#astarion is allowed little a blood. for blushing

[noctude]

i’ve watched that live show 3 times since it came out and cannot stop thinking about it

(edit: for those who haven’t seen it)

[the-hidden-pages]

Kinktober Day 1 - 'Love' Bites | Overstimulation - Astarion x Fem!Reader

Love bites | Overstimulation | Impact play

Coming out the gates strong with 3500+ words for this man. It has not been edited, I have work in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Summary: With the promise of taking you to a quiet little piece of nowhere to forget all the madness of the adventure, Astarion pulls out all the stops to ensure you forget everything, except the pleasure he gives you.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, Vampire Kink, Overstimulation, Crying, Light Choking, Dirty Talk

You and Astarion had always had an arrangement.

To say you bonded quickly with your party would be an understatement - having the tadpole within your mind and surviving the same crash tends to form that immediate trauma bond. But you and the vampire had formed a deeper understanding of each other much sooner than the others.

That night, so early on in your adventure, when you awoke to the man perched over you, fangs bared and your throat exposed for the taking, things simply couldn’t go back to the status quo.

It fogged your mind the entirety of the next day, the proximity, the adrenaline, the pure, undiluted hunger.

You’ve allowed him to feed from you every night since.

You played it off as trust, at first. Trust in him, a want to have him fully strengthened for battle. Nothing but business.

But it didn’t take long for him to understand your underlying motivation, the reason you allowed yourself to feel drained, exhausted, and weak for each battle moving forward, perpetually distracted by the memory of his lips and teeth at your neck. The memory welcomed the fantasies with open arms, fantasies of his hands wandering as he drank, kissing your lips with your own blood on his own, his fangs sinking into your thighs, before wandering higher…

Still, you were never going to force it. 

So, you allowed him to continue to drink, both aware of the growing tension, both refusing to move further.

Until that changed.

When Astarion came to you, offering for you both to find a “little piece of nowhere”, somewhere to “forget all this madness”, you sure as hell weren’t about to decline.

A chance to get him out of your head was exactly what you needed to think clearly.

Night had long since fallen, as you sat pretending to read one of many absurd tomes Gale had collected throughout the journey. A life of adventuring doesn’t make for the most consistent sleep schedule, and as such awaiting for the entire party to call it a night was practically torment as you tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

But no amount of pretending to study the Oral Histories of Faerun could distract you from wondering what pleasures tonight would bring.

When finally, finally, Karlach decided to call it a night, you waited a few moments more before creeping off to where Astarion had told you to meet him.

Any other night it may have been eerie, creeping through the woods unarmed  as the moon rose high in the sky. But all you could feel was the anticipation growing, humming in every nerve of your body like someone had struck you with a Witch Bolt.

Your heart nearly stopped as movement caught your eye.

There, emerging from the trees, already shirtless, was the vampire.

You had seen him in various states of undress before - curing wounds of various weapons and spells will do that. But there was something different about it in this circumstance, seeing him perfectly unscathed, strong and confident from the weeks of draining your life from your veins, silver hair and pale skin hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight.

“There you are,” he spoke lowly, striding slowly towards you. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

While the words themselves made you blush, you couldn’t help comment.

“The moment you set eyes on me you had a knife to my throat.”

“Ah,” he sighed, walking slowly around you, bringing his fingers to lightly trail up your arm. “But if you remember, I did notice then and there what a darling neck you had, I just knew it would be heavenly.”

He closed the distance between you, and you could promptly feel his strong form cold against your back, a prominent bulge pressing into you, and his breath on your neck making you lightheaded.

His hand trailed down your neck to trace the marks he had been leaving nightly. “And I was right.”

Despite how little he had done, you had grown so wound up from the endless fantasies from his nights of feeding that you were already weak in the knees.

His left hand lightly began to caress your thigh, as his right takes to untying the strings of your loose shirt, his mouth never stopping.

“You’ve been so helpful these last few weeks darling, allowing me for the first time to indulge in the blood of a human, giving me strength at your expense. You’ve been so good for me too, holding back all those little sounds you’ve been wanting to make, pretending like you don’t get wet just at the thought of me drinking from you, like you don’t get soaked from the moment my lips touch your neck. Hmm?”

Your breathing was already heavy, your thighs already squeezing together in some attempt for stimulation - it was already too much. All you could do was nod, a breathy ��yes” escaping you as your shirt is undone, falling to the forest floor.

His hands begin to explore, lightly tracing up your arms, down your stomach, across your collarbone. “And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you my love? To keep us alive, to keep us all going. You’ve been so helpful to all of us, to me, I think it’s time I take some weight off of those pretty little shoulders.”

Suddenly, forcefully, he spins you around, steadying you by grabbing your hips. You look into the red eyes that gaze at you intently, with an emotion that is so close to something like love, devotion, but feeling just slightly too forced, slightly too uncanny.

That gaze is a problem for another day, you determine, as he sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, untying your trousers.

After all, the love may not be real, but the lust in his eyes sure as hell is.

He makes slow work of the fabric, speaking up at you the entire time.

“Dearest, I intend to do exactly as I promised. I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve given me, the trust you’ve placed in me. Allow me to please you, to make you forget about everything, if only for a night. Will you allow me this?”

You nodded, mutely, as you stepped out of your pants.

He gazed up at you again, eyes drinking you in, darkening as they travel up your body, stopping at between your legs, your chest, your neck.

When his eyes met yours again, he stood up quickly, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You had thought about this moment too often.

What he would taste like, how his fangs would feel against your tongue, how his lips would feel against yours. He pulled you into him desperately, and the sensation of your bare chest against his made your head spin, gasping into the kiss as he took full control, kissing you with such a passion that you might have thought there was more to it than a simple need for release, repayment.

He pulled away all too soon, thumb caressing your lower lip as he gazed at you in that absurdly sultry way of his.

“Before I take your breath away,” he breathed out, pausing to kiss your cheek. “I need to know what you want from me darling.” Another pause, a kiss to the jaw now. “Tell me how to please you.” A kiss behind the ear. “Tell me how to make you scream.”

You were barely keeping it together, eyes already fluttering closed.

A sharp bite to the neck, not enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp, brought you out of it. His red eyes gazed at you intently, awaiting your response.

