

It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.

He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”

You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.

He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.

“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 7 months

Text

Requests are closed.

Astarion Fic Masterlist Under Cut!

Bold italics = nsfw Normal lettering = sfw

Original Ideas/Headcanons

Soft Astarion Jealousy Part 1 and Part 2

Astarion Happy Ending Part 1 and Part 2

Ascended Astarion Headcanons

Kidnapped Astarion

Past Astarion Meets the Present

Ascended Astarion Manipulation

Ask Fics

Mirror Mirror

Actually Remembering Your Vampire BF needs protection from the Sun

Astarion & Scratch: Compromising for Tav Affection

Astarion Teaching You How to Sew

Artist Tav and Subject Astarion

Not Interested in Sex Tav and Clueless Astarion

Ascended Astarion & Tav wandering away at a ball

Astarion Child Panic

Astarion Calming down Druid Tav

Chill Tav and Slightly Pissed Astarion (Blood related pissiness)

Bard Tav Singing Astarion to Sleep

Prankster Astarion who is Happy to Make Everyone Briefly Uncomfrotable

Ascended Astarion Honeymoon

Cuddly Tav and Whipped Astarion

Astarion Meeting the Family

Hot Powerful Man blowing Smoke into your Mouth, more at 11

A Night All About Him

Lady Ancunin

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #ascended astarion #a mix of m/f and gender neutral #fic masterlist #fic masterpost

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annikin-annotates · 6 months

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Family Ties Part 2

Hi hello my loves! I'm back with another installment of Family Ties, I hope you enjoy it! But before you continue I would like to take a second to thank everyone who has commented and reblogged, it really brightens my day!

TW: Suicidal ideations, Tav languishing like a Victorian era widow, Astarion being an asshole (again), Ascendant Astarion.

Word Count: 2.7K

The silver moonlight streamed into her chambers as she sat perched at her paper covered desk, hands covered in charcoal stains. She had been sketching long enough for the candles around her to burn down twice over, one of her husband's ever dutiful spawn were always quick to come and replace them.

She pulled herself from the trance she had entered to look over the sketches she had produced. She had excelled with art when she was human, and now that she was immortal, she never had to worry about dying before her next muse would come to her. Her muse had been the same for over twenty years now, Juniper.

Each sketch was different in some way, some had Astarions curls and angular face while some had the softness of her cheeks and her smile - what she could remember of it, anyway. The thought tugged painfully at her heart, she couldn’t even remember her own face, much like her lover all those years ago. Though one defining feature remained the same, a patch of silvery white hair nestled in her dark curls.

Would she even recognise her daughter?

Sometimes in the quiet of the night she would find herself with too many thoughts and not enough to keep her occupied. She didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to feel anymore, she had far too much time to do those things - she just wanted peace. But when she drew her sunlight, it all seemed to melt away, for a time there was no anger or anguish, just calmness.

Peace only came in the form of her daughter, as there was not a day that went by where she did not think about Juniper. About the type of person she grew into, was she all the best parts of them? Was she cunning and kind, did she have her determination and Astarion’s sharp wit?

Or did she grow into her namesake, would she wreak death, destruction and chaos just like her father. Even if she did become the embodiment of death and shadows, who would dare blame her? What chance did she have when she was an unholy amalgamation of a Vampire Demi-God and a Hellspawn? It would only solidify her name in the history books, the daughter of a tyrant and a spineless hero.

Missing her made her wonder if Juniper missed her too, if she ever yearned for a mother that she never knew. Or if she wondered if her mother didn’t love her, why her mothers hands never picked her up when she fell, kissing her wounds better, or why she was never carried to bed. She hoped that Juniper didn’t think she just passed her onto the first person who would care for her - the thought made her heart ache, she did this because she loved her. She loved her more than she could put into words, she loved her daughter like she loved the ghosts of her past.

Like she loved him.

There was some part of her, buried deep down that regrets giving her to Wyll; if she hadn’t perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She forced the thought down. Juniper was an innocent who didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of a cruel father and a mother who could not offer her the love and protection that she needed.

Wherever her sunlight ended up was a much better life than the one she would have had with her, and she deserved that much. She hoped that Juniper grew up knowing only joy and laughter, that her life was a never ending stream of sweetness. She liked to imagine that Wyll had taken her to a grove, far away from civilisation - away from the vampire ascendant's influence.

A place overflowing with greenery and wild flowers, where the sun always shone and birdsong roused her from her sleep each morning. Where she never had to worry about the dangers that lingered in the shadows, nor the pull of power and all that it promised. Juniper would not repeat the sins of her father.

She remembered the terror she had felt when Astarion had pieced together the reason for Juniper’s disappearance. It hadn’t taken him long, a week at most, but she will always remember the cold sweat that broke out over her body when he opened the doors to their shared chambers, accusations spilling from his lips like poison.

“You’re the reason for Maitenirr’s disappearance,” it was a declaration, it wouldn’t matter what she said to him, regardless of it being true or not, he had made his decision - she was guilty.

There were two options before her, she could lie and try to placate him with whispered praises and sweet nothings. Or she could tell the truth and suffer the consequences of her actions, it did not matter what happened to her - her child was safe. That’s what mattered.

Her silence had only proven her guilt in Astarion’s eyes, and he closed the door behind himself, locking it. Her teeth ground against one another, her body screaming for her to run; every fibre was alight with fear, and yet she remained rooted to where she sat on the chaise. “Astarion please, I loved her. How could you think that of me?” she asked, tears beginning to brim her crimson eyes; she didn’t know if they were from fear or sadness.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, brows raised in query - a challenge.

He strode towards her, stopping a few feet from her his arms behind his back, as if he was holding himself back. "I ask again, Tav; who did you give our daughter to?" He asked, voice cold and sharp like a blade, a familiar tingle prickled the back of her neck - he was charming her, compelling her to tell him what happened.

