#Astarion x ghost! reader

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

(Spawn Astarion x F! Ghost Reader) : Prologue

Synopsis: You’ve haunted Szarr Palace for 354 years after Donella Szarr failed to turn you into a spawn. You have favored Astarion over the other spawn for the last two centuries and after a series of events and a Paul Revere-esque mission to save him from being kidnapped- you finally meet each other in the flesh.

CW: Death (obviously), mentions of Astarion’s trauma, mentions of Gore, mentions of Gale x Tav

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. Birdie is a stock image 💜 I will not describe the readers body in detail- she is just merely on the banner for ✨drama✨. I believe the picture of Astarion is from @aristenfromwarsaw . And then the symbol of Orcus in the back is a free image off the internet.

Chapter One : AO3

Your paws hit the pavement as you frantically search for Elfsong Tavern. You haven’t left Szarr Palace since you died there so many years ago- you didn’t even know what the Hells an Elfsong Tavern was until Dalyria had told Cazador that was where Astarion was staying.

It’s still just before sunset so there is still plenty of time to warn the group about the upcoming kidnapping attempt- you just hope one of them is a Druid.

You aren’t naturally a cat- you’re a ghost and you’ve been haunting Szarr Palace since Donella Szarr killed you what feels like eons ago. You had been merely walking home one evening from a Violin gig you had barely managed to get- it had gone so well that they had asked you to come back and play next week. Oh how life had other plans for poor 28-year-old you who made her entire life about music and died never experiencing romance, true companionship, etc. You had grown up isolated amongst nobles, but you knew of Donella Szarr so her asking you to have tea with her didn’t seem that bizarre.

Needless to say- it was weird watching your own funeral.

No matter how hard you tried, you could never cross over and Gods did you want to. You didn’t even care if you became incorporeal or went on to the Heavens- you just wanted to be able to actually talk to people and do things again. You were incredibly apathetic and haunting with no purpose. You’re a house ghost who has no say over the house- you can’t even help fix things in the damn place without asking to be exorcised.

Your misery was reduced significantly a little over 140 years later when Astarion Acunin experienced his first night in Cazador’s kennels. His screams haunted you and you are the one who is supposed to be doing the haunting!

You did everything you could to try to make his time with Cazador somewhat bearable, but your efforts were too small and you feel as if you failed him. You tried to possess Cazador and it went miserably- you had almost been consumed by the darkness in him entirely. You had been a mere fly to his soul.

You were able to possess Godey easily enough, but you had to be careful because he has sent Cazador on a multitude of Ghost hunts before.

Astarion knew you were around- he’d acknowledge you as ‘Ghosty’ whenever his candle would flicker out and then come back full force for him to finish sewing his clothing. He could sense your presence at other times too- one time you had been certain he was able to see you as you sat with him for the duration of Cazador’s ‘poem’.

You favor Astarion over the other spawn, but you have come to justify it as Astarion was the one who needed your help more. He was frequently the subject of Cazador’s rage and need for violence. You know it’s because he resembles Vellioth to some extent and you are certain that’s why he targeted Astarion in the first place.

Cazador introduced himself to Astarion when he was a young magistrate. It had been at one of his many lavish affairs and you had seen the menacing glint in Cazador’s eyes when the young man walked in with some over the top female on his arm.

Cazador asked Astarion to begin convicting people wrongfully and sending them to Szarr Palace. He offered a handsome amount of gold and Astarion took the offer without a thought. You immediately knew this man had signed over his soul- knowingly or unknowingly, you had no idea.

Things became even messier when Cazador began to have the closest thing to love he could feel for the young magistrate. Astarion was very intelligent- he wasn’t charismatic naturally, but he knew how to study behavior and work around it. He knew what Cazador wanted to hear.

So when Cazador found out Astarion had taken another deal on the side as well as potentially a more formal lover, well, he had signed over his fate. Cazador framed a Gur Hunter, Astarion sent him to the other group of slavers instead of Cazador, and Cazador let the Gur know this anonymously ‘in good faith’.

At first you thought it was just karma doing it’s work, but then you learned that Astarion was just another young person like you who was just trying to figure it out. Where you thought you were doing your duty by meeting with a noble, he felt he was doing his- at first at least. He had been sending a reasonable sum of money back home to his parents, but he became greedy and ended up paying for that with a life sentence.

Some higher power must be merciful because it had seemed that Astarion had managed to escape Cazador for good.

Then the moron decided to come back and now Cazador is sending Leon after him with three of the other house spawn.

You don’t care for possessing any living soul- a tacky couch? Maybe, but only because it doesn’t have thoughts. However, desperate times called for desperate measures and you are really regretting not getting the gumption to possess a person.

You are far too cute with your fluffy grey and white fur and big green eyes. People keep trying to scoop you up in their arms and children chase after you. Other cats are just plain rude and unhelpful- you have no idea how you are going to find this Tavern.

“You seem rather lost, little ghost,” a voice says from a nearby tree.

You peer upwards to see a Calico Tressym eyeing you curiously. If you weren’t so focused on finding Astarion, maybe you would be mad at her for openly announcing you are a ghost.

“I’m looking for someone,” you say as you try to catch your breath, “I need to get to Elfsong Tavern as soon as possible.”

This seems to interest the Tressym because she immediately jumps down with a serious expression on her face.

“Who and why?”

Screw it- you don’t have time to be picky.

“I’m looking for a man named Astarion- his life is in danger,” you say quickly.

She seems to digest this information for a moment as she circles you. Her eyes explore your fluffy form and she seems to decide you are trustworthy because she beckons for you to follow her.

You race after her as she flies over the buildings and lands- wait, why is she landing in front of that man in purple on the beach!? That’s not Astarion or a Tavern!

In spite of your confusion, your gut pushes you forward and before you know it- the man you are looking for comes waltzing out of a house with a disgusted look on his face while a tall, red tiefling woman holds a very old heart in a jar.

“Astarion,” the man, Gale, tries not to make his own panic too obvious, “come here.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that to interest me, Gale,” he says with an emphasis on the man’s name, “why should I?”

“For God’s sake- it’s about Cazador,” the man hisses.

This grabs his and his other three companion’s attention. They immediately huddle around Gale- the silver haired woman immediately aweing upon seeing you and the blonde haired woman intertwining her hands with Gale’s. The red tiefling is still holding the heart and you gag upon seeing it which earns a laugh from the group.

“What about Cazador?”

Astarion’s voice betrays the panic he’s feeling- for whatever reason, his panic prompts him to scratch you between your ears. You fight the urge to purr. You are a person- dammit! A dead one, but a person nonetheless!

“This Ghost,” Gale says with uncertainty while pointing to you, “is saying that Cazador is sending Leon, Aurelia, Yousen, and Violet later tonight to detain you.”

“She was practically barreling through streets- poor thing was about to experience her second death,” adds Tara.

“Apparently it was a suicide mission,” Gale adds.

You are suddenly lifted up from underneath your arms and a pair of ruby red eyes are boring into yours. After a few moments, a giggle of all damn things exits this man’s mouth.

“There are at least five or six useless thralls you could have possessed and you chose a cat?”

You flatten your ears and leer at him before attempting to communicate with him- only to be disappointed when an angry yowl leaves your little mouth. Astarion fucking giggles again. THIS IS SERIOUS!

“This is far more adorable though, I will give you that,” Astarion says as he begins to walk towards the tavern with you now cradled in his arms.

You never would have found the damn place on your own. It was clear on the other side of the city!

“It’s a shame I can’t understand you a single bit,” Astarion says, “I would love to know how Cazador has been fairing without me there.”

Terribly, but in a crazed, rage filled way. Unfortunately poor Dalyria and Petras had been receiving the treatment usually reserved for Astarion. You were happy to see him thriving, but it does make you sad that it had to cost two other people’s dignity and comfort.

The moment the party enters the room and announces that they are anticipating an attack once the sun sets, everyone jumps up and prepares themselves for the coming battle.

Astarion places you on his bed before grabbing a green bottle and chugging it. He then proceeds to look at you expectantly and you have no idea what he is doing, but it’s starting to kind of freak you out because neither one of you is blinking and he’s beginning to look more and more like the predator he is.

“I don’t think I like this game,” you say, “you look rather terrifying when you don’t blink for long periods of time.”

“Oh, but terrifying is what I aim to be, Darling,” Astarion says with a toothy grin, “I don’t want any of them reporting to Cazador that I’m still the pathetic vampire spawn I was before I went missing.”

“You were never pathetic,” the words come out of your mouth harshly, “and if you must know- they are reporting to Cazador that you practically have a whole army of ‘do gooders’ by your side.”

“Oh really? Do tell me, how does that make him feel?”

“He was surprised at first.”

“Naturally.”

“But then he heard about Orin’s death and your part in it- he’s worried, to say the least.”

“Good,” Astarion snarls, “he should be.”

The siblings arrive exactly when you said they would and they are surprised to see everyone prepared to see them. You are absolutely floored when Astarion tries to convince them that he’ll ascend all of them- he has to know by now that that is not what this ritual will do. You notice the uneasy glances between Astarion’s companions.

If they really are the heroes Dalyria made them out to be, will they truly let him ascend without contest?

There wasn’t time for any questions as the other spawn rush the group. You did manage to help in the fight- Astarion was being cornered by Violet and Leon so you took it upon yourself to wreak havoc upon Violet’s scalp. She went back home pretty quickly and Astarion was able to take on Leon with ease.

Now you sit in front of a big window and take in the moon. Your heart breaks for the 7,000 souls beneath Szarr Palace and the six other house spawn. Poor little Victoria had finally been taken away from the city and replaced with someone else- Leon promised he’d come find her. Gods you hope she doesn’t think Leon purposefully abandoned her. She’s a great kid.

“You seem to be thinking rather hard for a cat.”

“You lied to them.”

The silence between you is deafening before you finally look up at him. Astarion’s face is conflicted and guarded as he searches your features for any indication of what you are feeling. Cats aren’t terribly expressive apparently.

“Don’t give me that disappointed ‘I’m not getting cuddly, Astarion’ look!”

You feel your hackles raise slightly and your tail get puffy as you get up on your feet. You narrow your eyes at Astarion and he meets yours with equal amounts of stubbornness.