“I want you to take control,” you speak, feeling as though you’re giving a confession. “I don’t want to think. I want you to drain me of my blood, of my thoughts. Make me cum, make me scream, make me feel so good it hurts, until I’m begging you to stop, Astarion.”

“Oh, darling,” he nearly growled, his hand caressing your cheek. “I'll do just that.”

He spun you again, once again catching you off guard. Within moments, you feel him press up against you again, this time the hardness of his cock being released from his pants, discarded far into the forest you assumed. 

“You mustn’t keep a sound from me, by the way,” he spoke lightly. “I’ll know if you do.”

You aren’t allowed much time to consider that as you feel his lips on your neck, pecking and lightly biting and sucking. His hands trail upwards to cup your breasts, slowly, softly, deeply massaging, as though he’s trying to feel every inch of your skin. His fingers lightly pinch and tug against your peaks, and he leaves soft bites on your neck, never enough to break the skin.

It had only been moments, but you’re whining, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thigh.

“Astarion, please,” you breathe, hand coming up to lace in his hair in an attempt to force him deeper into your neck.

He just laughed. “Darling I’ve barely touched you and you’re begging. Allow me to take my time with you.”

His left hand stays at your breast as his right once again wanders downward, slowly reaching your inner thigh.

“I can smell it, you know,” he muttered lowly in your ear, and you almost squeak, flushed with embarrassment. “Every time you’re so wet you can barely think, stuck in your little fantasies as I drink from you. You do so well, hiding your wants from me, but I’ve always known, and I’ve always wanted to push it further, to let my hand wander between your pretty little legs and feel just how wet for me you are…”

As he takes a pause, his fingers reach your folds, lightly caressing up and down, circling your clit, and you both sigh.

“Astarion…”

“Hells, you want me so badly don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, I’m not here to deny you, angel. I’ll give you everything you want…”

Without warning, two of his slender, delightfully long digits enter you, and you release a moan louder than you expected.

“Very good,” he praised, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace, as he resumed his work on your neck. He continued to suck and bite, no doubt leaving a myriad of bruises and marks that you would have to explain away tomorrow.

He growls again, biting a little harder, though still not hard enough to draw any blood, you notice. His fingers within you speed up, spreading in a way that has you choking out another moan.

“I can hear you thinking, darling. That’s not what we want now, is it?”

“No - fuck, there,” you moan deeper, head tilting back as his fingers reach a place in you that is forever out of your reach.

“Oh, good girl,” he purrs, focusing on that one spot. “Good girl, telling me what you want. Focus on your body, darling, not your thoughts. Feel me against you, feel me in you, feel how badly you need that release.”

“Astarion please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Bite me harder.”

“Oh, not yet my sweet. We have all night for that, and I would quite like to sample the nectar between your thighs before tasting your heavenly blood. But I’ve left such a wonderful piece of work on your neck, now everyone at the camp will know now more than ever that you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, feeling the waves of heat overcome you and your thighs begin to collapse, your release hitting hard and fast at his use of possessive language.

“Very good, darling,” he praised, holding you up as your vision spun. His fingers didn’t cease as you came, immediately riling you back up, moans spilling out of you louder than before. You hadn’t noticed when he had added a third finger, but you felt the stretch as he pushed in, the emptiness when he pulled out.

You needed more, and he was clearly eager to give it to you.

“Lie down, my darling,” he whispered in your ear. “Allow me to worship you further.”

You did so without hesitation, resting back on a relatively flat portion of the forest floor, spreading your legs as Astarion knelt down, bringing your legs up on to his shoulders and staring down hungrily at you.

Despite the ferocity in his eyes, he took his time, kissing from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, and then your right. The moment you felt your frustration grow to a peak, he bit down, once again leaving marks but never breaking the skin, marking the soft flesh of your thigh.

He teased you for a few moments before the impatience struck him as well, and leaned forward further, licking a long stripe up your folds.

“Oh darling, and I thought your blood was heavenly,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he went to work.

Immediately your hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing in some attempt to regain any sort of sanity in this moment. His tongue worked wonders, knowing exactly how to work inside you before retreating, teasing at your clit, before the vicious cycle repeated. His hands clenched your thighs as though they were a life line, and the moans that left him traveled into the depths of your core.

It didn’t take long, you were already falling over the edge again, now shouting as the pleasure grew blinding.

“I could stay here forever,” you could barely hear him lament, mind fogged. You blinked blearily as you focused on his face that was now above yours, glistening with your release as he grinned ferally, hand briefly coming up to clench at your throat. “But I have more planned for you.”

Despite your exhaustion, you feel the warmth in your core grow, another release of slick as his cock presses up against your folds.

“May I, pet?”

All you can do is moan pathetically, something between “yes” and “please” falling out of you as you weakly nod.

“Darling, you’re a vision,” once again, he strokes your cheek, uncharacteristically loving for the cold vampire. “Completely fucked out, and we haven’t even arrived at the main course.”

With that, you feel him enter you, no resistance give how worked up you are.

You take a moment, joined, as he breathes heavily into your neck and you let out quiet moans, words completely failing you.

“Divine,” he breathes, returning to kiss your neck, the sensitivity of it making you clench around him immediately. “Oh, so divine, darling I could have you for eternity, such a better use of our time than fighting all of these tiresome battles.”

He began to pump in and out of you slowly, your mind spinning from the weight of him on top of you, the sensation of being fucked so deeply, overwhelmed by the afterglow of all that had happened.

And still his words didn’t cease.

“I could keep you forever, a precious little pet, tied to the bed to fuck whenever I wanted. Or perhaps the other way around, I would wait an eternity just for another chance to taste you, to please you. Whatever fantasy you wish darling, we can fulfill it tonight, I swear to you - fuck.”

He picks up the pace as you clench around him yet again, your release not even having a build up, but instead crashing against you like a tsunami. You feel the wetness seep down your thighs, coating where the pair of you connect.

“Ast-ar…” you can barely breathe, and he laughs almost maniacally.

“Very good, darling, just like that. Give in to me. You don’t need a single thought in that head now, focus only on me and let go. You can cum again, you can, for me.”

“Can’t - I can’t…”

“Oh, you can and you will, if you want me to drink from you tonight,” he muttered darkly, and you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Astarion.”

“You have to cum again, to get what you want. Just one more time, my darling. One more and you’ll please me so well. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You muster up the last of the strength you have, words falling from you without control. 