She tried to fight it, to struggle against the heavy chains that wrapped around her mind; it made her shy away from him and bile rise in her throat, she couldn't fight it. She dropped from the chaise to her knees as the feeling lapped at the edges of her mind as he tried to force the truth from her. Gods why couldn't she fight it? Why wasn't she stronger? It came tumbling out of her all at once "Wyll!! I gave her to Wyll!" She cried, chest heaving as he rescinded the charm.

"There we go, that's a good girl, let it all out,” he cooed. She looked up at him, eyes blurry from the tears, she could feel him smirking down at her, bastard. Astarion crouched before her, snatching her face with his hand, the softness of her cheeks dimpling in his hold. “I will teach you what it means to obey, I will not forget this,” he spat.

“You are lucky I love you. I have sent spawn into the sunlight for less,” he hissed, letting go of her face. Astarion was right, he had been crueller for far less - she was thankful for his mercy, but this was not love; not anymore. This was something far darker, an inkblot spreading across paper, tainting everything it touched, possession.

Astarion stood once more, brushing himself off - as if touching her had made him dirty in some way; her stale blood simmered in her veins. “No matter, I can always sire another,” he said flippantly, though she could tell that the conversation was far from over, his tone betrayed by the darkness that his eyes held.

Rage floods her, how could he say that? How could he carelessly disregard the child that he helped bring into the world - that he made her bring into the world. The anger that had been quietly simmering under her skin for two decades ignited, a small spark that had become something biblical. She could kill him; she was going to kill him, if it was the last thing she did.

She couldn’t stop herself. “You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, standing abruptly from the plush carpet of their shared chambers. Her eyes were alight with all the fury of a woman scorned, of a spurned lover - a threatened animal backed into a corner; of a mother.

“You do not get a choice in the matter,” he said matter-of-factly as he examined his finger nails, as if the fight was already won, as if there was never really a fight to be fought to begin with. And she supposed there wasn’t; arguing with him would only prolong the inevitable and prolonging the inevitable only ever turned out terribly.

But she argued anyway, for the sake of her and her daughter’s dignity. Or perhaps he would get frustrated enough to kill her himself - gods know how many times she’s thought about walking into the sunlight just to escape him, to escape this. “How dare you speak about our daughter like that!” she hissed, her whole body was coiled like a viper ready to strike. “She was all that was good in the world, and you disregard her like she is nothing!” she continued, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Rage flashed in his eyes as a viscous smile tugged at his lips “It would do you well to remember what happens to people who overstep their station. You may be Consort, but you still answer to me,” he replied, his voice chilling her to the bone. “She is nothing, merely a complication to the larger plan, I have eternity to create another,” he was threatening her now, to see how eager she was to bite the hand that feeds.

She was more eager than most.

“Are we resorting to threats now, Astarion?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she stood, her velvet dress sleeves catching slightly as she did so. She could feel herself trembling but she was steadfast in her stance; she would not bow to him, not this time, not when he speaks of her daughter.

He chuckled darkly, closing the space between them, his thumb and forefinger tilting her chin; he was inches from her face, “It was a promise.” A chill danced down her spine as he pulled away, smoothing out his doublet before continuing as if nothing ever happened. “We will discuss this later, I have a dinner to plan. You are not to leave this room until I call for you.”

She grimaced at the unspoken connotation of the statement, both an order and an omen.

—

Fear. Fear and loathing.

It wasn’t enough for Astarion to take the stab, but he had to twist the proverbial knife and then salt the wound when he was done. By bringing Wyll into The Crimson Palace, he has not only spat in her face, but opened Wyll up to immense danger, which he no doubt knew and was most likely the purpose of doing so. And while she did not doubt the Blade of Frontiers, he wasn’t a Warlock anymore; he was an ageing mortal man.

A mortal man in a den of vipers.

Once again, she had nobody to blame but herself. She scoffed, just more innocent blood on her hands she supposed - gods she was tired of this. Tired of the fighting, the clawing and biting and clinging, clinging to the shell of a man who sat at the head of the table, clinging to the idea that there was still good in him. That there was still a man capable of kindness. She closed her eyes - Astarion wasn’t capable of anything but brutality, just like his predecessor. And all it took was a spark to light the flame.

Her heart began to thrum in her chest, starting a new painful rhythm as it slammed in her rib cage, bruising her lungs. The evening had begun rather calmly, it almost felt like a dinner party between friends, but it had been so much more than that. No matter how well Wyll had hid his weariness beneath that charming diplomatic mask of his, she could smell the fear, and there was no doubt that Astarion could too.

They were completely and utterly fucked, to say the least. All she could try to do was keep the peace, and if he was to strike someone - she hoped it was her. After years being subject to his ever changing moods, she knew that she could take it; she hoped for one night that Wyll would set down his chivalry and just survive this dinner. But Astarion wasn’t going to make this easy for either of them; he would push boundaries and prod sore spots, like he always has.

She wasn’t entirely sure how it escalated to this, Astarion had slammed his fist on the sturdy mahogany table, rattling the silverware and crockery as she mindlessly pushed the food in front of her around the plate. She had jumped at the sudden noise, her brain and body reconnecting once more. “If I wanted a child at the dinner table, I would have requested our daughter,” he hissed, that vicious glint in his eyes catching the candle light.

She gritted her teeth, knowing better than to rise to his provocation, “My apologies, my love. I was leagues away,” she replied, clearing her throat and reaching for the glass of wine before her. Her eyes caught Wyll’s gaze; he had, for the most part, aged quite gracefully. His braided hair was speckled with grey, he had crows feet and laughter lines, it made her happy that at least one of her companions had gone off to lead a happy life.

That was all it took for the spark to catch, like a match to turpentine, viciously clawing at anything in its way. His eyes flicking between the both of them, “Clear the room,” he ordered, watching as the spawn who were lingering in the shadows filtered out of the room. She shifted, readying to leave her seat as Astarions gaze snapped to her. “Not you,” his charm forcing her back into her seat.