“I’ll give you this look for the rest of your damn life if that’s what it’s going to take!” You exclaim, “you can’t kill them! They have suffered too! Dalyria and Petras both tried to keep as much information as they could about you and your companions so that you stood a chance against him! Leon just wants to be with Victoria as a free man!

“The rest of them… they think it’s going to free them… they are all talking about what they want to do with their lives after this,” you say with anger and sadness in your voice, “You can’t take that from them.Their lives are not yours to take!”

“I hate to disappoint you,” Astarion says with venom lacing his words, “but I could care less about what they went through and their wants or their souls for that matter. No one was there for me, well besides you, but not everyone is an overly friendly Ghost like you.”

Your eyes become blurry and Astarion’s face goes from anger to shock and confusion. It takes a moment to collect yourself, but when you do- you make sure to say exactly what you are thinking.

“It makes me sad.”

“What does?”

“That you ended up being no better than Cazador,” you say flatly, “I thought I saw some redeeming qualities in you. I guess I was wrong.”

You watch it take all of his willpower not to snap your neck right there or pick you up and chuck you against the wall. The woman, Karlach, seems to notice his sudden shift in energy because she’s quickly walking over and scooping you up off the windowsill.

“You look like you need to take a breather, Fangs,” Karlach chuckles awkwardly, “maybe you should go hunting. We’ll be leaving to storm the castle before you know it.”

So he does and Karlach takes you over to her bed.

“That was awfully harsh, Boo,” Karlach says, “a gentler touch may have been better.”

“Karlach, I’ve been a ghost for almost 400 years. I have been forced to watch either Donella, Vellioth, or Cazador terrorize handfuls of people,” you shake your head, “Cazador is the worst of the worst- he’s terrorized over 7,000 people at this point and that ritual will kill all of them. Yet the soul I’m most upset about losing is Astarion’s.

“So yes, it was harsh, but it needed to be said.”

Karlach is quiet for a moment, “I suppose that’s true… but 7,000 people? I thought there were only 7 vampire spawn?”

“What? Who in the hells told you that?”

“Fangs- obviously.”

Oh right, he wouldn’t know that every person he’s ever shared a bed with is rotting away, starving in Cazador’s dungeon.

“No,” you say softly, “unfortunately there is a lot more going on than Astarion knows.”

**********************************************************************

Astarion is the first through the door when the group comes back from Szarr Palace. You have been sitting on Karlach’s bed the entire time- pacing anxiously. Scratch and the Owlbear cub would ask you to play with them, but you couldn’t get rid of the twisting knot in your stomach.

He goes to his bed and grabs a new change of clothes before weakly walking in the direction of the washroom. Karlach makes eye contact with you when she walks through the doors and she gives you a big smile.

Wait, does that mean?

She follows it with a thumbs up.

He didn’t do it. Holy Gods he didn’t do it! BUT WHY!?

You have a million questions, but you’re sure he doesn’t want to talk to you anytime soon. You bid a farewell to Karlach and the other companions. She tries to convince you to stay and talk to Astarion before deciding to leave, but you merely shake your head. You said your piece and you can return to haunting a now empty castle.

Or maybe you’ll be a cat around Baldur’s Gate. Tara seems to enjoy wandering around and you did forget how lovely the sun feels.

The walk back to Szarr Palace goes far smoother than your adventure finding Elfsong Tavern. The courtyard is still in bloom so the scent of red roses acts as your guide. Gods- Cazador was such a cliché. You hope these roses die and someone decides to plant literally anything else. Maybe you could figure out how to? You can dig hypothetically.

So that’s what you do. You begin digging out the crap ass red roses and do your best not to get caught on thorns. After the fourth or fifth rose, you have it down to a science and you’ve gotten quite a lot of work done on one flower bed. This cat thing isn’t all that bad!

Well, minus your excessive need for water and food, but there’s a running fountain nearby so that’s promising. The food part is going to be the harder part. You haven’t had to eat for centuries now and the growling in your belly is entirely foreign to you.

Should you try to steal food? Honestly, you’re adorable enough, you could probably beg for some food. Trying to hunt for a mouse is absolutely off the table and forget a bird all together.

You look up at the sky. The last bits of daylight cling to the horizon and the moon begins to kiss the sky. You are going to keep working until the sun has set, you’ll attempt to clean up, and then you'll sucker some people into giving you food.

Back to digging it is!

You continue your work and think about what you may plant. Maybe you could find seeds for food- there are plenty of homeless who could use it, but would they dare go to Szarr Palace for produce? The idea makes you snort. Donella would be infuriated if you turned the front of her “work of art” into a free farmer’s market for the needy.

“Are you taking up gardening now? I think it suits you,” a familiar voice says, “well, maybe more so if you were actually a person and not a cat.”

You slowly turn around and you’re met with the sight of a sheepish Astarion. He absentmindedly plays with his own hands, but you are happy to see some of the tension melt away when he sees your face and begins laughing.

“You are caked in dirt, Darling.”

“I would hope so- if this is something else then I have a real problem on my hands.”

“Ha!” Astarion says, “I don’t think you have any reason to fret. I can’t remember the last time Cazador had anyone tend to these stupid things.”

“Oh he didn’t have to,” you say in exasperation, “Donella enchanted the damn pots so that the plants can grow without soil. She hated the smell of fertilizer.”

“Donella?”

You blink at Astarion two times and tilt your head to the side.

“Cazador never mentioned his aunt?”

“Does this look like the face of a person who knows about Cazador’s aunt?”

“Put your sass back in your pockets, Mister,” you say with equal amounts of attitude, “Donella Szarr was the first Vampire Lord in Baldur’s Gate. She created Vellioth and well, you know how well that all went.”

“But how do you know Donella?”

“She killed me,” you say bluntly, “she took advantage of my naivety. She thought I was a promising young woman and she was very anti-patriarchy which I did really appreciate. However, she invited me over to tea to discuss a potential job offer at a party of her’s. She didn’t know how to properly create a spawn so when she drained me dry and I never popped back up- she realized she made a terrible mistake.

“Not because she cared about me, but because my parents were relatively prominent in the community.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Hmmm… well I was born in 1,110 then Donella killed me at the beginning of her dynasty in 1,138 sooooooo about,” you think so hard your ears begin to twitch, math was never your strong suit, “354 years ago.”

“Good Gods, you’ve been trapped in this damn place longer than I have. Why in the hells would you come back?”

That is a good question- why did you come back? You suppose it’s because at one point you were attached to this house and it made you uncomfortable to be away from it for longer than eight hours at a time, but that’s dissipated. You didn’t realize your attachment had changed to a person- the vampire spawn asking the question- until he disappeared and you felt like you did the one time you tried to stay away from Szarr Palace. It had weakened you significantly, but now that you’re a cat, that attachment isn’t there and you are free to go about your silly little business.

You also don’t know where else you would go. It’s not like staying in the Rothwell crypt is going to do wonders for your mental health and going back to haunting this palace means you’ll feel uncomfortable again until you are reattached.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you admit, “so I came back to the only place I know. I think I might piss on Donella’s legacy by making this a community garden to feed the homeless. She’ll be infuriated- rolling over in her urn.”

Astarion snorts, “your idea of revenge is helping the needy? Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“What would you suggest then?” You retort, “I can’t imagine it will be easy finding seeds for anything worth planting. Unless you can hook me up with some sunflo-.”

“What if you traveled with me instead?” Astarion interrupts you.

Oh.

You blink a lot and your jaw has dropped. The happiness spreading through your body makes your paws tingle with excitement.

What an exhilarating concept. However, there must be a catch.

“You just said I was insufferable.”

“Just because I asked you to travel with me doesn’t make that any less true,” Astarion says, “but I’ve rather enjoyed your silent company over the past two centuries, I’m sure I’ll get used to the eccentricities of a ghost cat.”

“It’s quite a generous offer,” you say slowly, “why do you want me to travel with you?”

Astarion looks positively exasperated by your onslaught of questions.

“I would like to remind you that the last time I trusted a vampire- I died!”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he says with a sigh, “for a noble and a bard, you certainly aren’t one for mincing words.

“I was conflicted about ascending. No one was really giving me a reason not to because no one wanted to upset me. You, on the other hand, humbled me,” he says with a shrug, “and the lack of haunting I’ve experienced over the past several months has been absolutely terrible, Darling. I can’t keep a candle going as bright as you do to save my life.”

He says the last part with flourish and embellishment followed by an awkward cough.

You look to the roses and the garden bed then back to Astarion. It’s a much more fun idea- going with Astarion. It would be safer to remain here, but your life was cut so short so long ago. What if you could find a solution to become a person again? What if you could have the life you’ve always wanted?

“Okay.”

“Okay meaning?”

“I accept your invitation to travel with you.”

You are being scooped up from underneath your armpits again and Astarion holds you at arm's length. You flatten your ears and look at him unenthusiastically. Maybe you made a mistake.

“Wonderful! Now let’s get you cleaned up- you are positively disgusting right now.”

“You really know how to make a ghost feel special.”

Astarion wipes off the dirt using water from the fountain and a handkerchief before picking you back up and heading towards the cemetery.

“There’s something I need to do before we go back.”

He sets you down on the ground and you are surprised to see that you have arrived at his own grave. He remarks the grave as a symbol of his new life and you pluck a flower to drop on his grave. Astarion scratches you in between your ears and laughs as you chastise yourself for purring.

As you walk through the cemetary, you see another familiar name.

“That’s my family’s crypt!”

You sprint to the door and Astarion looks around for any clerics of Kelemvor before picking the lock. You bound down the stairs and Astarion is close behind you with a flame for light in his hands.

Your mother and father are there. It’s odd that your mother lived a much shorter life than your father considering she’s an elf. It looks like your father remarried and you have half siblings.

“Is this you?”

You look over to where Astarion is standing and sure enough- a plaque on a tomb reads, “Here lies Althaeastra ‘Birdie’ Rothwell. Beloved daughter, talented violinist, and the kindest soul this world had the privilege of knowing. We love and miss you forever and always. Kythorn 22, 1,110 to Alturiak 8th, 1,138’.

Your father’s tomb reads specifically, “Birdie’s Father” and your mother’s has, “Birdie’s Mother.” You had been their only child and you had been everything to them.