“Yes, fuck, yes please, Astarion, please I want to come, I want you to bite me, I need to be yours, I need you ~”

It was almost as though your last orgasm hadn’t ended, with how quickly this one had began. An endless torrent that had the tears breaking, pouring down your face and into the dirt. You nearly choked out a scream, clenching around him so tightly that you feel Astarion tense, cursing wildly as you feel a warmth flood you.

You take a moment, trying with all your might to remember how to breathe, mouth gaping, expecting Astarion to move from you any moment.

Instead you shriek as he thrusts again, hand once again curled around your neck, stopping any chance you had at catching your breath.

“We aren’t done,” he growled, your own slick and his cum leaking out of you as he continued to fuck you, harder now, less restrained that before, nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving you. “We are so far from done, my love. You’re mine, you’re mine.”

Finally, what you had been begging for all night came to pass, and his fangs sunk deep into that claimed spot of your neck. You felt the familiar warmth and euphoria as your blood drained into his hungry mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo and hips moving at an inhumane pace.

And he was right.

You were his, blood and body and mind, it was all his. He had consumed every inch of you.

It was incredible, it was numbing, all you could think about was Astarion. Every molecule of you was on fire, and screamed to be connected to him, to never leave this moment, to stay in an eternity of this torment, but after four orgasms and on the verge of a fifth, with the ecstasy of his fangs in your neck, you simply couldn’t continue.

“Too much,” you manage to croak out, tears streaming down your cheeks and your entire body screaming. Your hands grip the vampire's arms tightly when he doesn’t immediately stop, nails biting into his skin. “Too much, stop!”

Immediately the fangs retract and he’s gently pulling out of you, red eyes wide with a hint of a rare expression on his face.

Fear.

“Darling I’m so sorry, did I take too much? I felt you going limp but, hells you’re so delicious I must have been lost in it-”

You shook your head quickly, placing a hand on his chest as you tried to collect your thoughts, tears still streaming.

“No, no, no,” you breathe out, still gasping. “Not the blood, you’re alright. It was too much, I really can’t cum again, it's too much. Too much good, I promise.”

The fear melted away to a more familiar expression, a smug smirk. 

“Oh darling,” he purred, hand trailing up and down your inner thigh in a soothing but teasing manner. “I don’t know about that, you can still manage full sentences. Clearly too much brain power left…and I could go all night.”

“Astarion.”

A rare, genuine chuckle left the man as he began softly stroking your arm and playing with your hair, easing you down from your intense high.

When your breathing leveled out, he began to stand up, and you nearly whined.

Sensing your distress, he waved lightly. “I’ll be but a moment.”

He sauntered away, and you laid back, taking the moment to look up at the stars, basking in the glow of the orgasms and the moon.

He really had done his job, you had to admit to yourself. You were struggling to form a coherent thought.

When he returned, he had clothed himself, and had a small cloth in his hand. Striding over to you he gently knelt down yet again, running it over the blood stains on your neck, the mess between your thighs.

You stared at him, and he caught your look of surprise.

“What?” he asked, an affronted tone. “I know how to treat my lovers, darling.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle, closing your eyes. “Just a softie, I knew it.”

“Hardly,” he huffed, chucking the cloth off to who knows where and pulling you up against his chest. 

He began to play with your fingers, lightly tracing the veins in your hands and up your arms. The pair of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, no words passing between you, but a silent understanding growing.

“We ought to go back to the camp,” Astarion eventually broke the peace, smirking at your disappointed expression. His arms encircled you once again, and you tried not to dwell on how good it felt. “Despite your rather loud vocals, I believe the others didn’t hear us, and unless you’d like to explain to them why you aren’t walking properly tomorrow…”

You snort, pushing him off of you. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

One thing was certain, you noted as you returned to your bedroll, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. 

You’ll need extra healing from Shadowheart in the morning.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Just some Astarion vampire headcanons and thoughts I’ve brainstormed with my partner, since dnd vampirism is a little lean on actual lore and rules.

Feeding gives him a “blush of life” effect that I’m just stealing shamelessly from vampire the requiem rules. No heartbeat, but he’ll be warmer, flushed and less corpse-like than normal. Can pass for a living person.

Needs to feed to get erections. No blood, no boner.

Being starved of blood starts shutting down his senses. Taste is always fucked up now because of the vampirism, but without blood his senses of touch, smell, as well as vision and hearing, are all heavily impacted. This was deliberate by Cazador to keep him weakened.

When he says most of his lovers/victims couldn’t even provide him temporary bliss, it’s because (unknown to him) his sense of touch is extremely dulled while starved. Rat blood makes him functional but it barely allows him to feel any stimulation.

The blood of thinking creatures is akin to ambrosia. It’s not just the temporary satiation of his unending hunger, but being able to feel things again. The wind on his skin, the damp chill of a rainy night, the heat from the grymforge…even being able to sweat again. It’s all brand new to him.

His senses on thinking creature’s blood are not only restored but sharpened. More so after the tadpole is removed and his full spawn power is unlocked again.

Can smell your blood while it’s still in your veins; moving thru your body. Can sense an emotional (or sexual 🥴) response this way. His heightened hearing can easily tell when your heart rate quickens.

That’s all I got! I’d love to hear more, if anyone has their own vampirism headcanons to share 👀

[faerievampling]

A Long Night

Summary: After Astarion and Tav have their first fight, Astarion is desperate to make up but can't fight his frustration. Set during Act 3, before the end of Astarion's personal quest.

word count: 1.5K

Link to AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. Biting. Blood drinking. Angst. Astarion is a bit possessive. Soft dom Astarion. Mild dub-con.

A/N: I meant to post something sweet about spawn!astarion but it's not ready yet...but this is :)

You and Astarion had had your first fight. It was about Cazador’s ritual, of course; the topic had been coming to a boiling point between the two of you. You can’t even really remember what all was said, only the outcome of the conversation: Astarion put his foot down and told you that he was going to take the power regardless of what you wanted. He said it was for the best, for both of you. Then, he stormed off, leaving you and the rest of your party standing in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Your embarrassment quickly reached your face, and you shooed your companions away, wanting to be alone for a while. But now, after a long walk, you finally arrive at the Elfsong Tavern.