Fear licked at the base of her spine; she knew what was coming, deep down she knew all along. This was either going to end in spilled blood or with her giving into his whims once again, she would not have Wyll’s blood stain her hands nor conscience. He stood from his seat at the head of the table; she cringed as it scraped across the marble floor, the sound reverberating off the walls. Astarion always knew how to hold people’s attention.

He raised his glass to the both of them, a smirk toying at the edges of his lips, as if there was a joke that the two of them weren’t privy to. Perhaps that was the joke, maybe he would kill them both, drain their blood and leave them to rot in the dungeons with the rest of the corpses; simple and painless, all she would have to do is let go. Then, as he began to speak, it dawned on her that her death was going to be anything but simple, or painless. No, he intended to take her from this world, kicking and screaming.

“Tonight I have chosen to surround myself with the finest company in all of Baldur’s Gate,” he began, tipping his glass to both of them. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles turning white as she looked towards Wyll, who was sitting ramrod straight in his seat. “I would like to congratulate my Darling Dark Consort for being a truly duplicitous woman. You put even me to shame,” he grinned, wanting to take his time indulging in his theatrics.

“And to you, my dear travelling companion, for playing your part in her plan so faithfully. Let us drink to your best laid schemes,” he finished, raising his glass. Astarion’s eyes narrowed as neither of them moved. “I said; drink,” he repeated, as both their bodies began moving of their own accord. The wine burned her throat as she took one gulp, and then another before draining her glass entirely, she watched Wyll do the same, grimacing as he set the glass down on the table.

The silence between the three of them was deafening, punctuated only by the gaudy grandfather clock ticking in the parlour across the hall. What exactly did Astarion want from them? He already had her admission of guilt and proof of Wyll’s assistance. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, stomach twisting at the realisation; he planned to interrogate Wyll, to glean information on the whereabouts of her daughter.

Halsin, Juniper was with Halsin.

----

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it brightens my day and makes sure other people see it!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

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experimentalmadness · 7 months

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Sunshine

It's more Eidel and Astarion. Because I'm insane about them.

Summary: Astarion watches his consort tend to the palace gardens. Can a vampire lord even feel love? Spoiler alert: You bet.

Ascension route but make it soft, because I said so.

If you're looking for more of my fic let me point you in the right direction.

***

She was the sun.

Every morning Astarion watched his consort go out into the high-walled gardens. The courtyard had been a dismal, rotten place, but it had flourished under the care of its new mistress. He watched her from the upper balcony, watched her as she stretched onto the tips of her feet, hands splayed wide, head tilted up as she drank in the summer heat. A basket of cut flowers sat at her feet.

“Hello, my lovelies,” she sang. “Shall we do a little trimming today?”

Vines and branches bent towards her, creeping and curling around her ankles like a cat would its tail. The very earth itself loved her. He was almost jealous. She cupped a pale, white lily in her hands and the urge to incinerate it came upon him so strongly it took him by surprise. Such expressions of love and tenderness should be saved for him alone, but as quickly as the instinct flooded him he brushed it aside. She wouldn’t be his consort if she was not the gentle soul she always was.

Astarion gripped the edges of the stone balustrade. Sometimes he felt of two minds. There was the Vampire Lord and then there was the living man. The vampire wanted to enclose her in a chamber no one could ever access save himself, where she would be his. Utterly, permanently, and he’d never need share her with the outside world for an eternity. The man knew better, but that didn’t mean he let her out of his sight for long.

But luckily his little consort had no reason to stray very far. Nor had she ever wanted to. She pulled him into the world in a way he hadn’t accounted for. He wasn’t sharing her with the world, she was gifting it to him.

“They kept me in a cage,” she’d told him the night he’d turned her. She had always sidestepped telling him anything about her past. Even when he had revealed all to her.

“The past is the past,” she’d been fond of saying. “I was alone for such a long long time. I’d like to know what happiness feels like.”

She’d been so sad when he had finally demanded to know all that had happened to her. She was quiet as she told him all she knew and he never wanted to see such a dead-eyed look on her face ever again.

“You’re all doing so good, my darlings,” her voice broke through his memories. “And, my sweet one, shall we try growing again this morning?” She sat by the sickly willow sapling at the center of the garden. It had been dying when they had taken up their residence in the palace. Astarion had thought to pull the pathetic thing up by the root, but Eidel had been insistent on nursing it back to health. Three years later and it didn’t seem to be making much progress, but she insisted that healing took time.

She petted and caressed the sapling, humming softly to herself. “Look at this, is this a new leaf I spy? Well done!”

His jealousy was getting the better of him. It was the work of moments to transpose himself from the balcony to the garden. His powers had been growing by the day. Eidel turned at the sound of his magic, a smile bursting wide over her face. “Come to help me in the garden?” she asked.

“Darling, do you really think I was made for grubbing about in the dirt?”

She giggled. “I’d certainly enjoy seeing that.”

He was about to fire off a rejoinder when he felt something tugging at his cloak and ankles. “What in the…?” Vines and roots were curling around him, reaching out to pull at his clothes, muss his hair. Even the sickly willow was trying in vain to stretch out its singular branch in his direction. “Your little plants do realize I’m not you, don’t they?”

Eidel laughed harder, “Oh dear, everyone, do settle down! Sorry.” She waved for the plants to release him. “They know how much I love you, and so they love you in return. Now, now,” she wagged a finger at a particularly stubborn creeping vine that was doggedly hanging onto his arm. “Enough of that, or I’ll start to get jealous.”

She rubbed her nose to his playfully as the last of the plants receded. The mud and dirt on her hands stained his shirt sleeves and Astarion found he didn’t care. “You’re not here to ask me to come inside, are you?”

“And miss seeing how my treasure shines in the light? What exactly do you take me for?”

“So…that’s a yes to helping me with the trimmings, then?”

“Manipulative little wretch, aren’t you?”

She planted the softest peck on his lips. “You taught me everything I know.”