“Yeah,” you say sadly, “that’s me.”

Upon further investigation, you find that your mother had set your childhood home on fire after drinking too much. She died in the fire because she didn’t try to leave the house. Your poor father must have been devastated.

Your siblings are still alive, but you don’t have any desire to get to know them. That ship sailed a long time ago.

“I’m ready to go,” you say as evenly as you can, “I’m starving!”

You bound up the steps before he can say anything and you are grateful for the fresh air that fills your lungs. At least now you know what became of your family while you’ve been trapped in Szarr palace.

The walk back to Elfsong is quiet and the two of you sit by the windowsill and watch the world go by as the Tavern goers cheer and laugh. All of Astarion’s companions are fast asleep and your eyelids are feeling droopy following the chicken Astarion had managed to steal for you.

“So you’re a cat named Birdie?”

“No, I’m a ghost possessing a cat and my name is Birdie,” you say pointedly with a big yawn, “and I only go by Birdie because my first name is a monstrosity my grandmother insisted I have. I began singing before I began talking so my parents called me Birdie.”

“There’s no reason to argue semantics, Darling,” Astarion says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “no reason to get defensive. Truly adorable story though.”

You roll your eyes before laying your head down to fall asleep. You don’t protest when Astarion picks you up and sets you down to sleep on his bed. He scratches behind your ears before he also lays down on the bed with his book in one hand and his other petting you until you fall asleep.

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Additional Note: I didn’t think this concept would be received so well! Thank you so much for everyone’s kind words, like, and reblogs 💜 I am out of town, but I will probably end up posting the next chapter because I’m excited and I love Birdie and Astarion.

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[connorsui]

"How beautiful was she?"

"Was? ...please ..she is beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She is beautiful, for the way she thinks, She is beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she speaks about anything she loves. She is beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She is beautiful, deep down to her soul ....

She is the love of my life"

The man: Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, John Price, Jason Todd, Sam Winchester, Higuruma Hiromi, Halsin, Astarion Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Levi Ackerman, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Leon Kennedy, Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Rafayel, Cooper Howard, Logan Howlett, Aemond, Nikto,

[mymoonsight]

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

Edit:

Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol

People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am

[zg0nuwa]

i’m not switching between my hyperfixations because i’m autistic, i’m just a whore

[stillinracooncity]

that feminine urge to read something that makes you cry, get angry, scream, laugh like a hormonal teenager, turn up the heat, feel like the most unique and beautiful human being on earth. *sighs*

[twistedgameswewrite]

I need to tear that man apart with my teeth(/pos)

[ghost-proofbaby]

SIMPLE. (astarion ancunin x afab!reader)

based upon this request by @leahthesith: you've grown tired of astarion's games of jealousy, and it all comes crashing down one night when he chooses to spoil your fun with shadowheart.

warnings: mentions and allusions to astarion's past, as well as his sexual trauma. biting. lots, and lots, and lots of biting. oral sex ('f' receiving), smut. reader is not explicitly gendered/no pronouns are used. only a brief comparison of a 'schoolgirl crush'. reader has also had almost romantic interactions with several companions. 18+ - minors dni.

wc: 7.4k+

kinktober masterlist

There’s no reason for him to be looking at you like that. 

No explanation, no justification, no reason for those jewel eyes to be glowering at you from across the tavern. For his fist to wrap around the mug of whatever he’s sipping on for show, pale skin going translucent in the dancing candlelight. For his entire chest having gone still the last several minutes, and for you to be unable to decipher if he’s simply too distracted to bother with the last of what remains of his living instincts or if it’s another instinct all on its own – if he’s holding his breath as he watches your conversation with Shadowheart.

Then again, there’s no real reason for you to be watching him back. 

The matter of the fact is that you’re watching him just as closely, just as captivated by his presence from across the room, just to simply notice these things. The stillness in his shoulders and the glint that you swear must be his fangs poking past his lips should not be in your periphery. Your focus, all your attention, should be on the vibrant girl on the stool beside you. The dark beauty who’s speaking more with her hands than her lips, giggling over yet another glass of wine. 

“You know,” she sighs wistfully, and you have to tear your gaze away from where it had wandered towards the vampire currently sulking away from the group, “The wine here in the city is much better than on the road.” 

You hum as you distractedly take a sip from your own glass, tongue immediately peeking out to trace along your bottom lip subconsciously, as if you might be trying to savor the flavor. As if you can even taste the flavor. Your tongue has gone all but numb to the ruby liquid as a very different shade of red has captured your interest. 

This could be the same wine from the druid party at the beginning of your journey, the party in which you snatched a bottle from the very shadow that is watching your every move, and you wouldn’t know the difference. 

“It is,” you lie, swirling the red liquid a little bit, an attempt to bring back the taste all over your tongue. 

And even if she buys your lie, Shadowheart can tell something is off, leaning in just a bit closer, peering at you just a little more concerningly, “Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.” 

You don’t feel yourself. You should be feeling much more jubilant. You should be joining in on the same fun everyone else is having, toasting to yet another battle won. The end of it all was so close you could taste it. 

And yet, you don’t. Because he’s in the corner brooding, and with him he’s seemingly taken both your mind and your mood. 

“It’s been a long day,” It’s been one long day after another for months, it seems, “I suppose the wine is just making me relax a bit too much.” 

That it is. The alcohol has managed to wiggle its way into your bloodstream, heading straight up your spine and to your brain. All your thoughts feather at the edge, and perhaps that was why you were watching Astarion back so intensely. 

Months of this journey, and you still felt no closer to figuring him out than you had that very first night of discovering his vampirism. Each layer of him that you had peeled back only revealed more confusion to sit with. Some days, you swore you had him entirely figured out. You knew every in and every out of all his wits, and you knew all the steps to the dance in which he’d attempt to draw you into. You could play into whatever design he was spinning between the two of you; you could beat him at his own game. 

But other days, days like today, you simply couldn’t. 

All his flirtations, all his subtle seductions – you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was still for show. For every innuendo he’d whispered into your ear, he shared just as scandalous a comment with another party member. For every seemingly accidental graze of his cold skin against yours, he was attaching himself at the hip of another one of your companions. For all he gave, he would take just as much. Leaving you spinning in the hope of it all; leaving you with a yearning hunger that probably neared the threshold of his own vampiric hunger. 

You want him. You hate him. He infatuates you. He irritates you. He is both sides of the same coin that has damned you every step along the way of this peculiar journey you’ve embarked on together.

“I know what you mean,” Shadowheart brings you back to reality with one swoop of her hair, a careful gathering of the locks to leave a shoulder exposed, “What is it that they always say? Wine is the secret ingredient for every bad decision?”

Your eyes trace carefully over her skin, the slope of where her neck meets her collarbone, the residual bruising leftover from the latest fight blooming beautifully over her. A welcome distraction.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard them say that,” you muse, a smile tugging on your lips, eyes still traveling. Up, up, up. 

Over the line of her jaw, across the curve of her chin. Pillowy bottom lip and softly rounded nose. Softness – she’s made up of all soft and delicate features, such a contrast to someone such as Ast-

You must stop thinking about Astarion.

You’re no longer asking yourself of it, you’re demanding yourself of it. You make a point to move your body and head carefully, positioning yourself just so that the outline of the confusing vampire on your mind is entirely blocked out by Shadowheart’s silhouette. 

“Oh, trust me – they say it all the time,” something simmers beneath Shadowheart’s returning grin, a sparkle in her eyes that should spark some sort of excitement in you. But it’s a hollow ache; you’re still painfully aware that he’s in the room, “Say, would you like to maybe… I don’t know, get out of here? I’m sure we could sneak some more of this exquisite wine to the room upstairs, perhaps find somewhere to relax together even more-” 

“Oh, my dear Shadowheart, don’t you know that that would be thievery?” 

His voice, so close and sudden, sucks all of the air out of your lungs. 

“Astarion!” Shadowheart jumps a bit at his sudden appearance, but you hardly move a muscle. As though your body had been expecting him, as if you had always known the night was leading to this outcome, “I’m surprised to see you’ve given up your gloomy act to join us all. I thought you might sulk in the corner all night.”

His eyes lock on you, and the facade of his usual self seemingly melts. There’s something darker beneath the surface, an animal caged away, and you can see it as it bares its teeth, “Not sulking. Merely observing.” 

You can’t speak. Your entire chest is still tight, lungs still deflated, by his proximity. 

“Well, hard to tell the difference when you hide away in the darkness,” Shadowheart manages to get out before her lips press tightly together, clearly irritated at your companion. 

She’d nearly had you. She had been giving you clear signals, doing away with any games of cats and mice, and she had nearly had you. 

“It’s in my nature, I suppose,” his tone falls flatter than normal, the words void of all the airiness and usual cadence he accentuates. 

He still has you far more enraptured than she’d ever stood a chance of accomplishing. 

“We were just heading upstairs,” you blurt out, and Astarion’s eyebrows raise at your proclamation.

“Is that so?” 

You don’t quite understand why, but you feel the need to over explain yourself, painfully aware of Shadowheart’s inquisitive gaze as she watches you fumble with your words, “Yes! I- I was just telling Shadowheart how tired I’ve grown. We were just calling it a night-” 

“By stealing a bottle of wine?” his tone is growing sharper, and you squirm beneath what has almost become a glare. In an instant, he’s noticing all that discomfort, and you watch the facade be built back up in real time. Brick by brick, he once again resumes his usual role, voice raising a few octaves and a dangerous smirk returning, “And stealing our dearest cleric away from such a wonderful night of celebration? Nonsense! Allow me to accompany you instead, my sweet.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue as naturally as it always does. Sugary syllables, predatory purring. It almost reels you in until you remember the give and the take. The push and the pull. 

Two sides, same coin. And you’ve yet to figure out the value of that coin. 

“There’s no need for that-” Shadowheart begins to protest, but Astarion quickly cuts her off with a flourish of his hand. 

“Please, I insist,” even with his words lightened, sweetened up the slightest bit, that animal still lingers below the tone. Shadowheart will not be accompanying you up to the room. That much you know. “You were clearly having such a good time. It’s truly no problem, I don’t mind watching after our fearless leader.” 