You make your way to you and Astarion’s room and begin to take your armor off: unfortunately for you, you wore heavy armor. Even after so many months of adventuring, getting your armor off was a task you still struggled with, especially after a long day. It was bulky, difficult to take apart, and so heavy. It often leaves you frustrated to deal with alone. 

Astarion helped you take it off every night. He would pretend to be frustrated or annoyed with the task, but was always certainly happy with the result: that armor protected his beloved from the hardest hits.

You have only unclasped the right arm when you hear the opening of a door and feel another pair of hands on you. You already know it’s him. You’re greatly relieved, because part of you was worried he’d run from you. Astarion could be rather avoidant; the armor surrounding his mind might just be as tough as what you wear on the physical battlefield.

Astarion begins to work your armor off, not saying a word as he does. You allow yourself to breathe deeply, taking in his scent as he helps you shed the weight of the day.

Once you’re free, you shiver, feeling a bit exposed. As Astarion begins to take off his own armor, you gather your things and slink away to the washroom. Although Astarion usually joins you in the bath, you figure he won’t follow, because surely he is still angry.

He wants power. He said he wanted it for the both of you. Forever. For good. You wonder what he meant by that. You certainly understood the implication, but Astarion is known to embellish.

But you had already made your decision: you couldn’t allow it. You couldn’t allow your beloved to enter into a contract with Mephistopheles. To sacrifice seven thousand souls - it was unconscionable.

As you ease into the warm water, the smell of lavender wafts from the newly disturbed surface. You and Astarion had been lucky enough to get a private room with a washroom attached; the room resembled a small bathhouse more so than a wooden tub, which you had been grateful for, because it made for a luxurious experience.

You allow yourself to fully relax as you slide yourself to the depths of the tub, bringing your head underwater. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of your own blood pumping through your veins for as long as you can stand it. After an impressive length of time, you think to yourself, you hear the creak of the door. You bring yourself up, gasping for air as you push your hair out of your face. 

Astarion is there, and because you’re a little shocked from his presence, you can’t help but watch, unblinking as he begins to peel away his underclothes. 

Your heart races at the sight of his nakedness; the flicker of the candlelight dances across his muscular form, making your core feel swollen and needy. A blush rises to your cheeks and the tip of your ears, prompting Astarion to give you a little smile. 

His body was perfect—his alabaster skin, his muscled form, even the impressive length of his cock, which was already half hard, you could see. 

Astarion eases himself in the bath, water rippling around his gorgeous form. “I don’t want to fight anymore, love,” his voice is even, his hungry eyes sweeping over your naked body, lingering at the buds of your breasts that peek out from the water's surface. 

Treading water, he comes to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap bridal style. He holds your gaze for a long moment before resting his forehead on yours.

You knew this tender moment was both an apology and a declaration of his love; one you appreciated, but were weary to accept. You want Astarion to use his words - to say he is sorry, or to ask for an apology, or something. You just wanted him to communicate, but you are so scared to push him.

He tenderly brushes his full lips onto your own, and you try not to react. You don’t want to give in. As you try to formulate the right words in your head, Astarion moves to the curve of your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point before he nips at you, breaking your skin with the prick of a fang. A small droplet of blood blossoms from the wound, and you pull away, giving Astarion an incredulous look.

He’s supposed to ask.

He releases one of his arms from you, his hand trailing down the front of your body, brushing a nipple with his thumb before nestling between your legs. Fingertips graze your sensitive folds, making you shiver despite the warmth of the water. 

“Astarion,” You plead before he slips a finger inside you, teasing your lips with his thumb; your walls contract around his knuckles, drawing him in deeper.  

His lips meet yours, his tongue finding entry as he tastes you. 

You can feel the increasing hardness of cock against your ass as his finger stirs inside you. You feel the pressure of a second finger against your entrance for just a moment before he slides it inside you, filling you up a bit sooner than you’re ready.

A desperate whimper escapes your lips as he stretches your walls. Astarion pumps in and out of you, fucking you with his fingers, every thrust going deeper until he’s curling his fingers inside you, pressing on that spot that is so sweet, tender, and so deeply nestled inside you.

You’re feeling your build up, that delicious feeling of the anticipation of ecstasy; you already want to come. But you can’t ignore your need to check in on your lover: you break away from his dedicated kisses, surveying his handsome face.

“Astarion,” Your voice is higher than usual. You try to pull away from him, but his arm has you locked in. What he is doing with his fingers threatens you every second, and you know you are so close, but you continue to edge yourself, holding back the come that threatens to gush from your folds.

“Tav,” His voice is low and full-bodied. “You needn’t pull away from me, you know.”

“You -” You begin to say, but Astarion only digs his fingers in harder, deeper, your impending orgasm becoming almost impossible to ignore, emptying your brain. 

Astarion’s face twists, the frustration apparent on his face. “I’m fine,” he growls against your skin. “Am I not allowed to take my lover when I want? Would you really deny me that, too?” Before you can respond, his lips are on you, tongue crashing into yours as he continues his ministrations on you. 

The nip of his fang on your lip causes you to gasp, but Astarion is lapping and sucking at it, his own murmurs of pleasure causing you to buck your hips into his hand. You spasm and struggle in his grasp, but before long, you can’t take it anymore, and you feel the shockwaves of pleasure emanating from your cunt all the way to your fingertips. You’re creaming around his fingers; your body is hazy, almost numb with pleasure. 

The pulsing sensation of your cunt around Astarion’s fingers drives him nearly mad, and his fervent kisses are all over you. The brush of his lips and tongue could be felt on your cheeks, your neck, your ears.

He begins to nibble at you, leaving shallow bites in the wake of his kisses on your neck and shoulders. He’s marking you where he can, even though you both know it’s only temporary: he would douse you in healing potions and gentle touches after this, caring for your every ache and pain. 

“You’re starting to prune, darling,” Astarion’s voice is low. “Why don’t you get out of here and meet me in our room? And don’t bother to dress yourself, my love. You’re in for a long night,” The sound of his voice makes the hair on your skin stand up, goosebumps covering your body despite the ever warm water. 

You know your cheeks are flushed from the way Astarion is looking at you. His eyes are hooded, seductive, and the smirk on his lips almost meets his eyes. 

“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you however I want, Tav. I’m going to bite you wherever I want, whenever, until I decide I’m satisfied.” Astarion’s voice draws a whimper from your lips, and he lightly chuckles. “Go on now, darling. I’ll be right behind you.”