He adored the look in her eyes when she gently teased him. There wasn’t a cruel or cunning bone in her body. And when they were alone, truly alone, he found some of his own cruelty slipped away from him. He was just Astarion to her, not Vampire Ascendent, she’d never looked at him any other way.

She belonged here. In the sun. In the warmth. Even as a vampire she was full of life, hope, joy—a kind he would have scoffed at not too long ago. And he had done, when he had first met her. He would give her everything, anything, to make sure that glow stayed with him. Only with him.

“Eidel, are you happy?” he asked.

Then those hands that had been tending to her plants so carefully were on him. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders. “What a question! Are you?”

“Ah, ah, I believe I asked you first.”

“Of course I am. Your turn.”

“You make me happy, dove.”

“Good,” she took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. “You know what would make me even happier?” she whispered, lips feathered against his own.

“Don’t you da—”

“Is seeing you learn how to tend a garden!”

#Astarion #Ascended Astarion #astarion x f!tav #Eidel #Ascended Astrion with a soft sweet cinnamon roll Tav has given me brainworms #And now I must infect the rest of you

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yangcherie · 5 months

Text

mating season

𐀔 pairings: astarion x reader. karlach x reader. halsin x reader. background cast (wyll, shadowheart, lae’zel, gale) x reader. background rolan x tav.

𐀔 content warnings: tiefling!tav, LITERALLY PWP, alcoholic consumption, brief sexual memory (halsin), heavy petting, noncon to dubcon (with astarion only), slight slutshaming, oral (f!receiving), mentions of breeding, afab anatomy but g/n pronouns. astarion is very slightly, slighty mean, up to you if he is ascended or not.

𐀔 sypnosis: you, a tiefling, go through your first heat cycle around your companions. some are willing to either indulge you or take advantage of you.

𐀔 author’s note: hoppinh on the bandwagon of tieflings having heat / rut cycles. astarion, briefly halsin, ROLAN and karlach get some action, teehee. and don't worry. everyone is a pervert and thinks about it. everyone will get a chance. someday. merry christmas!!

The first thing everyone wakes up to is heat. Sweltering, palpable heat, pervading the air up to the point it felt like it was trying to smother them, casting annoying, relentless burnishes of perspiration on their skin.

It couldn’t be the sun, no. The warmth felt too close, within of reach – but even then, it was no lively and unextinguished campfire, no engine out of hand nestled within Karlach, Shadowheart concluded.

They’d all been taking turns the entire morning seeking cold relief in the stream. Thankfully, as the day prevailed, the sun was no longer so glaring, the heatwave lessening by a tad bit, the rest of the party excluding a certain Ravenguard had found it now bearable.

It wasn’t until Wyll was fed up with the sweat that would inevitably come no matter how much he wiped at it, marching towards where it felt most blistering, most fervent; the intense source.

It had led him to your tent — and without doubt, the demon believed the source was your tent; your fucking otherworldy furnace of a tent. Even as he stood from outside, the heat was practically choking him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he took a look inside and finds out you, little fiend you, stuffed the entire Nine Hells inside. And take a look inside he does, peeling away the entrance, a delirious but polite request to turn down the heat ready on his tongue —

But it isn’t the Nine Hells’ heat and musk that slaps him to his face, to his utter surprise.

It’s you; trembling, flushed raw and in all of your fiendish glory, naked. Tail loud and thumping on the floor as your whimpers permeate through the air, legs spread and — No!

Somewhere in the back of his horned head, he wonders if it’s the heat, the shock, or simply his building arousal that has rendered him stuck to his position. It takes Wyll all his strength he can muster to tear his eyes away; what was he doing? He was intruding on your tent— your privacy! How could he forget basic etiquette, so much for being a noble-!

(Without a doubt, he’s ruined his chance of any traditional courtship.)

“Sorry.” The Blade himself awkwardly coughs before pushing himself out of your tent with an inhuman force, slamming the fabric entrance shut and tripping on his own two feet on the way out. “It’s Tav!” He shouts, sprinting with little idea on where to; the heat is unbearable and by the gods, he isn’t so sure anymore if it was coming from your tent or if it was simply his body. His commotion with Tav gathers the attention and eyes of his fellow companions, and it is both Karlach and Shadowheart that push at him to settle him down.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, you!” Karlach, ever the concerned companion with her furrowed brows, assures him like steed. “Tav, you mentioned?” Shadowheart, upon quick confirmation that he was not injured, is quick to coax him for answers of his behavior. He’s a bit mortified as his little flustered fit had everyone around him.

“Tav, they’re– get this–” Wyll swallows, tense with the image of you squirming and dripping still on the front of his mind. “T-they’re hot.”

It’s a dreadful thing, he realizes later a split second more than he’d like, the silence that follows. Through the tadpole, they’ve seen what he’s seen; and judging from the atmosphere, they’re chalking it up to an active imagination. All but loud, with a lone cricket chirping in the distance. He shoots up to in an attempt to explain, but wordlessly splutters instead.

“So you’ve had your first wet dream, I take it?” Astarion scoffs, finding the dirt under his manicured nails more interesting than what the fiend had to say next. “Had an issue with morning wood, perhaps– or should I say, a hardened blade?”

“No!” Wyll refutes, now standing up with the help of Shadowheart. “I-I meant to say they’re hot, literally. They’re drenched with sweat, lookin’ like they’re about to keel over. You saw it, in my head, what they looked like!”

“Ah, yes.” The vampire recalled that vision. Though brief and concerning, yes, it was also undeniably delectable. What he wouldn’t give to have seen you writhing with want up close. But still, he slips his desperation behind a theatric mask. “Like a mutt in heat, how hilarious.”

“In heat.” Karlach had repeated Astarion’s words and bristled, her muscles twitching once but violently enough that it had them staring at her like they had been with Wyll. The look on her face tells everyone she’s had her eureka moment, a light flickering beside her head. “Tav is in heat. Of course they are; it’s breeding season!” She guffaws then, disregarding the disbelief of the party — save for Halsin, who simply nodded.