“I don’t need to be babysat,” you snap, reactive like a dog threatened. 

Like a dog cornered.

Yes, that was what you were. A rapid animal, backed up into a space, given no choice. Your heart was racing at the idea of being alone with Astarion. It was no longer a game of mental chess played across a busy tavern – it would be just you, just him, and all those terrible layers you had yet to decipher. It was a recipe for disaster. It was the perfect storm brewing, set for the destruction of you.

“I won’t be babysitting you, dear,” he smiles, and it looks more like a hungered sneer than a sign of genuinity, “Simply there, at your service, for whatever you may need.

I need you to leave me alone. I need our journey to be over so I can stop being your puppet to string along.

You wonder if the thought may have traveled over the tadpole bond and that was why his face falls, rather than your stubborn silence. 

For a moment, you think Shadowheart is going to speak up. That possibly, she might just fight back against him, save you from the impending doom. But when her mouth opens, you hear the last possible thing you could have ached to have fallen from her lips. 

“I… suppose I’ll be on my way then. Have a good night.”

Defeat. 

It wraps around your name as she whispers it before she stands from her stool, unassuming to all your silent signals begging her to stay. Footsteps echoing over the commotion around you as she turns her back, and you feel the walls of this corner drawing in on you. 

“I-” you start when you finally look back to Astarion, but he’s already reaching out to grab you. 

“She’ll get over it,” he says harshly, pulling you along as if you were nothing. As though you weren’t digging your heels into the creaking floorboards below, as if you weren’t resisting him with every fiber of your being. 

“Astarion- stop, I’m- I’m not worried about her,” you stutter out, cursing the way your voice falters, tugging against his grip on you, “Gods, why do you do that?” 

The question has him halting at the foot of the stairs. The shadows encase the two of you as his eyes glow in the subtle darkness. 

“Do what?” 

“This.”

You wave your free hand in the space between the two of you wildly, as though that might suffice for explanation. But when Astarion only levels you with a blank stare, you know it won’t. You know it doesn’t. 

“You pull me along, you push me away,” you continue, heart still racing wildly, breaths coming out short and fast, “You treat me like something special and then discard me, and the moment I seek out that genuine treatment from someone else, you’re back to collect me as your own personal play toy. I want to know why.”

For all the exasperation you feel, there’s a pride beneath it all. The pride of being able to articulate, the smugness of assuming you’ve left him speechless. You haven’t.

Today is not one of the days in which you can beat him at his own game. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he claims, chin lifting just an inch, eyes flitting towards the ceiling before making their way to the bar scene behind you. Anywhere but you. “I’ve done no such thing-”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, “Bull-fucking-shit. You’ve done it numerous times, Astarion. Do you not recall the night in which Gale had approached me, offering to teach me about the Weave, and how you’d interrupted-”

“Our dearest wizard would have bored you to death. It was a mercy to interject.”

“-or the night of the tiefling party, when Karlach had been on the verge of confessing something that seemed an awful lot like an admittance of liking me-”

“Karlach likes everyone. Have you seen the eyes she makes at Wyll?”

“-And how about the time when Lae’zel openly invited me to share a bed with her, and you’d overheard, and obnoxiously guffawed? Hm? What’s your excuse there?” 

Finally, his grip has slackened on your wrist, allowing you to pull both arms tightly across your chest as you glare at him. Chest still heaving, mind still reeling. 

He clearly doesn’t have a very good answer as his lips twitch briefly into a pathetic smile, fading quickly as he shrugs, “Well, I simply found the entire image conjured amusing.”

Your heart nearly stops, leaving your chest as empty a cavern as Astarion’s, “You find the image of someone wanting me, wanting to lay with me, amusing?”

And for all he plays dumb, Astarion is not a fool. 

He catches the fall in your demeanor, the way your arms slowly drop and your entire face contorts with your frown. Damage has been done. 

“No, wait, I-” he tries to begin damage control, but the damage has been done.

“Save it,” you cut him off, “I’m going upstairs now. You can continue on your moping down here in the shadows – I don’t need a babysitter.” 

He almost looks as defeated as Shadowheart had when he’d intervened for a second, a second just long enough that you begin taking the long strides up the stairs. You think you’ve gotten the last word, for that eternity of a second. Making it all the way to the first platform, turning to take on the second set of stairs. 

When suddenly, your back is flat against the wall behind you, a cold body pressed against the entirety of yours. 

“I do not find it amusing,” Astarion huffs, those beady eyes suddenly staring right into yours, lips dangerously close to your own. The defeat has been long forgotten, “The image of you with the others – entranced by Gale’s magic, giggling by the fire with Karlach, on your knees for Lae’zel – is not amusing,” his hands are tight on your hips, bruising grip keeping you pinned with no escape. His body rolls, every inch of his clothed skin beginning to press against your own, “You, laying with anyone else, is the farthest thing from amusing, darling.”

His head tilts in warning, forehead nearly pressed to yours, the end of his nose bumping against yours. You can feel every unnecessary breath he takes. Every huff of his sudden irritation invades your space, and all you can do is attempt to turn your head. 

One of his hands is quick to reach up, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer. You want to look away, but he won’t allow it. 

“Would you like to know the truth?” 

A loaded question. A ticking time bomb when it comes to this game between the two of you. 

You decide to set the fuse aflame when you nod your stiff head against his pinching grip. 

“The truth is,” he takes a deep breath, one you know he doesn’t need. He’s sucking all the air out of the room, air he has no need for, before his heavy eyes pour into yours. You’re blinded, all visions of red and smoky warning signs, the chatter of the tavern faded to nothing, “the image of you laying with anyone else absolutely infuriates me.”

Anyone else. 

Anyone else. 

Anyone else.

You open your mouth to respond, not even sure what you could possibly say to that, but it’s Astarion’s lips on yours that kills all words on your tongue. 

There are no witnesses. Not a single soul below can see as he all but devours you, hungry lips melding to yours in desperation. The shadows he had been taunted for haunting for the night now serve as a veil, allowing you to cling to what’s left of your dignity. If anything, it feels as though he might be controlling the shadows, beckoning them to come and wrap the two of you up as his arm sneaks behind your back, pulling your body tightly to his as he chooses to steal the breath directly from your lungs now. 

The push, the pull – the coin. The value, it seems, is finally coming to light. 

Through the kiss, you can feel the damnation of all the emotions Astarion must have been holding back for the journey. All the want, all the yearning, all the anger, all the confusion – every single emotion you’ve been battling, breaking the surface as his fangs nip at your bottom lip. 

It takes more willpower than you’d expected to shove him away. 

“Astarion-” you gasp out, taking gulps of air into your burning lungs. 

“Tell me to walk away,” he begs, body still aligned with yours, hands still clinging to you, “Tell me to leave you alone, and this time, I’ll obey.” 

Your tongue can’t move. The depths of his whispers, his pleads, are ringing in your bones, and you can’t say the words he asks of you. 

“Say it,” he presses on, his fingers only digging deeper into your hips. You can’t tell if they’ve gone numb from the chill of his fingers, or from the lack of circulation due to his strength, “Just say it, and I’ll do it. Say anything. I’m yours to command.”

You should tell him to walk away. You should call off the game of cat and mouse. You should save what’s left of your soul for someone else, anyone else, who won’t send your head spinning with a plethora of mixed signals. 

“Room. Now.” 

Of course, you don’t. 

The game was never one-sided. It was never you, a merciful victim of Astarion, always trapped in his shadows. It’s a game for two – and you’ve earned your blame in it all, the same as Astarion. 

And you continue to earn it as your hands tangle up in the snowy curls at the nape of his neck, silvery strands slipping between aching knuckles, lips attaching themselves to his porcelain skin as he guides you up that final flight of stairs. You’re not thinking of Shadowheart, not thinking of anything delicate or soft. Harsh clashes of teeth, harsh bites to rebuttal his fangs against you, harsh fingers digging into soft meat, harsh red lines left behind across his skin that fade away too quickly for your liking. 

Harsh, harsh, harsh. 

All your tensions and frustrations are put into the meshing, and you hardly notice once Astarion’s gotten the two of you through the threshold of the shared room. Everyone else is still downstairs, still celebrating, still cheersing and chatting away. Completely unaware of your demise. Oblivious to what’s about to happen.

Anyone else.

It’s been a long time coming. 

You can see flashes of it in your mind as he carries you with him, door locked behind his back before he’s finding one of the vacated beds to lay you down onto. The night you’d discovered his vampiric nature, the night you had been his mirror with his scars, all the times in which he’d blatantly saved your ass during fights. The blurry figure that is your savior, conveniently getting between you and goblins or shadows alike as he buries his daggers to the hilt. Always there, always watching.

Always yearning. 

Your heads sing in tune as that tadpole connection comes to life, like an exposed nerve as you feel it all reciprocated from him tenfold. Flashes of yourself, with soft eyes and gentle words. Patient palms and charming smiles. A pulling gravity so grandiose that it sparks sheer fear. 

The room is quiet save for your gasps every time Astarion’s lips leave yours long enough to allow for breathing, the ruffling of clothing and bed sheets filling the air soon enough. Just quiet enough you can hone in on that fear, dig your claws into it instead of his back, focused entirely on following it all the way down. 

More memories of his overriding yours. His exposure of Cazador, his admittance of his past. All the trust he put into you – all the faith he’d blindly handed over to you on a silver platter, only reminiscing and regretting once he was left to his own devices at the end of the day.

And then came the jealousy. 

You’d already felt enough of it through his kisses and movements – the way he pins your body beneath his, the way his fangs graze your exposed neck – but it nearly drowns you once the connection has opened the floodgates. 

The image of you and Gale, and a twist in your gut like no other. Incomparable to even vampiric hunger. 

The image of you and Lae’zel, and a burn in the back of your throat that drives you beyond reason. 

The glimpse of you and Karlach, and the urgency rising in your chest to simply stop it. To pull the brakes, not once considering the consequences. 

Every small moment between you and someone else – companions, strangers, those who have helped along the way – is given to you from Astarion’s point of view. You feel all that he has felt; you burn as he has burned. 

You feel a glimmer of understanding, a pitiful ounce of sympathy, but then you remember all that you have felt. All that confusion, all that unsureness. Every time you’ve had to question the glances the vampire offers in your direction or double back on his words. 