Masterlist

[feyascorner]

8 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. a little peek at what this guy is thinking before i move onto act 2 of this fic!! <3 also this specific flashback is not the usual pre breakup flashback it's right after the blushing mermaid incident !!

His nightmares have long stopped making him sick.

The same dreams where Cazador would have shackles around his neck and wrists, laughing maniacally while he carves runes into Astarion’s flesh, no longer bring him the same dread the morning after. Instead, he feels a kind of numbness that spreads past his physical being into the mindless stare he bores into the ceiling. Even before the birds awaken outside the city, it's quiet in the morning. This eerie sense of stillness used to be his favorite time of day.

Because when there’s nobody outside, there’s nobody to bring to Cazador.

Now, it feels too empty. Too alone. As if he’s the only person left in Faerun.

With nobody but his own mind, he begins to replay the events of the last few months. No matter how many times he does it, it doesn’t seem quite real. The nautiloid, the grove, the underdark—all of it. From the second he first bathed in the sun’s glory to the second he lost it all anyway, it doesn’t seem real.

It doesn’t seem real that he once had someone to care for him.

But he supposes he’s mistaken. He’s had plenty of affection throughout his centuries lurking on the city's streets, albeit rare for something genuine. Regardless, it did happen. Like Sebastian or other fleeting victims of Cazador who weren’t as crude as his usual prey. Genuine people whose biggest crime was falling for Astarion’s charms at the wrong time and place.

He doesn’t remember most of their faces anymore. He’s given up on trying to.

And like clockwork, his mind fades to the moment he first tasted humanoid blood as he begins to zone out from a particular part of the ceiling. A proper meal, rather than those disgusting rats on cellar floors he’s been allowed for most of his vampiric life. He remembers the liquid gold sliding down his throat and the sheer energy that came with it—some of which he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls the heavenly metallic taste of your lifeline. How, despite all the blood, all he could smell was your soap. How hot you’d felt against his own cold and unforgiving husk of a body.

Astarion swallows, forcing himself to focus on the chipped wood on one part of the ceiling.

While on any other occasion, he’d remind himself that he’d never have a taste of you again, you had given it to him. Even though he swore all the gods above were against his odds, you’d offered him your blood as he lay pathetically against the walls of the Blushing Mermaid.

But it had been different this time. Instead of that soft smile you’d give him when he’d drink from you in the past, all that remained was a stern frown. You hadn’t run your fingers through his curls and instead chose to grit your teeth, forcing your eyes away from where he bit into your wrist. Your generosity hadn’t been one stemming from affection but one of necessity.

You had flinched away from his touch.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he should’ve expected you to shove him away the second his mouth neared your skin, and he did expect it. But instead, all you’d done was brace yourself—as if you hated his touch—and forced yourself to stay still for his sake. It was akin to watching himself endure the skin of so many strangers in hopes of convincing them into Cazador’s dungeon all those years ago. He knows it’s not the same. He knows this, but hells, did he hate how dry his throat felt after, despite feeling satiated.

He would’ve preferred if you’d just left him there to bleed.

He hates that you hadn’t done so.

He hates that you hadn’t let him ascend.

He hates that he’s forced to live alongside you.

He hates you.

Before he can tell what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of your bed. How he got here is a blur, but he has a dagger in one hand and a fist in the other. You lie blissfully asleep, unaware of the blood-red eyes that stare down at you in a daze, illuminated by nothing but the moonlight peering through the windows. He takes a moment to take in the state of your room–and though he’s not shocked at the mess scattered around the ground and desks, he’s not pleased by it either.

“Gods, how do you even live like this?” he asks, as if you can hear him.

He glances at the glint of his blade and then at your sleeping face. The same face once peppered at least a hundred kisses against his cheek, laughing loudly when he’d feign annoyance at the marks left behind. You’d only snickered then, tackling him into an embrace and allowing him to return the sentiments. Those same lips of yours are now chewed raw, almost a bloody red.

“I could finish this endless fight right now,” he whispers, his grip tightening around the handle of your blade. “I could wake you with this knife at your throat, and you’d have no choice but to kill me. I’d return the violence, of course, but only one of us would live. There would be no use fighting any longer.”

Your chest only rises and falls steadily, and he notices he hasn’t seen you at such peace since he last slept beside you all those months ago. He doesn’t see the same expression anymore because when you look at him now, it’s always accompanied by furrowed brows or a downward quirk of your lips.

He wishes you would respond.

“Ha,” he scoffs pitifully, dropping his hand. He places the blade in its rightful place on your bedside table again and sighs. “This is much too pathetic of a death for either of us. If we were to kill one another, it should be done properly—not in this mess of a room.”

With one last pathetic scan at the details of your face, he turns to leave. But before he can even reach the door, he hears a soft gasp from your bed.

For a moment, he thinks he’s been caught.

When he whips around, all he sees is your clearly asleep form, yet this time, there is no peace in your expression. Instead, it’s scrunched up into a painful grimace as your fingers grasp at your sheets and your mouth falls open to take in breaths of air that don’t come to you. He thinks you might be choking on god knows what until one of your hands flies to your throat. Your nails claw at a collar he can’t see.

He glances at his own hands.

Oh.

Astarion slowly paces back to his spot beside your bed, watching as you writhe against nothing but the air. He realizes you’re not suffocating, but it sure looks that way. He doesn’t know what to do besides watch blankly with wide eyes, but fortunately for him, the moment doesn’t last long. In seconds, your hand falls from your throat, and you continue to grimace painfully. Still, you’re no longer choking.

The bruises have faded, but only physically.

The vampire feels his hand inching toward you but freezes, unable to bring himself within a foot of your restless body without doing something he’d regret. His mind flashes back to how you’d flinched away from his touch, and it’s enough to make him drop your hand again. And being unable to decipher what he’s supposed to feel, he just stares at the wetness of your lashes, his jaw tight.

His voice is rough as he speaks.

“You foolish bard.”

“You’re one of the Gur children.”