“So what you’re saying is we have a feral, unspayed animal amongst us for the time being?” Lae’zel grunted, though she certainly did not mind if the blush on her face was anything to go by.

“Mating season is upon most of the forest.” The druid responded, crossing his thick arms, ever the calm elf. “Given the... more animalistic features of some cambions, it is not entirely unreasonable. Given the intensity, it must be their first heat since you’ve all been on this journey.” The party gapes; Karlach nods, and though she does not mention it, she’s mildly disappointed your heat had not aligned with her rut.

“So, what you’re both saying is that they need to breed – or be bred?” Though the vampiric rogue balked, he was unable to deny the inkling of lust that washed through him at the idea. You, and your all proud visage crumbling into one of a desperate, slut of a fiend.

“Well, when you put it in such a frank and vulgar manner...” Gale coughs, flushed, Astarion notices, inwardly grimacing. The wizard’s never been discreet about liking your musk – and today, it is especially honeyed and heavy around the campsite. “Yes.”

And that’s when it hits the rogue, the shared tension and ignited lust in everyone – not just Gale. It’s a slow and heavy shift, like puffs of smoke. The current of lust in the air runs deeper when a small, inviting moan permeates from your tent. The sounds of heavy breaths and trousers shifting from around the party, it all goes unobserved to any eye that doesn’t belong to an experienced rogue.

Still, the rest would’ve been fools to think only one or two of them would be intrigued, he thought. It was with a silent agreement amongst them that by the end of this week, you’d be thoroughly savoured.

The first thing you wake up to is a dull ache across the expanse of your stomach, and a pool of your own arousal drenching the bedroll between your legs. Your bed-kissed face tightens, glaring down at the growing tension in your belly. A groan is torn out of your dehydrated throat – and if the obvious lack of sun on your tent was anything to go by, you’ve slept through nearly the entire day.

Fuck, what was going on? Distoriented, you attempt to sit up only for the dull ache to morph into heated convulsions that immediately spread like wildfire around your weakened body. It was then that you realized that to your utter horror, you were burning hot, to the Nines and beyond — as if you were forcefully thrown into an early heat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. The edges around your vision blackened for a split second before you violently lurched yourself out of your too-warm, too-cramped tent, slamming your palms and knees into the dirt ground and digging your nails in, your mouth open to welcome the hot pants stuck in your dry throat.

You spat out a vicious string of Infernal curses, your focus blurring in and out of itself. You shut your mouth, biting your lip to keep in whimpers, sweat trickling down from your forehead as your mind fought in vain against the primal urges now closing in on it; the feral ache for relief deeming itself more important than reason.

Relief. Fuck, it sounded good right now. You hissed, your mental resolve crumbling, tail furiously lashing against the dirt. Relief. Your eyes darted around the camp anything that could relieve the heat in your loins; Shadowheart and her healing hands or a cool river stream to let the water wash over you, but fuck, you needed real relief. A body you could sink your teeth into and ride until the next morning – preferably Karlach, or Halsin–!

Thick, strong Halsin.

“You feel good, little one.” Halsin quietly groaned up from above you, touching you as if he’s been longing to.

He moves inside you; thick cock bruising your insides. Every open-mouthed gasp and hurt or pleasured cry was eagerly welcomed into his own mouth with wet kisses. He was unrelenting, but kind. Full of sinew your hands could run across or scratch in slight distaste if the fat tip of his length pressed a sensitive spot deeper than you’d have liked. And without fail, he had laughed everytime, gentle and light, even if his deep thrusts into your spent hole were anything but.

He must have been trying to burrow in you with how deep he was inside, letting you raggedly cry into the slope of his neck meeting the thickness of his shoulder. Halsin set out to plant an apologetic kiss into the crook of yours, fucking you deep until you fluttered around him, dragging him to his peak alongside you.

No, you winced, tearing your eyes open and your mind out of its lust-ridden gutter, the burn inside you relentless. No Halsin nor Karlach, not a single soul that could provide you relief to be found around camp — and damn them all, you were in no state to be crawling around searching for even the slightest whiff of their scent in gods know where.

Relief.

Yet another infuriating wave of heat rolled through you, forcing you to clench your hands and drive dirt beneath your nails. What remained of your rationality sought out to the crevices of your memories, ones that weren’t flooded of nightly trysts with the druid elf or — Rolan.

Relief – Rolan. A drop of your drool hitting the ground; Rolan with his horns you could grip and sharp teeth that could sink into your shoulder. No doubt warmly cooped up in Ramazith’s Tower, signing trades or shoving his nose in dusty books. He’d do, for tonight – he’d understand, indulge you and lift you from the unbearable heat clouding your head. He wouldn’t mind, you know it, because you’d be a blind fool to not see the way his eyes would fondly trail over your face, or the dips in your body.

He wants you, and for tonight, you will do him a favor and want him back.

You urge your trembling body to stand up and begin the treacherous trek from camp to the Gate’s city.

It was only the next night, moon high, that you sauntered into camp instead of out your tent, sporting a relieved glow, a fresh set of bites around your throat, a heavy limp, and of course, the hands of a flushed Rolan around your waist.

Your ragtag party watched from their campfire logs, a petty and envious air about them whilst the winsome smile on your face turned into an airy laugh as Rolan tenderly cupped your jaw with his hands, whispering something that had you curling your tails together. You shook your head and sweetly pecked his cheek as he nodded and bumped your horns together like lovers as a bid goodbye before stepping back to part ways.

“Well?” Karlach greeted with an amiable smile as you joined the group’s circle, having been worriedly sniffing around and asking for you the entirety of the morning; your scent lingering faintly around the air but with no continued path as to exactly where you were. She knew firsthand the extent of pain and delirium heats could bring, and god forbid you had fallen in the wrong hands.