He’d done it to himself. You had to remember that – he’d done it to himself every single step of the way.

“You could have said something,” you whisper out as his lips travel down the path of your neck, sharp tips of his fangs pressing to your pulse but not quite breaking skin, “You could have just told me.”

He’s lithe as a cat above you, each scrap of clothing being removed between the two of you exposing more of your bare flesh to the chill of his. You can feel all those muscles beneath his surface, and you can feel the hesitation as you say this. The freeze – the pause. 

“You make it sound so simple.”

The fangs scrape at your jugular as he whispers it, mouth shaking as he uses all his self-constraint to not simply bite down. Taste your sweet blood, let it sing on his tongue rather than this conversation you can tell is setting fire to all his anxieties. He doesn’t want to talk.

You’re not even sure if you want to talk. 

But you do, with the weight of him between your hips and his hands dancing along your torso. Your head is thrown back as you sigh, “It could be.”

It could be simple, it could have been simple this entire time, if only he’d allow it. 

He’s had you dancing beneath his spell since the moment you’d met him. You had offered yourself over to him, time and time again, knowing all the costs. Despite the warnings from others, and despite all the sirens sounding off in your head every time your eyes had met his, you’d still pined. Still fantasized what this current moment might taste like as you’d lay in your tent at night, still chased after his attention across Faerun. If he had just directly said the word rather than stringing you along, burning in private – you would have been his far sooner than now. He could have had you in the palm of his hands long before he’d ever spotted the Gate of the city. 

He has you now, though. Entirely encapsulated, bending to every whim of his fingertips.  

A flick of his wrist, and you’re exposing more of your neck. A nudge of his knee, and you’re arching your back to press more of yourself against him. Offering your skin, offering your soul, offering your blood. A silent temptation for him to simply devour you whole; a silent begging to not complicate things more than what was necessary. 

You had both been in the wrong. He had sent mixed signals, and you had been complicit in your own silence. 

And right now, you weren’t particularly in the mood to rehash and reassign blame. 

“Show me how simple it could be,” his voice is muffled against your skin, lips velvet against your pulse. It nearly frustrates you – was that not what you were currently doing? Were you not proving to him just how easily he could unravel you with those cold, cold palms? “Go ahead, darling. Prove me wrong.”

You’re not the one meant to take an action, though. Your hands fly up, fisting at his white curls, and you apply pressure to let him sink deeper into your skin, but you’re not the one who can break the barrier.

It’s him that must – his fangs must do it. The first bite, the smallest of sips. 

Your blood trickles past his lips and you let out a sigh. As if this was what you were waiting for, as if this was all that it took. Your vitality draining slowly to invigorate him, your breath becoming his, your heart now beating for both of you. 

He must feel it. He must taste it. 

The simple entanglement of the living and unliving. How simple it was to become his.

You swear you only allow your heart to race as it does to encourage your blood to pump faster onto his eager tongue. He laps at it, hums at the taste, his grip on you becoming stronger with each pass of the ichor. Each passing second with his mouth glued to the side of your neck isn’t marked with the tick of a clock, but the roll of his hips, and your own desperate legs shaking in those precious moments between, cursed to choose between tightening shut around his hips or spreading wider to encourage more of him to occupy you. 

Just as you start to feel light-headed, he pulls back. Wide and vibrant scarlet eyes boring into yours, fangs tinged pink with you poking against his bottom lip. 

The tadpole connection has gone silent. Not due to either of you cutting it off entirely, but due to the lack of thoughts transpiring. Both your minds have gone quiet, and all that’s left is the warm buzz of knowing you’re connected. Static that you can feel at the back of your head, running down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. 

Simple. Mind-numbingly simple. 

You can feel the spark of something snapping after only a few moments of eye-contact, and you know it’s the ember that blazes within him as his next few actions transpire. Messy kisses leaving behind a trail of pink spit along your skin, hands no longer grappling at you mindlessly but with intention. He slips them between your thighs, a finger trailing down your cunt in time with his tongue down your sternum. What might be a memorized dance to him has become an entirely unknown experience to you, body buzzing with the novelty when his fingertip’s cool caress circles your clit before he slips down to your hole. It’s seamless – the stretch, the crook of his knuckle against you as he sinks deeper, the relief in the curl of your toes. 

“You’re not another mindless dance,” he murmurs as he sinks deeper and lower, an unnecessary breath escaping him across your lower abdomen. 

He’d heard it. He’d heard all of your thoughts at the moment. 

You peer down at the ethereal sight of him between your thighs, his hair and mouth seemingly shimmering with all the stars and moon itself, “No?” 

“No,” his voice is strong as he lets the tip of his nose press against you, mouth creeping closer to where two fingers now pump within you, “You’re not like the others.” 

He doesn’t elaborate, even as the haunting question of who the others might be echoes within you. He completely distracts you as his fingers slip from your cunt and his tongue begins its work, worshiping you with every flick of it. Nose, tongue, breath – they all work in conglomeration as the unraveling truly begins. Every ounce of you is tensing, combating all the relief of having his mouth on you, as he pushes you closer and closer to a precipice you’ve only dreamed of him guiding you to. 

The suckle of his lips. The cut of his fangs when he gets a bit too excited. The lap of a tongue like a dog worshiping at your altar. It’s all almost a bit much. 

When your hands travel to entangle in his hair, you can feel the hesitation. For a moment, you believe he might reach up to take your touch away. Force you to grasp at the bed sheets, at the edge of the mattress, at the frame above your head. Anywhere but him. 

But he doesn’t.

The pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s returning to his mitigations, even more intent than before. Words that could never be spoken between the two of you take the shape of his lips around your clit, sucking almost as hard as he had at your neck. An animal seemingly overtakes him, his mouth not leaving you for the mortal necessity of breathing, but rather for something harsher; he breaks away only for his fingers to slide back within you, and immediately takes to biting at your thighs. 

It isn’t like he had done to your neck. This time, he’s not chasing after your blood. Nips and fuller bites, not just his sharpened canines sinking into fletch but his front teeth as well. 

These aren’t bites to drink from you. These are bites to claim you.  

He lines your legs with them, scattered sporadically as he shifts himself up and down. From the apex of your thigh down to your ankle, there’s hardly an inch of your skin that doesn’t paint with Astarion’s touch. The bite marks, lingering outlines of his hands clinging to your flesh, patient hickies left throughout. 

You’re mine. 

The message is clear enough whether you had seen it in his actions, or if he had sent it through the bond. You understand well what point he is making. 

The point stands stronger and stronger when he works his way back up your body. He offers your hips the same worshiping treatment, leaves his imprints across your chest as well. A few marks brand your shoulders and neck, matching the two pricks that started this entire devourment. 

“Do you have any idea of the hold you have upon me?” he sighs out as he holds himself above your body, hovering just close enough that your skin jumps as the skin of his abdomen brushes your own, “Our entire journey, I have been so focused on… on freedom, on abandoning the concept of ever being controlled…” he trails off, and when he looks into your eyes this time, you can see something clicking into place. A fearsome realization. “Only to end up in the thralls of your beck and call.” 

You hold your breath and await the inevitable. This is the part where he runs. Where he removes his flesh from yours, where he jumps across the room and surely spits out some sarcastic remark. It’s the time in which he is meant to break all the hope that had been built over the minutes spent alone. He’ll make some nonchalant remark, or a crude joke, and he’ll go make eyes at some other poor fool below. He’ll cast his spell over someone else, anyone else. He’ll leave you, wanting and yearning and hopeless, once more. 

His body stays above yours, the thin fabric of space shaking between you two. 

With a trembling hand, warm against his skin, you take a chance, “I’m not your master, Astarion.” 

You aren’t. 

You have no desire to control him the way he describes. You would curse the day should you ever become something even comparable to being a placeholder for Cazador. He isn’t telling you anything new; you’ve known his end goal of this entire journey. Astarion has always wanted one thing and one thing only – freedom. 

And you thought you’d been helping him. Following him blindly through the woes, helping him achieve his ultimate goal wholeheartedly. Never for a single second had you assumed the role he’s seemingly given you. 

A short laugh escapes him, the smallest of smiles flitting his face, “No. No, you aren’t. And that only enthralls me further.” 

His lips descend upon yours in a fervent fashion, even more desperate than before. It feels as if he’s actually trying to devour you whole this time – it feels as though he might actually accomplish melding you into his existence, sinking you right into the marrow of his hollow bones. 

When his cock sinks into your heat, it’s ecstasy. Euphoria. Everything you’ve been wishing for. Everything you’d been hoping for. You stretch around him, just as you had his fingers, body eager to take in every last inch of him. The buzz becomes a roar and your entire body feels as though it might be on fire. You want more, you need more, and he’s more than willing to give it. 

More, more, more. 

His hips roll agonizingly slow against yours, making sure every movement is felt across every nerve ending within your body. Deep within your gut, down along your thighs, all the way up your chest. You feel him everywhere – he makes sure of it. 

Centuries, his voice curls through your mind like dark smoke.  For centuries, this body has felt tainted. Never quite mine, never quite clean. 

His hands are shaking as he lets them caress down your sides, over your hips, clinging for support. 

You take that feeling away. 

The words are heavy, the press of his chest over you heavier. Your own hands wander, and you make a point to avoid the scars on his back. The ones hardly deciphered, the ones that have tied him to a fate you refuse to let him succumb to. No amount of jealousy, no amount of spite, can reverse that ardent decision within your mind. 

You’re not an old coat, Astarion. You whisper it back, along the bond, your physical mouth gaping wide open as you tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling yourself tighten around him. You’re not a worn pair of boots. You’re a person. 

A terrible mon-

You cut off his rebuttal, a complicated person. Snarky, indecisive, too flirtatious for your own good. But still a person, and still worthy. 

Two simple words, and they send shudders through his entire body. Still worthy. You don’t look at him as something to be discarded or owned; you don’t envision him as a prize or a trophy. And you certainly don’t see only his flaws when you look at him. When his ruby eyes meet yours, both his and your own eyelashes flutter ridiculously as all the pressure mounts, the blush of your blood across his cheeks and running down his throat, you both know. You don’t need to put it into words.