“So what if I am,” the small child, too frail for her age despite the fangs protruding from her gums, crosses her arms, huffing. It’s been mere minutes since you managed to sit her down on the forest grounds, bent down on one knee to reach her eye level, but she remains positively stubborn, glaring at the other vampire spawn who stands idly by your side while twirling a comb in his fingers. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s important. You were turned recently, then, weren’t you?” you frown, and a flicker of recognition passes her before it vanishes again. “Why are you alone? Where are the other kids?”

“That’s what you want to ask?” Astarion hisses from your side, his hands stopping. “Stop indulging such trivial questions and demand to know whether the little brat was the one to kill that poor husband. The clock is ticking, and I still have to hunt.”

You snap in his direction. “Will you stop it? She’s a child.”

“A spawn—she’s a spawn. Get it right, darling, she’s no child.”

“You’re acting like a nine-year-old yourself.”

“Ha! As cute as it is that you’re attempting to insult me, let’s leave the lines to me, hm? Your delivery couldn’t be less enthusiastic if you tried.”

“This isn’t a joke, Astarion.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

You glare at him, and he glares straight back. The smallest of snorts, stifled by a hand, comes from Berry, and you both turn to look at her in an instant. By the time you do, she’s already back to huffing, her brows furrowed.

With an exhausted sigh, your shoulders slump. “So, did you kill Roger Highberry? Was everything an act?”

She hesitates, and though you dare to believe that what you see is sorrow, she wipes it away with a blink of an eye, gaze glued to the ground before her. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t lie.”

“Do you think we’re idiots?” You nearly roll your eyes at his voice. “You’re telling me a spawn—one that’s been newly turned, might I add—wouldn’t go ballistic at the sight of fresh blood sleeping soundly just a room over each night?”

“I didn’t!” she spits, baring her teeth. “And I’m not talking to you! I don’t want to talk to you, you—you—asshat!”

It’s apparent that it’s her first time using the word, but you don’t bother mentioning it.

“You wretched little–!”

“Berry,” you sigh for the umpteenth time, ignoring the fuming elf behind you. “I want to believe you, but I need you to be honest. And when I say honest, I mean absolutely everything. Including why you followed me out here and tried to attack me earlier.”

She falters. And almost shamefully, she looks down at her hands again. “...I ran away from the other spawns. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, and I pretended to be an orphan to stay with Cora and Roger.”

“What?” you blink. “Why would you do that?”

“Ulma taught us vampires are evil for the blood they take from people,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want to be evil too. Even if it means leaving my friends.”

As she speaks, her face dawns with a wave of solemnness–one too familiar to yourself.

“If you’re not with the others, why did you send me to the Blushing Mermaid knowing that there’d be an ambush?” you finally ask, gentler than you should be with how Astarion impatiently taps his foot behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “It could’ve killed us.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she blurts, searing eyes darting to your silver-haired companion. “I was trying to kill him. He tried to perform a ritual and kill the rest of us with the power he’d get…I might not be with my friends, but I don’t want them to die either. I don’t want to die.”

You feel your breath still. Astarion does the same, now unmoving from his spot. However, his shock stems more from offense. “Cazador would have rid of you anyway. You were doomed from the start.”

You glare at him, still maintaining a soft tone toward the girl. “He can’t harm you anymore, Berry. Nobody can.”

She points a finger at Astarion. “I can’t be sure until he’s gone!”

“Berry–” You reach toward her hand.

“I let you see Dalyria so you’d turn him in! Not to keep him!” she hisses, slapping you away with a snarl. “And the worst of all, you let him drink from you! You let someone who wants to kill the rest of us drink from you while the rest of us have to pay greatly just to survive! If you’re his friend, then I have to hate you too!”

Eyes going wide, you find yourself standing again, cheeks tinging red. “I—that was just–”

Astarion’s attention still seems elsewhere. “I don’t want to kill you, as appealing as it sounds at the moment. Even I don’t indulge in harming children, despite how annoying I find brats like you.”

“Stop lying!” she shrieks. “Petras said you’d kill us all! That the second you finish the ritual, you’d kill the rest of us to make sure you have no competitors. That there isn’t another person like you who’d go against the will of their very master—”

“Though it sounds positively delightful, I wouldn’t be the one doing all that bloodshed,” he snaps in return, fangs visible through the grit of his teeth. “It seems my dear brother has misinformed you. The ritual itself would’ve wiped you all—which would’ve been far better for the city, clearly—but I would only be making a choice. A sacrifice.”

While the two are too caught up in the wrath of their distaste for one another, realization quickly flashes across your eyes. Suddenly, you’re standing between the two, one hand inches from Astarion’s chest as a warning, while you keep Berry shielded behind your free arm. The act catches him off guard, and you think the downward curl of his lips should scare you. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Go hunt—or whatever it is that you do,” you demand, fingers inching closer to your weapon. It feels too dramatic, but you decide you can never be too safe. “I need to talk to her without you here to bicker and argue with a child.”

He scoffs. “Talk about what exactly? What more is there to know? You do realize that if I were to leave now, the brat would take another attempt at your life.”

“She’s a kid. I can take care of myself.”

“When you cowered behind me just minutes ago over a damn squirrel?”

Hells. You should drive a stake through his heart just for that.

Your eyes narrow. You might’ve entertained this quip on another occasion, but that moment is not now. “Go.”

His gaze flits from you back to the child, his expression indecipherable. You want to look away from his harsh stare, but your pride doesn’t dare allow you. And you’re thankful for it. “20 minutes then. 20 minutes only, and then I shall return.”

You nod.

With one last fleeting glance and a hesitant footstep, he turns on his heel, stalking to disappear into the darkness of the woods. It doesn’t take long because, after only a few dark strides and the rustling of leaves, he’s gone, leaving only you and the blazing vampire spawn behind you.

“Is that what Petras told you?” your brows furrow at Berry. “Is that what he told everyone else? That Astarion would’ve killed you once, he became an ascendant?”

She stares up at you, gaze blazing with rage. But there’s more to it. Loneliness, longing, and the most prominent: grief. Grief for the life that’s been taken away from her and reciprocated her payment in the form of fangs. She adjusts uncomfortably in her cloak, her tiny fists clenched at either of her sides.

Her silence is the answer you need.

This must be why the other spawn isn’t against the ascension. They can’t be against it because they don’t know how it works in the first place. Just as Astarion’s siblings believed the ascension would’ve rebirthed them alongside Cazador, the remaining 7000 spawns believe the same—almost ironic, in an endless cycle that repeats itself no matter what. They aren’t even aware of the ticking clock attached to their lifelines.