(And thankfully, you hadn’t. She was simply glad you found someone trustworthy to mingle with instead of being alone.)

You scooched near her with a charmingly teasing grin, matching her liveliness, turning a blind eye to the tension in the air. “Well, what?” And before the red-skin tiefling could play banter with you, a certain rogue had pettily overtook the conversation.

“Well, did you enjoy your little fling?” Astarion dryly teased, a goblet of wine in his spindly hands and a sardonic smile on his face. He let the wine swivel for a moment. “Enjoyed playing charity, whoring yourself out?”

Karlach quietly called out his name in a disappointed manner, either to scold or deter him from what next he could say.

“What can I say?” You entertain his snark, peeking around the campfire logs for a bottle of blingdenstone blush wine; grabbing ahold of ot and pouring yourself a goblet. Taking a gracious swig, you allow the fruity taste to melt on your tongue. “My company is sought after.”

“Sought after? You amuse me,” The pale elf laughs, dry in a manner that has you eyeing him, his hand tightening around the rusted goblet whilst you set down yours. “Are you sure?” He asks, glaring. “I’d say it’s desperation, on your side of the coin – you’d spread your legs to anyone asking politely, darling.”

You scrunch your nose at that, the warmth and flavor of the wine turning cold and bitter in your throat.

The silence is almost hostile around the campfire – the crackling of it serving to make it less awkward. “Take that damn wine out his hands,” you hear Wyll whisper to a reading Gale and a Lae’zel sharpening her dagger – but both the wizard and githyanki don faces that tell you they aren’t approving of your escapade either. You allow your eyes a brief roam around all their faces; finding it tightened in displeasure.

You don’t feel so well, all of a sudden. Some part inside you chalks it up to the wine.

Save for Karlach who was nudging you with her tail, pleading you from the corner of her eye; asking you to back down from Astarion. Considering it was an option until he opened his mouth once again, his breath smelling of merlot wine. “You’re missing out, you know.” He hisses when you raise him a brow.

“These flings you have,” he eyes around the party, making sure to pointedly look at Halsin for a second longer. You’re half-sure he’d vex Rolan if he was here. Slurring, he pauses again to savor another sip from his wine. “They can’t give you something real.” Your eyes meet his, hesitant, reading the unsaid but he can in them.

“You...” You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the light, the fire shedding a hopeful glint in his eyes for a split second at your tender tone of voice, face softening at the way you curl in yourself. “You’re drinking too much.” And just as quickly as it came, it left.

Something heavy twists in your gut; and you can’t quite decide if it’s from the wine, the second wave of your heat, or distress. Silently pushing yourself off the log, you might as well to take that soak in the river that you’d been dying for.

(You’re not very surprised to feel the many eyes piercing through you.)

Shortly after you left the circle, Karlach had followed you, indiscreet. It’s a game of chase, really – and she’s hot on your tail but you just keep evading her when she thinks she’s got you, a hairsbreadth away from her hands. The way your shoulders tremble with little laughs from your lips are not missed by her, and if she were any closer she’d chase it with her own.

(She smiles, not seen through the dark mouth of the night. Was it her presence or the alcohol that has made you soft?)

It’s not a long trek to the lake by any means, the path obscured by dense foliage she’d occasionally lose you in. Within moments, she’s at the edge of the water with the gravel crushing beneath her boots, overtaking the slow stream of water you’re delicately undressing by. Her longing gaze lingers on the slope of your jaw, the fullness of your lips and the fresh, deep indents of teeth along your shoulder. She’s unsure of whether it’s from Astarion’s feeding or Rolan.

It’s only when you’re fully bare that you turn to face her, that same plush smile that’s melted the hearts of hundreds.

“Are you joining me?” The sweet lilt of your voice makes the gears stop turning in Karlach’s nodding head, her body moving before her mind to start peeling away at her own clothes at the appealing invitation; wading into the water with you as soon as she’s done. A snort is pulled from her when you playfully splash at her with your tail when you hear her behind you.

“Don’t play a game you can’t win, you little...” Karlach jovially returns the splash, inwardly rejoicing at your giggle; this little, shared intimacy is nothing new, but it makes her heart lurch all the same. What she wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

By the gods, she could never get enough of that you and your joy. Some selfish, unbidden part of her hopes you’ll take her up on Wyll’s offer on the path to Avernus, for the sole reason to see it just a little longer.

She shifts around for a topic to hear your voice a little more, “How is your heat coming along?” The smile on your face falters slightly at her choice of inquiry – but you relax instantly. She’s one of your dearest friends, concern is her second nature.

“When is it never dreadful?” You shrug, casual though your words ring true. An unmated tiefling’s pain during a rut or heat was nothing short of agonizing. She watches the nervous swallow bob in your throat. “But I had a little bit of help- from Rolan.”

“Ah, the new master of the tower, was it?” You nod at her, and it comes to you once again that Karlach was no jealous woman. She was glad you had your fill of enjoyment. “He looks smitten with you; are you courting him?”

“Huh?” Your tail whacks against the relaxed surface of water in disbelief, a flush festering on your disgruntled face. “It’s more like the other way around, he bumped his horns to mine earlier.”

Karlach guffaws at your distress, tearing up with her joy until her breath catches on a sweet aroma. She squints, cautiously sniffing the air, once, twice – and she looks to you, pursing her lips when she realizes it isn’t the fragrances you’re washing over yourself; it’s just you, or rather, the second wave to your heat. She hopes the hunger welling in her isn’t clear in her eyes.

You smell really good, she thinks as she chews on the inside of her cheek, staring at the dip of your back as your turn around. And you’re a really good friend, too good, maybe. She feels what she’s about to do isn’t very good.

Karlach doesn’t know what compels her to do what she does but she follows like it’s law; catching your wrist in her hand, capturing your jaw in her other and kissing you tender, swallowing the gasp that comes out.