Even when he infuriated you. Even when he made you second-guess his companionship in the beginning. Even when he made you swoon like a schoolgirl only to divert his attention. Never once have you fully faulted him for the mistakes. 

He’s done bad things. You’ve all done terrible things. And yet, you still want him. 

He’s worth more than the sum of his worst moments, even if he hadn’t bedded you tonight. You would still help slay Cazador. You would still fight tooth and claw for his freedom. 

You love him. You hate him. You hate to love him, you love to hate him. It’s all smoke and mirrors at the end of the day when you’re feeling the weight of him collapse on top of you. And it’s mutual. The complicated, infuriating emotions are all reciprocated. 

Every inch of your skin stings with the lingerance of his fangs and lips, gasps and mews slipping between your lips as he picks up his pace. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and hips in a failing attempt to pull your body back to his, the reciprocation languid in every stroke. Every slap of his skin against yours, every moan of his own – they mingle in the air and spell out the inevitability of this moment. You swear you feel his sharp nails nick you, a bead of blood no doubt bubbling and staining the sheets below.

You don’t care. He doesn’t, either. 

Your whine echoes through the empty room right along with a harsh grunt from him. He’s ravaging you. Bruising you inside and out. 

“Fuck, Astarion,” you gasp out, giving up using the bond. Your mind has melted far too much for coherent thoughts as both your breaths quicken, both abdomens tightening as you feel him reach even deeper inside your cunt, “Fuck.”

You can feel him letting go just as it feels as though your body might give out. Blissful soreness hidden behind a curtain of pleasure that turns your vision white. You almost wonder if your body had been simply a vessel for his own pleasure this entire time. 

You wouldn’t mind if it had been, but he’s made damn sure it isn’t. 

You’ve never felt quite as cared for as when his hips stutter, feeling warmth fill your fluttering cunt as his open mouth places random kisses anywhere they can reach. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel his tired lips pressing repetitively over your marked neck, your shoulder. They even graze the original bite mark, and the simple action sends shockwaves through you to join the rest of the residual quakes that keep your legs shaking around his waist. 

The bedlinen sticks to your skin from a mixture of blood and sweat as he collapses next to you for a moment, still curling up to you like a cat. Nose running along your bare shoulder, lips still reaching out for you. 

It takes you a second, but when you finally catch your breath, you can’t help but ask the dreaded question, “Does this mean you’re officially mine?” 

His chuckle is unexpected, vibrating against your chest as he rolls most of his weight off you and lifts his head, “Have I not made that much obvious?” 

“I just needed to make sur-”

He cuts off all your hesitation, lifting the entirety of his upper body now, “Allow me to make this very clear to you, darling. I have been yours since the moment you reacted to me holding a dagger to your throat with a damned headbutt.”

You smile sheepishly, “So you’re telling me when I did that… I knocked some sense into you?” 

“Never,” he scoffs, waving a hand, the only sign of his own fatigue to match yours being the way he drops back down at your side. You don’t miss the faint smile gracing his lips, “But it was an impressive move. Quite enchanting for this old heart of mine.” 

“So now you admit that you’re old?” you joke, prodding at an inside joke that had been ongoing since he’d admitted the entirety of his vampiric nature to you. He’d always pouted like a child at any mention of his age, but he’d always allowed only you to get away with any jabs at it. Your entire group still doesn’t speak of his reaction to Gale trying his hand at one of the jokes, “Goodness, what has gotten into you, my Star?” 

He flushes at the nickname, eyes diverting as he slowly creeps his body up the bed, face to face with you now. Your heart tightens a bit when he takes his time replying, swallowing hard, tongue peeking out instinctively as he runs it over his lips and fangs slowly. 

You almost believe he won’t look you in the eyes again, but he does. As he says the heaviest words yet, he looks to you as if you’re the only thing in the room for this moment. 

“I care for you,” his voice comes out tight, nearly strained. “Deeply. You make me want to be… a better… man, monster, whatever I might be. And if that’s a crime?” he pauses, and takes another one of those pesky deep breaths that you’re well aware aren’t vital to him. A glimmer of the human, the person, beneath the self-proclaimed monster. “Well, I haven’t been much of a rule follower thus far in our journey anyways, have I?” 

You pay no mind to his joking tone, seeing the words for what they are. Your hand reaches up, fingers carding through silver waves, and you can’t help your grin when he doesn’t swat you away as he had done Shadowheart for the exact same show of affection the week before. 

I adore you, Astarion. 

Quiet words. Silent words. Only for the two of you, within the confines of a shared mine. 

He clears his throat uncomfortably, “Mind you, I may need some time, given all the memories this wretched city brings-”

“Take all the time you need,” you interrupt. From the second he’d opened up to you, offering that vulnerability in the heat of the moment regarding his body, you’d seen this coming. “I can wait for you, my love. Let’s just focus on surviving all this, yeah?” 

He can’t hide his affection. It’s written plainly on his face, it travels clearly across the bond. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, reaching for your wrist finally, but only to hold it placid as he turns his lips towards it. You think for a moment he might bite you one final time, and you’d let him, but he surprises you. No fangs appear – only the softest of kisses against the most vulnerable of skin. “Survival. Of course.” 

It’s not so much words as it is an image, a promise, that comes to mind from him. The fluttering of a future he sees being possible, the threat of a city burned down should any harm come to you. 

“And no more jealousy,” you croak out, trying to not be overwhelmed by his own emotions mixing with yours. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Another kiss to your wrist, this one far quicker, far more habitual than the first. He’s kissing you simply because he can. 

You know there’s more behind his smile when he whispers, “Oh, of course, lover.” 

And you find out later on the reason for such a mischievous smile, once he’s cleaned you both up and migrated for you two to rest in his claimed bed. When Shadowheart is the first of the group to enter the room, confronted with the image of you curled up on Astarion’s chest as his fingers dance over your aching skin, you don’t even have to wake up properly to see the vision of a smug Astarion through your dreary eyes. 

Words are exchanged, but they’re lost to you in your sleepy state. You only catch the ones that matter. 

“Astarion! Are those bite marks-”

“Mine?” if you were any more conscious, you would have scolded him. He knows it, too, as he squeezes you closer to him, “Why, yes. Yes, they are, our dearest Shadowheart.” 

Shadowheart’s huff of breath tells you all you need to know about Astarion’s smirk. You’ll talk more of jealousy in the morning. 

[kissofmourningdeath]

I need to tear that man apart with my teeth(positive)

[bunnys-kisses]

(✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡* bunny's fic/drabble rec's, summer 2024!

happy summer bunnies! i know as the weather heats up, it means it'll be more time to soak in those rays and that smut! while i am gettin' ready for my birthday fiasco (it's july 4th everyone), i thought i'd share some posts i've loved over the past little while!

call of duty

simon riley x housewife kink (rated: e) by @princessbrunette

fugitive!konig × naive!farmer!reader (rated: e) by @motomamita

simon shares - tf 141 x reader (rated: e) by @canyonmooncreations

barracks bunny!reader but price is extra possessive over her.. (rated: e) by @luvit

rugby player soap fucks you after a win.... (rated: e) by @vanderilnde

141 and each one of them have Bimbo girlfriends who have no idea what they do but just know they get treated well... (rated: e) by @dante-mightdie

in utero (john price) (rated: e) by @captainfern (i owe you my life for this one)

formula one

podium princess | ln + cs + cl (rated: e) by @thef1diary (major (//∀//))

rulebreaker | cs55 (rated: e) by @pedantic-poison

baldur's gate 3

midnight's embrace (halsin/reader/astarion) (rated: e) by @astarionancuntnin

beyond desperation (halsin) (rated: e) by @dragonsfictavern

mating season (halsin) (rating: e) by @dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd

no, my love. i'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia. (astarion) (rated: e) by @lendeah

May I please beg for tiefling tav with Wyll who can't get enough.... (rated: e) by @newtabfics

wishin' everyone a safe summer! <3 xoxo, bunny

[gaysindistress]

The feminine urge isn’t to day dream about your fictional man all day every day.

The feminine urge is to write the most heinously depraved monster au about that man to ever exist.

(I may or may not be fighting that very urge at this moment.)

[animasola86]

🦇 FANGS TO REMEMBER

m!vampires x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 3.6k

On your way back to the party, you come across a graveyard. Unbeknownst to you, you are trespassing onto someone's property, and they are not happy about it. Or are they?

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Vampires! Noncon/dubcon! Threesome! Spitroasting! Biting! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: This is part 5 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7 This is the continuation of OPTION 3/PART 4 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene:

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and after drinking a strange drink, you decide to get some fresh air, running into a werewolf who instantly decides to knot and breed you, and after that ordeal is done, you flee from him, and come across a graveyard...

ADDITIONAL WARNING: This one is very dark. It's more noncon than dubcon, so if you don't like the themes, you can skip it (imagine something dark happening) and read the next part here.

You look around, but there's only one way forward: through the graveyard. It's too dark to see anything else, no maze, no garden, no house, you can't even see the cabin anymore you just left. The night is eerily quiet, no critters, nothing. Even the wind seems to take a break for now.

Inhaling deeply, you hug your arms around your body and take a step through the large wrought-iron gates, looking left and right at the rows of crooked tomb stones. A strange mist wafts close to the ground, giving off an otherworldly glow. The moon is long gone it seems, the sky too cloudy to show any stars, but still you can see the various shapes around you.

You're not easily spooked, usually, but being alone in a cemetery at night makes your imagination run wild, wilder than it has been all evening. The slightest movement makes you flinch as you tread carefully along the path, goosebumps rippling over your exposed skin whenever something brushes against your bare legs. The shirt is soft and warm, but in the end not long enough after all, no matter how hard you tug at its hem.

A sudden shuffling sound makes your blood run cold and you freeze on the spot, your heart beating out of your chest, cold fear gripping your limbs. It came from behind one of the larger tomb stones, decorated with a small angel statue. You stare into the darkness, pressing your lips together to keep the noises from spilling past them. Probably just an animal. Your mind is surely playing tricks on you.

But when the same sound comes from right behind you, you whirl around with a shriek, stumbling back as you see a large black shadow blocking your view. You expect to fall onto your butt, but something keeps you from it, another shadow – and this one has hands. Hands that grip your arms, holding you tightly. Another scream rips from your throat as you thrash about, trying to get away, before another hand finds its way to your mouth, muffling all the noises you want to let out.