“Astarion wasn’t lying,” you say softly. “He wouldn’t have killed you after becoming an ascendant. He would’ve killed you becoming the ascendant. It’s the price of the ritual.”

She releases a frustrated grasp of her nails digging into her palm. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re his friend!”

“I’m not his friend,” you admit.

And despite expecting a pang of regret pulling at the strings of your heart as you say the words. No tightness in your chest, no dryness in your throat, and no shame for the lies pouring so effortlessly out of your lips. It makes you think that perhaps it’s not a lie. You dearly hope that’s the case.

“Then what are you?”

"I'm like you,” you say. "He tried to kill me too."

She frowns. “You let him drink from you. Nobody does that. Not for something like us.”

Your heart cracks a bit at her words, but you shake your head. “It was to keep him alive. To save him, as I intend to do for you.”

“You? You’ll save us?” she scoffs, clearly unconvinced, as she picks at the makeshift bandages wrapped around the wound on her arm. It’s a flimsy piece of cloth you tore from your cloak, but it’s better than risking it against whatever natural elements the forest offers. You gently pry her fingers away, preventing her from agitating the split skin.

“I did last time,” you remind her. “I’m the one that stopped Astarion from ascending—did Petras tell you that too?”

She falters. And while there’s an apparent hesitance in her eyes, there’s something behind all the rough exterior she’s built up from an undeniably traumatic experience of becoming a spawn. She looks up at you when you squeeze her tiny hand, almost hopeful. Because despite what irreparable damage the past few months have done to her, she remains a child. An innocent caught in a war of bloodshed. And what more can you gather from a child but hope?

“You want to stay with Cora, right?”

She nods sheepishly.

“Then you’ll stay with her,” you smile. “I’ll lend you my trust if you lend me yours, and you don’t run off anyway.”

“Promise?” You hold out a pinkie. She stares at it, but when she meets your eyes, she lifts her own hand to interlink with yours. For a moment, she almost looks like she's forgotten about the reality of her situation. That even if she were to live, she wouldn't be able to stay with Cora for long, given her inevitable nature.

How childish. Innocent. And you’d do anything to keep it from becoming more sinister.

“You let the girl go?” After ensuring Berry returns to her room, Astarion repeats the question for the third time as you turn away from the Highberry household in utter disbelief. The cold night air sends chills down your skin, and you wrap your torn cloak tightly around yourself, walking straight past him. Despite your apparent intentions of ignoring him, he trails after you urgently, following no matter how quickly your steps take you through the dead stillness of the city. “And what if she decides to kill the wife?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he hisses. “What makes you so sure she can go against her very nature to kill just so she can stay in a bedroom she shares with four other kids? All of which are very appetizing meals to her, by the way.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m sure you would know.”

“I do. Which is all the more reason for me to step in so we don’t have to deal with yet another dead body on our hands.”

“I don’t need advice from someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use a comb as a weapon.” You rub the side of your head to soothe your headache.

“Seeing as you set a spawn free into the city, I’d argue differently.”

“Will you just shut up?”

“I didn’t accompany you to be a pretty toy piece at your side, darling. With the foolish choices you’re making, I have no other choice but to nag,” he rolls his eyes. The snarkiness in his voice is enough to snap what remains of your already worn patience.

“And you think you’re allowed to give me advice?” you spin around to face him, stopping dead in your tracks. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re basically a hostage! You don’t get to make decisions on what we do!”

“Well, who else will you get advice from now that all your little friends seem to have lost all respect for you?” 

Your jaw unhinges. He stands firm, arms crossed, and it’s enough to make your blood boil. “Gods, you’re—you’re such an asshole.”

Astarion laughs bitterly. “Care to tell me anything new?”

“About your personality? We’d be here all night. You’re also forgetting that I fought with the others for your sake, you bastard,” You step closer, teeth gnashing together. “I saved your life.”

“I would’ve survived with or without your help, darling.”

“You only got this far because our friends helped you!”

“Would you like me to be grateful?” he guffaws, and your chest tightens at how condescending it sounds. “Because must I remind you that you also stole the only chance of me escaping this filthy life where I rot away on the streets and feed on lowly criminals? You’ve forced me to be what I am, and now you think I’m indebted to you?”

Why does he keep saying that? You fight the urge to just punch him.

“I’m not saying you owe me anything, you fool!” your eyes meet his in a blaze of fire. Your heart beats rapidly, and you sincerely hope it’s gone unnoticed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I never forced you to do anything—I was stopping you from becoming like Cazador!”

He’s suddenly looming over you, his gaze sharper than before in a frenzied manner. Just mentioning his old master’s name is enough to push him on the offensive. “I never would’ve become like him…not after what that bastard did to me. I would’ve become stronger and been able to help you. Us. So why in the bloody hells you ever stopped me–”

The words pour out like a mountain of sand held by a twig, and you reach to grab the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t need help! Neither of us did, Astarion. It would’ve been hard, but we would’ve made it out like we always do if we just tried!”

You’re unsure you’ll make it out this time, but does it matter anymore?

His frown creases as if none of your pleas are getting through his thick skull. And while you have half a heart to keep blurting out whatever comes to your mind, his sudden silence and the smallest of steps he takes away from you make you seal your mouth shut. Like he’s closing the door again. Like he’s leaving you all alone again.

Your voice drops, and you bring your hand back to your side.

“You’re not being fair, Astarion.”

“Darling, I’ve followed all your stupid rules and remained on my best behavior till now, even when I could’ve caused more than a few casualties. Hells, I even watched that girl go back to the orphanage alive,” he says, quieter. “I’ve been more than fair.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What is it, then?”

“It feels like you know everything I’m constantly thinking of, whether it be you or something else,” you mumble. “But you won’t let me know what you’re thinking. I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest secret…I just need to know what I’ve done to deserve the bullshit I have to put up with. I took away the ascension from you; I get that, but is that really it? Is that really why you hate me this much? What’s worse, is that very time it feels like we can finally talk, you just—you tell me that you hate me again and then leave it there to fester even more anger on both sides.”

Astarion stares at you, his expression impossible to read. Horrified but unrelenting of the mountain of unsaid words, you continue. “Just talk to me.”