It’s only when the air starts to feel thick with your heat and her lust that she pulls away, a string of spit following you both – and she’s already pulling away, horror welling up in her eyes but before she can grovel with apologies, you’re reeling her right back to your spit-slick lips with a moan so utterly full of want it has her pulling you closer.

“I can help you,” she murmurs against your taste before pulling away, your want reassuring her she’s got nothing to be sorry for. Your heaving breasts press against her face when she dips half of herself in the water to wrap her arms around your legs. She pleads. “Let me help you. Please.”

Karlach carries you with her muscled arms and settles you on the edge of a rock, softly parting your legs for you and making herself a warm home between them. The way she looks up at you gives you a bashful knot in your stomach.

“Do you want this?” She swallows thick, as if to wash away the heavy weight of her need, eyes situating her hands on your hips with a trembling but still dominant grip. “Use your words.”

You nod, frantic. Breathy pants now visible in the hot air. “I do,” your tongue feels weak when you speak, looking at her with dazed eyes. “P-please, I- I want it, Kar.”

It’s all the push she needs to lick a stripe up your slit, rendering you still when she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks. It drags a heavy moan out of you and it’s nothing but music to her ears. She hopes it’s the sound that greets her in the afterlife instead of angels with their harps or trumpets.

“Ahah,” Karlach pants, hot against your clit, and you look down to see your slick running down her chin, her tail pulling you closer by your calf while yours whips around. “You taste so fucking good.” She murmurs against you, sending an arrow of pleasure straight through your trembling spine that makes her dive right back in, tracing your fluttering hole.

She tongues inside your hole, moaning when it tightens around her, fucking and writhing it around in response.

If the heat wasn’t so heavy, you’d think she was tracing her name on your cunt. You huff, rocking your hips into her face as much as you can with her hands firmly clasped around your hips. Your hands find themselves around her horns and they gently pull her head closer to you, riding her face as if to help brace you for the knot snapping in your stomach.

Karlach takes a moment to pause, smiling with your heady flavor on her lips, chuckling against your core. “So needy.”

You don’t last long, not with her smile and teeth and tongue around your folds, no, and it’s a blind rush of time and hot white when your thighs tremble around her head, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“Karlach...!” You cry her name, cumming and convulsing around her tongue with open-mouthed moans. Her grip on you tightens, an Infernal curse leaving her as your slick taste floods her mouth. Her hands run over you, the small of your back, your hips and then to your ass, gripping the fat of it to keep you still while she laps at what little you have left to give; only giving in when you whimper and try to kick her away.

(In the rational crevices of your head, you’d hate to prove Astarion right about being a whore but fuck, does she make you feel good.)

It’s soft silence that fills the air, after you both cease your panting. You stare at the stars, head foggy with the orgasm that racked your body, humming when Karlach gently sets you in her arms again to wash your arousal away in the water while your head contentedly lies against her shoulder.

“Let’s get you to your bed, hm?” She coos, bumping her horns against yours – only letting you go to stand up again when she finishes washing and drying you, allowing you to clothe yourself. Time is a blur then, as you spend it aided to walk by her warm arms, staring at the intricate maze of foliage you’re surrounded about.

You’re snapped out your limping daze when you look around to see the foliage isn’t dark anymore, lit around by hues of oranges from a familiar campfire. Karlach grins, closed-eye as she squeezes you and kisses you warmly before nudging you towards the direction of your tent, quaintly lit up by a candlelight lamp you set inside earlier.

“Go inside,” she coaxes you, all-kind. It’s a certain emptiness you feel when you peel yourself away from her warmth with a whine that has her chuckling and pressing her lips against yours again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You do as she says, stumbling inside your tent and falling with a thud to your soft bed – but not without curling your lips into a loving smile, savoring the memory of her. It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to the hands of rest.

Fuck.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re next startled awake.

And it’s no surprise when you wake up to yet another surge of dull aching and your own arousal just starting to drip out of you. You waste little time; stumbling like a fawn out your tent, movements laden with the remnants of sleep –

You’re halfway out when your face slams against a body; lithe and cold, and in your sleep-ridden state, you could be convinced you just bumped into a slab of ice draped in flesh. But you urge your heavy lids to open up, to see the man, well, vampire you’d bickered with earlier, staring down at you from the very opening.

“Astarion,” you state, bleary-eyed and fisting your nightshirt closer; the fleece of it grounding you under his piercing gaze. Your heart is beating quick; a brief thought hopes it stays beating, and you will it away. You have half the mind to ask what he’s doing in front of your tent, but you have no time. The air is thick. The heat inside you is boiling. You need relief – Rolan.

“I...” Your words crawl in your throat, the line of your brows furrowing when you feel the familiar pinpricks of your heat pressing into you. “Please, move. I have somewhere to be.”

You almost feel small under the depth of his gaze; everything about him reeks of fury mingling with need.

“Off to find another bed to warm, I assume?” Astarion hisses with the slightest slur, the breath which he speaks out carrying the scent of fine wine – the air around him dangerous. Starving. He moves closer, and you, in all your confusion, slowly crawl back into your tent, unsure on what to fight first; the heat that consumes you or the danger you feel is about to overtake you.

“Astarion,” you mumble, this time with a bleat to your voice and your eyes wide like the lamb to be drained and slaughtered you feel you are. The air is heady; laden with fear and need thick like honey. Everything around you is too much. Where is Rolan? Karlach?

A hand tightens around your ankle, refusing to let go even as you yelp and watch Astarion force his way inside your cramped tent and crawls himself between your legs to nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“No, no,” You whisper to him, shifting under him in a panic when you feel his familiar lips on your neck. “I’m sorry but you cannot feed from me tonight, Astarion. I need to leave, now.”

“I’m not here to drain you dry, silly.” Astarion’s voice is husky, breathy. It has you clenching your thighs around his hips; his hands clasp around yours in return. “Though, I am starving, I have something else in store for little you.” You grit in discomfort, the unease and desire a blend that you feel entirely drunk on.

(He would never admit it but that tender pit of terror in you has him salivating.)