Your eyes are wide when the shadows around you form into the shapes of two big men, pale in the eerie light, tall and muscular, dressed surprisingly well for creatures that lurk in the dark.

“What do we have here?” the one with his hand on your mouth says, tilting his head, giving you a smile that makes his handsome face look almost diabolical. “A little rabbit? In our cemetery?”

“Did you get lost, little one?” the other man, the one behind you, whispers as he leans his head closer, rubbing his smooth cheek against yours. It's cold to the touch.

You stiffen, unable to do or say anything. Maybe you're still dreaming, or again. But the way these men grab you feels too real. They are strong. Intimidatingly so. You swallow hard, gasping when the one behind you gives you a deep sniff.

“Ugh, she reeks of dog,” he says with a drawl. “Had some fun with the beast, didn't you?”

Suddenly you feel a hand between your legs, a cold touch, coaxing a muffled yelp out of you as you feel probing fingers right against your warm crotch. “Huh, yeah, he got to her alright. Filled to the brim...” He pulls his fingers away and raises them to your face, and you can see the thick substance coating them. “Too bad, really, I was looking forward to ravaging that sweet cunt...”

You glare at him, both in shock and indignation. He pulls his hand from your mouth and shoves his soiled fingers between your lips. A muffled grunt of protest slips from your throat, but your attempts to get away are futile as the other man still holds your arms tightly. A bitter and slightly salty taste fills your mouth, but with how the man presses his digits onto your tongue you can't do anything but flick it around them, licking them clean.

“At least she seems quite obedient,” he muses with a menacing tone, watching you closely, moving his fingers in and out of your mouth.

“We can still have some fun with her,” the man behind you says quietly, his nose nuzzling your neck. “He hasn't marked her yet. She's fair game.”

“Splendid,” the other replies with a laugh and pulls his fingers away with a wet popping sound. You quickly swallow the spit gathered on your tongue and lick your quivering lips. “So, little bunny, do you wanna try to run? I would die for a little hunt... if I wasn't already dead,” he adds with a reverberating laugh that makes you shiver deeply.

You just stare at him, your chest rising and falling faster. “I don't think she'll come far,” the man rubbing his hands over your arms retorts. “She seems weakened. The beast clearly got her good. Let's just enjoy her until her heart gives out, hm?”

You gasp at the implication, immediately silenced by a hand reaching out to grab your chin. “Fine. It is already enough to hear this beautiful beat,” the man in front of you whispers as he leans closer. “Are you scared, rabbit?”

Your eyes dart over his pale face, and when he bares his teeth and licks them slowly, you stare at his pointy canines. After having just met a real werewolf (or so you think, it's all so fuzzy in your head right now), you shouldn't be surprised to meet actual vampires, in a graveyard no less, pale and cold and strong, with sharp fangs and insatiable appetites, but your body still reacts as if you were indeed just a bunny cornered by two predators. A tiny whimper escapes your throat. “Please...”

“Hmm? Please what? Use your words, darling!” the man behind you snarls, rubbing his nose against your neck before you feel his lips on your pulse, nibbling teasingly.

“Please let me go...” you press out.

“Not going to happen, sweetheart,” he replies, his low voice muffled. “You came to us. Walked right onto our property. It's our right to do with you whatever we like...”

You squirm in his hold when he laps his tongue up your neck. The other man watches you, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip before he suddenly leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours. You gasp, staring at him. “You won't regret it, little one,” he breathes against you. His skin feels cold, but the close proximity makes your cheeks burn up badly. “We'll give you a good time, don't worry your pretty little head!”

And suddenly you are being lifted, nausea rolling over you as you find yourself somehow floating in the air. It's all a blur at this point. Footsteps crunch over gravel and dead leaves, thump against stone plates, old hinges screech as a door is being opened. The fresh air becomes stale and dusty, the light even darker. You move down a set of stairs, but you can't move, your head is swimming, your insides tensing up in a way that borders on painful. You can barely breathe, and you have no idea why.

Candle light flickers to life when the men take you through a large wooden door. Your eyes blink into focus slowly. You seem to be in some sort of mausoleum, old looking, corners full of cobwebs, aged statues lining the walls. In the middle of the round room, there are two stone coffins, both of them open, their heavy stone slabs pushed to the side. You swallow hard, trying to see this as a scene, a decorated room fit for an elaborate Halloween party.

But somehow you doubt this is part of it.

“Excuse the mess,” one of the men says as he walks to the coffins. “We didn't expect company tonight...”

He raises a hand – and as you're being set down on your feet again, you witness how the heavy slab moves seemingly on its own or by a strange unseen force, leaving you even more confused. Both coffins are closed now, and before you can question anything else, you are being draped over the short side of one of them, stomach pressed to the cold stone, arms and legs hanging off the edges. A groan escapes you.

“Let's clean her up first, I can't stand the stink of wolf,” one man says as he steps behind you, pushing your legs further apart. You feel a strange coldness rushing through your body, like water, but not really wet, a sensation that leaves you choking on your own spit. “There, better. Don't you feel better too, darling? No longer stuffed full of disgusting beast semen? Well, I don't want to kink shame or anything, maybe you are into being bred, but we do like our holes squeaky clean – for us to soil all over again.”

You squirm on the stone slab, your hands trying to find purchase on the smooth surface, your legs kicking helplessly, but before you can do anything, the other man steps in front of you, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up. You find yourself face-to-face with his throbbing cock. They don't seem to waste any time, huh? He presses his thumb and finger into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. You issue a groan of protest that is quickly muffled by his surprisingly warm member. You have no choice but to close your lips around it. (Even if you wanted to bite down on him, you couldn't, his hand is still holding your jaw open.)

“Good bunny, you know what to do, hm?” he tells you, slowly rolling his hips against you, his tip scraping along your gums, teasing at the back of your throat. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you feel the need to swallow it before it drips past your lips. When you do, he groans quietly. “Oh, yes, like that. Do that again.” Somehow his words seem to encourage you, and you swallow around him once more, straining your throat enough for tears to fill your eyes.

Behind you, you feel two cold hands rubbing up and down your thighs, gripping them, pulling them apart, before they slip up your rear and push the large shirt out of the way. “So I assume after your little werewolf ordeal, your poor little cunt is a little tired, wouldn't you agree?” he rasps teasingly. “Good thing you have another hole, huh, my sweet?”

You let out a series of muffled cries around the cock in your mouth when you feel probing fingers between your ass cheeks. “Mhmmnngh!” you croak out, thrashing on the stone slab, trying to get away. A sudden slap on your soft rear makes you howl, but ultimately stops your fidgeting. Your skin burns and throbs horribly. “Shh, relax, rabbit. You can take it. See?”

Before you can react, you feel a strange pressure against your sphincter, a teasing touch but unrelenting, and suddenly you have a finger in your ass. Your tight muscles clench around the thick digit, and you wriggle in your compromised position, almost gagging yourself on the dick between your lips when you push yourself against the man's groin and his cock deeper into your mouth. A jerk goes through your body, your hands fruitlessly trying to hold onto anything.

You don't feel in control of your limbs anymore, it's strange. You can feel everything, but you can't move, only rock back and forth on the coffin. The man behind you pushes his finger deeper, then pulls it out and replaces it with two. The stretch hurts, and you let out a muffled wail. Your noises seem to encourage him when he moves them in and out faster, deeper, a hard press against your protesting muscles.

Meanwhile the man holding your jaw increases the pace of his hips slamming against your face. His cock pushes deep, and you gag violently when he breaches your throat, your body convulsing, spit filling your mouth. He pulls back slightly, allows you to breathe and cough and swallow, but then repeats the motion, and you gag again, and the cycle continues. Your head is spinning by the fifth time he forced his length down your throat, and you feel too weak to protest anymore.

Not even when you notice that the man playing with your ass has added another finger and is plunging his hand hard against your rear, a dizzying rhythm, forceful, stretching you for whatever comes next. You can guess and it scares you. But there's nothing you can do as he suddenly pulls his fingers out with a wet pop and you feel his cockhead pressing against your slightly gaping hole. A deep grunt escapes him when he rocks his pelvis forward, sinking into your depths without mercy, carving his way through your impossible tightness.

Your muffled scream is overpowered by loud gurgling noises as the cock in your mouth pistons in and out fast, always pushing deep, bulging your neck, his crotch slapping into your face with each thrust. You are pushed and pulled, rocked back and forth, impaled front and back, cold hands holding your head up or digging into your hips as the two men use you for their pleasure, their grunts filling the space around you.

Despite their rough handling, you feel a strange heat growing inside you, and you realize that with every slam into your ass or snap into your throat, you are rubbed over the rough stone, and your clit quickly feels raw and swollen from the added stimulation. Moaning into the rapidly moving cock in your mouth, you focus on the good feelings, not the burning friction in your rear, not the rawness of your throat, the lack of air or the helplessness, just the bliss that tries to fight through the pain and discomfort.

But before you can even imagine any edge to fall over, they suddenly slow down, languid strokes that push deep until they stop altogether, one cock buried deep in your ass, the other pushed all the way down your throat as pubic hair tickles your nostrils. Your eyes roll back, your lungs burn, your body spasms fruitlessly. Groans echo in your ear.

“Let's turn her around,” one says.

“You wanna switch places too?” the other replies, almost a little breathlessly.

“Sure, I bet she doesn't mind a little ass to mouth action, huh, sugar?”

A loud slap against your bruised rear makes you gag violently, and as spit fills your mouth and tears stream down your face, you are being rotated on the cold stone slab, arms still hanging limply to the ground while your legs twitch as they're being pushed up and against your heaving chest, opening you up further. Cold air brushes over your exposed skin, and for a short moment they let go of you, cocks pull back, leaving trails of stickiness all over your face and crotch.

You are lightheaded, barely able to function, and that moment of reprieve is short-lived. You didn't even get the chance to swallow or breathe properly before a cock is being shoved back into your mouth. Hands curl around the back of your head, holding it up as the stiff and slimy length is pushed straight into your bruised throat. You can only croak out a muffled grunt before a heavy pair of balls slam against your nose.