“Leave...!” You hiss. He chuckles at that; the sound velvet-rich and grating, and does exactly the contrary – pushing himself closer to you until you’re chest-to-chest. You hate that you cannot see him tucked away to your neck. It does not help he is close to your raw, still-sensitive core; you have nothing on save for a long, flowy poet’s shirt thanks to a certain crimson tiefling.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can’t have you running off to somebody else.”

It’s then that you feel it; the press of a cruel, toothy smile against your throat and something of leather, something of warmth digging into the meat of your thigh. He is not here to drain you out of his anger, rather, he’s here to devour you, prey on you. You fear you’ve catched on belatedly.

“Mfh. I don’t want–” Your late, futile resistance is met with a finger to your lips, flushed thighs being pushed further apart as his hips slot between yours. Somewhere in the back of your muddled mind, you hear yourself keen with delight at the friction before he hushes you.

“You’re right, you don’t want it.” Astarion croons, watching as you writhe your hips against his for friction, as your bare cunt instictively grinds against the hot imprint of his still-clothed cock even as your head grasps for even a thread of coherence. “You need it, need this - need me.”

Your body does not deny his claim, arching your hips to meet his grinding, swollen folds clinging to his leather trousers – the pit in your stomach and the crawl up your spine indistinguishable between dread and ecstasy. The line of reason and morals are once again blurred in your head.

You curse yourself for having indulged in the alcoholic delicacy earlier. He’s emboldened by the wine; you’re weakened by it. The finger on your lips slip inside your mouth, firm on your tongue. You gag on it when his other hand clasped on your hip reaches down in between your legs and feels around for your, unsurprisingly, dripping vulva, the both of you gasping in delight.

“You’re soaked. What a fine surprise!” He chuckles, continuing to buck his clothed erection into your heat, petting your hair when you moan around his fingers. “I hope it’s because of me and not just your little heat.”

Your body is transparent, visceral with him, loyal to the promise of pleasure he can give you – even if your mind, what is left of your rationality indignantly fights tooth and nail to convince your body to stop giving in to animalistic pleasure.

It’s not long then, until Astarion becomes impatient, always having been; unlacing the ties on his trousers with one skilled hand and leaning over you to toss it off – it’s all too quick for your swarmed mind to catch up to, and the next thing you see and know is that you’re hissing through your teeth and thrashing while he pushes the burning head of his cock into you, hushing you as if you were a distressed animal. Your muscles tense, jerking away, a feeble little no on your lips—

But it’s an easy intrusion, a quick thrust into you is all it takes to bury himself deep with the help of your slick and his pre. He groans as, eyes rolling back as yours start to prick with tears, hold tightening on you as you whimper and turn limp like a ragdoll to his experimental thrusting. Some part of you wants to preen at the pleasure; the honeyed heat inside you pleased.

“Good- fuck, good pet.” He breathily murmurs, clasping a hand around your hip again; alternating between sensual grinding and abruptly slamming into you. All while he laughs and watches with a vicious smile as you’re torn between pathetically moaning and crying, the fingers in your mouth helping to muffle the sounds.

“See? Not so bad if you just close your eyes and give in.” He presses down particularly hard on your tongue when you wail at a sharp, unexpected thrust. He couldn’t have someone from the party playing hero. “I’m trying to help you.”

Tears sting at the corner of your eye, and you have no doubt you look pitiful right now - but fuck, he feels good. You don’t want to admit it, but you won’t deny it either; you needed this. And though you would have preferred to have it be Rolan, all gentle, rutting into you with sweet whispers and even sweeter promises, the heat in your body cannot be satiated with the tenderness he can give you. But you would rather stake him first than admit he’s helping you fill that gaping need in you.

“Astarion...” You furrow your brows and swallow around his fingers, your own life clinging to the back of your throat. It’s with a certain horror and desperation that you realize you’re approaching the edge faster than you’d like – and you know he knows, because he pulls his fingers out your mouth and presses a warm, spit-slick thumb to your aching clit. Your hole flutters around him, and you writhe around, the tightening burn of your incoming orgasm too much to handle. Pleasured, honeyed mewls are wrenched from you as his hips snap, driving his cock deep.

Astarion purrs – a hand on your thigh to help him slam into you, gripping hard enough to form bruises whilst the other was relentless at your clit. It’s with a shriek that you fall apart, seizing on his thrusts that only seem to quicken, the wet sound of skin on skin and your crying permeating through the entire camp, no doubt. He coos when a whine slips out of you, a tear gliding from your eye.

You’re seeing fucking white, blots of black dotted along your vision by the time he greedily slams inside you a final time with a low groan – something pleasingly warm filling you up, satiating you. Astarion holds your face and tugs it meet his for a breathy, passionate kiss whilst he twitches seed inside you - smiling in delight against your lips when you melt.

Relief is found; a warm glow settling on you despite your lids fighting their damndest to stay up. You’re a soft, slow little thing now, all but warm and ready to be taken by approaching slumber. Astarion gladly takes the chance to lie on his side and gather you in his arms, lips curving sweet yet again, but with less threat, as he watches you contentedly curl yourself up against his side. He sighs at the warmth that washes over him, thankful that fatigue has tamed you and fanned out that little spark and scratch you had earlier.

“Happy?” The smitten vampire asks, cheeky, smug as he pulls you closer into him, massaging your sore hips. “No need for you to go looking around for victims when you have me at your disposal, darling. I’d hate for you to lose sight on what really matters.”

You hum as if far away, you’d slap him in the morning that comes, but for now you’d let yourself be lulled into a soft, gentle slumber. A kiss on your head is the last thing you feel, a feeble little goodnight whispered.

#bg3 x reader #bg3 smut #karlach x reader #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #tav harem #um?#i dont wanna tag the other characters because i don’t think they were featured enough and i’d be clogging tags :')#this was very messy i wrote this on a whim #i do not like it but alas astarion’s scene is delightful

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