“Tongue out,” the man above you orders, and you comply, hoping it'll be easier with your mouth wide open and your tongue extended to guide the throbbing cock in and out. “Good. Just like that. Look at that neck bulging. Ugh,” he continues, groaning as he rams deep into your throat and rests there, cutting off any air flow you may have had earlier. You squirm on the coffin, limbs twitching helplessly.

Before you drift off into unconsciousness, he pulls back and slaps your cheek. The pain drags you back immediately. “No fainting, rabbit, we need you awake for this.” You cough hoarsely, spit and precum flying through the air. You're too weak to open your eyes, and it doesn't matter anyway. His hand is on your neck now, squeezing slightly. “Ahh, yes, listen to that frantic heartbeat,” he rasps, slowly slipping his cock back between your lips. “Are you afraid to choke, hm? Or does that turn you on?”

You gag when he presses into your throat slowly, your whole body jerking against the man on the other side, who's holding your legs open and pressed to your chest. You are allowed to cough and swallow before it happens all over again, again and again, and while one man fucks your throat with reckless abandon, the other rubs his cold hand down your mound, teasing at your swollen clit, parting your puffy labia, but then he dips his finger into your ass, completely ignoring your hungrily clenching cunt.

There's no further preparation, and a moment later he shoves his cock into your tight hole, making you wail against the dick in your throat. He lets go of your legs, causing them to flop about wildly with each thrust as he starts pounding into you hard and fast, then you feel his long fingers on your burrowed shirt. You barely register how it's ripped open, but you do feel those cold palms pressing onto your soft mounds, pebbling your skin, your nipples hardening instantly. The touch is almost soothing among all the other things happening to you.

It's a whirlwind of sensations, the lack of air and strain to your throat and jaw on one side, the rough friction and burning heat and hard pummeling on the other. You are moved back and forth on the stone surface, a limp body to be used. You don't know how long this is going on, but these guys seem to have incredible stamina. They just won't stop.

Whenever you feel as if you're slipping into the welcoming darkness, you are slapped and brought back, your cheeks burning and throbbing, but it's only one of many aches by now. You can't decide which is worse, the suffocating stretch when a cock buries deep into your throat, or the rough pummeling of sore muscles when the other cock rams into your tight ass. It's all a blur in the end.

The men are groaning and grunting, snapping their hips against you, uncaring of your discomforts. They're chasing their own orgasms while you remain teetering far away from any sort of release. The room is filled with loud squelching noises, gurgles and slurps, slapping of skin against skin, a soundscape that seems to be your only form of stimulation. Not even the cold hands on your breasts push you further to the edge, they are just there, holding you, groping hard, anchoring you as you are pushed back and forth.

At least they have a rhythm now, in and out in an alternating way, almost like a seesaw, in goes the one in your throat, out moves the one in your ass, and then it's the other way around. And somehow you find comfort in it as you lie there, held in place, unable to move, your eyelids fluttering, tears and snot drying on your sweat-slick skin.

It's then that you feel cold fingers brushing down your quivering belly, down, down, until they rub against your clit, and you arch your back, inhale that cock in your throat, jerk your hips against the one pounding into your ass, and you come, clenching down hard, stiffening, eyes rolling back, bliss exploding through the veils of darkness.

You feel like floating, leaning into the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you let it all happen. And as you do, the men's motions grow jerkier, rougher, faster, and they come too, almost at the same time. Cum shoots down your throat, and you'd expect to feel the same sensation in your ass, but the man there pulls out and empties himself all over your mound and stomach, all the way to your neck. The pressure in your throat loosens then, and similar spurts of wet warmth hit your face.

Raspy breaths make it past your soiled, swollen lips as you lie there with your eyes closed. Strong hands move you until you're lying fully on your back, legs outstretched, arms put at the sides of your body, head supported by the hard stone slab beneath you. Cold fingers trail your skin.

“I wish we could keep her,” you hear a quiet voice that barely makes it past the cotton in your head.

“I'm not risking another war with those savages just because of one puny human...” says a different voice. “We'll find another one.”

“Let's feed and get her back onto the path.”

You blink your eyes open, noticing the two men, the two vampires, standing over you, staring down at you from both sides of the coffin. Their teeth are bared, fangs glistening in the swaying candle light, and before you can do anything, they lean down, one goes straight for your neck, his pointy canines sinking deeply into your skin, and you feel it, despite your fucked-out state, you feel the cold crashing through your veins.

The same sensation happens between your legs, on one of your inner thighs as the other bites down into your soft flesh. You whimper soundlessly, throat hoarse and sore, body too weak to move against the assault. They suck your blood noisily, like the thirsty monsters they are, and you just let it happen, again, what other choice do you have? Your head is spinning as you feel the cold spread through your trembling limbs.

And the world fades...

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

End notes: The last part is here!

By the way, this is a nod towards my standalone Vampire oneshot Down the Rabbit Hole which also has dubcon elements and more than one vampire, but isn't as dark.

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[itshelia]

My mom to her friends, my aunts, and literally everyone she knows: Yeah, my kid is so smart. She is on her phone a lot of the time, but it's not like you guys think, She is not like how kids nowadays are, She reads a lot of books on her phone!!

Me, a fanfic reader who can survive off nothing but just words and day dreams herself to sleep:

[connorsui]

You ever read something soo fucking good

that you feel like you are sniffing a line of coke!?

It don't even matter if it's angst or fluff or if it's fucking noncon filled with dead dove do not eat with a side of smut

THAT FIC DESERVES TO NOT ONLY LIVE IN MY BOOKMARKS

BUT BECOME ONE WITH MY CELLS SO IT REPLICATES FOR ETERNITY

[yawnderu]

Your personal thoughts on titties fuck?

No characters or anything? Just MY personal thoughts?? 😭

It's hot af imo, ways to be intimate without penetration are pretty nice and fun :3 (can u tell i haven't slept with anyone since like October)

Speaking of it, I bet Simon, Nikto, König and Astarion enjoy those a lot. And of course, the disgusting men: Krauser and Heisenberg.♡♡

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 21: Bonfire

(gif source)

A/N: hi, post con ghost is here to provide you with your next fic live from his bed lol. hope y’all have been enjoying everything thus far!- mod ghost 

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x GN!Reader

Summary: Winding down with not only the party, but Astarion 

After a particularly long day of adventuring, settling in at camp always seemed to make any and all problems melt away. Tonight was no different, however, as you and your companions got yourselves comfortable for the night. There wasn’t quite anything like sitting around a campfire with a group of the people you were closest to in the world, whether you were connected by mindflayer parasites or not.

Gale, being the self-assigned camp cook, made a hearty stew from all of the various things you’d foraged throughout the day which was honestly the best any of you’d eaten in weeks. He was a good cook, and you felt guilty that he had to work with such measly ingredients most of the time, but he had signed up to do it so voluntarily that you assure yourself he doesn’t mind as much as you think he might.

So now, you sat on the ground with a warm bowl in your lap and your friends around you but before you could wonder what you might be missing, you felt a hand gently landing at the small of your back with warm breath ghosting over your ear.

“Miss me, darling?” You heard a familiar voice whisper before you see Astarion sat down beside you.

“Always, my love. Where were you?” You asked softly, his hand gently coming to rest on your thigh as the two of you spoke.

“Never mind that just now, hm? We can talk more about it later, when there’s less of an…audience.” He glanced around the fire, his ears twitching much like some of the cats you’ve seen in the lower city.

“Is it that much of a secret?” You chuckled as you watched him practically hiss at the thought of company. No matter how he seemed to dislike all of your friends, you knew that he truly did care about them.

“Do the lovebirds wanna share what they’re whispering about with the rest of the class?” Karlach yelled from across the fire, making Shadowheart laugh which you couldn’t remember seeing her do before. You feel Astarion tense next to you, showing vulnerability being something he was still incredibly new to.

Before he could speak, you answered loudly, “I dunno, do they?” You saying that made both girls blush in the dim light of the campfire as Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Lae’zel, and Minthara suddenly quieted to also listen to the conversation. Everyone in this camp was a sucker for gossip, you swear. When the roar of conversation around you resumed, Astarion smirked as he leaned in close to you again, “I’m impressed, darling, I must be rubbing off on you”

“Or you’re just bringing out a side of me that was already there.” You returned his smug energy, crossing your arms and leaning into his side as his arm settled easily over your shoulder. No one was paying much attention to either of you anymore, which made it easier for him to be soft with you. Showing any kind of PDA this genuinely felt awkward and stilted for him at times as he was still getting used to someone caring about him this deeply, but it was easier when he was mostly shrouded in shadow or when the rest of the party were wrapped up in other things.

One by one, each of your friends excused themselves to one tent or another and the fire dulled down to a quiet roar compared to what it once was, leaving you and Astarion under the stars together once again.

Speaking of the stars, Astarion was currently staring up at them, watching the night sky as if something was about to fall from it. You didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to disturb him. He had an almost childlike wonder to him right now, watching the stars glint and shine from however many millions of miles away they were. Though, he could seemingly feel your eyes on him, since he stopped only a moment or two later.

“Apologies, I–”

You gently put your finger to his lips, shaking your head, “You don’t have to apologize, the stars are amazing. I want you to be able to love the beauty of the dark as well as the majesty of daylight.” You whisper, resting your head on his shoulder as you add a little more fuel to the fire to keep the two of you warm. For once, Astarion didn’t argue, he just tilted his head back up toward the sky and continued to stargaze. You, however, watched him more than you watched the stars, admiring how the light of the moon mixed with the fire’s glow on his face to make his face look like a masterpiece.

“Do you think I’ll be able to walk in the sun without the power of the parasite again?” Astarion whispered, his voice almost broken and pained.

“I’d like to think so, but I don’t want to promise you something I’m unsure I can give you. We will find a way for you to thrive in this life again, though. You can trust me on that.” You slipped your hand in his as you spoke, giving it a gentle squeeze. He silently nodded, watching the sky as if he was staring through the darkness straight to the gods and begging them to give him a second chance at living.

The rest of the night was spent in mostly silence, sitting by the fire as it slowly died out and you giving him silent comfort mainly just by being there. You eventually fell asleep together, laying under the blanket of fiery stars above you in each other's arms.