Why, you want to ask. He knows you only did what you thought was best at the time, so what have you done to deserve such cruelty?

Why do you hate me so much?

He gives you a long, hard look. It was surely only a few split seconds, but it seems like hours as you don’t even dare to breathe, rooted in place as you await his answer. It’s infuriating that you can’t tell what he’s thinking even now. He’s always been far too good at masking his feelings, and while he’d used it against you once, you never thought he’d have to again. And finally, when he moves, he doesn’t move to speak.

He shuts his eyes, and when they open again, he’s grinning. That fake, beautiful grin that brings you so much anguish and conflict simultaneously that it makes the sides of your head pound with the beating of your heart. “Fine, darling. Let’s talk if you want to so badly.”

It's so artificial that it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You wish he’d just tell you he hates you again.

He’s blocking you out again. Again and again, no matter how many times you take a step forward, he takes a few back, and the distance between the two of you grows larger. It’s just so exhausting and repetitive. You’re sick of it. 

“Why do I hate you? Where should I start?” he hums. “Ah, perhaps when you took it upon yourself to be the one to stab a knife through Cazador’s heart. I’m rather curious myself, darling, how did it feel? Could you feel his screams through your dagger, or were you too occupied watching the life drain from his face? Was it hard to reach his heart? Did he struggle? Oh, do tell, I’d love to know how that bastard suffered.”

The words feel like a knife to your own chest.

“To think that could have been me if I hadn’t seduced you when we met…You could’ve pierced a stake through my heart when you first caught me longing for your blood. Can you believe it? If you’d just killed me then, you wouldn’t be standing here now. You wouldn’t have let me bed you in that dirty forest clearing, and you would have never felt my lips upon yours. I could have chosen anyone else---anyone in the camp---and we wouldn't be standing here, but Gods was it easy to seduce you."

He stops, and his next words make the blood drain from your face.

"Just like the thousand other victims I brought to Cazador. You're no different from them...all you want from me are my weaknesses. You kept me this way to keep me fragile, and pathetic."

Has listening to someone's voice always been so difficult?

“I didn't—”

“But I suppose you’re the victor in another sense, my dear,” he sneers, his face impossibly close to yours, but he’s never felt so far away. “You should count yourself lucky. Few can say they’ve managed to bed me and survive to tell the tale. You even managed to make me fall for you! You, a simple naive bard, managed to seduce me! And Gods, did you put up a glorious show, darling, betraying me like you did. It was an ingenious move on your part, preventing me from reaching my full potential—the hero of Baldur’s Gate wouldn’t want anything tainting their beloved city with blood, after all–”

No, this is all wrong. This does nothing but make things worse. You wish he'd just stop.

In the blink of an eye, Astarion stops speaking. With expecting eyes, his attention flickers to the knife now pointed at his pale throat. You practically gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you inch the knife just a few centimeters from breaking skin. “Shut up.”

Astarion’s glare narrows on your hand. “Enough talking for you?”

You see that whatever man you fell in love with in what feels like another lifetime was a mask. Deep down, you’ve known that the face he wears is nothing but a facade ever since this entire fiasco started and he’d situated himself into your home. Yet, the cruelty still hurts. It hurts how much he detests you with the very same face that once worshipped your very breath. Gods, you’d been so foolish, thinking a damn vampire spawn could feel anything other than hunger….much less love.

He’d likely prefer to eat out your heart than hold it in his cold, dead hands. He’d watch you with those sultry eyes as he sinks his teeth into what remains of your heart and feels nothing but his own thirst being satiated.

So you won’t give him the opportunity. You won’t give him your heart again, even as the sky falls and the ground dissipates.

You’ve done it once, and you’ve never regretted anything more.

“You’re turn, my dear,” he says. “If you wish to say something, feel free to do so.”

He steps closer, and the tip of your blade draws a small bead of blood. He doesn’t seem to care.

Red, red, red. Your vision is growing blurry.

You inhale sharply. Breathe. You can still breathe. Words that had been bottled up inside dissipate the longer you watch him, as you understand that no matter what you say or do, he will remain as he is. While you want to tell yourself it’s because time itself has ceased for him, you know he doesn’t want to change in the first place.

“I should kill once this is over,” you mutter calmly. His blood now falls down the side of your knife. “But I’m not like you. I’m not as pathetic or petty as you are, even though I’ve been through less than you probably have. I don’t attempt murder just because things don’t go my way.”

His smile twitches.

“If you like being alone so much, then I won’t stop you. Once this is all over, I never want to see you again. I don’t care what you do, but I just want you to disappear. I want you gone, forever, in whatever shadows you hide in during the day.”

It only seems like yesterday when you begged the moon to see him one last time.

Even though he’s speaking through his teeth, he nods as you bring your knife back to your side. “I’m glad we have something to agree on.”

You want to laugh, but you fear it’ll come out as cracked.

“And you’re right,” you wipe his blood off the dagger on your sleeve, not bothering to spare him a glance. “I should have let the others behead you when we met.”

If he wants to sabotage the little good left in his life, let him. If he wants to be miserable for the rest of his undying days over what’s already been done, let him. You don’t care anymore.

Amusement drips from his voice. “A shame.”

His finger tilts your chin upward, his thumb rubbing at the side of your cheek. It’s then that you realize there’s a whiff of blood coming from a wound on your skin—a result of the forest, you’d guess. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

He takes his time to respond. 

“I know.”

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[thatfreshi]

Fic you x Astarion where you start singing while doing something in the woods near the camp and Astarion is intrigued by the singing and comes over to find it’s you. he thinks it’s the most beautiful singing he’s ever heard- and you were in your own world and get embarrassed

fluff to tha max!!! 🤯

I set this kinda early on in the story, so Astarion and Tav aren't as close, but I really enjoyed their dynamic in this one :)

Recommended Song: White Blood - Oh Wonder

Things were rough at camp. In fact, things were rough everywhere. A grove of druids and tieflings fighting, a goblin war camp, and not nearly enough food to go around. Oh, and the worm in your head of course. Luckily there are some ways to relieve the stress, and sometimes you simply like to sing. Despite the chaos, your companions were winding down, and all you could hear now was the crackling of the fire. Tuning out the fire, you spotted the sound of a brook in the back of your mind, somewhere to your left. And so, you get up, and make your way to whatever water is nearby. Perhaps something so fluid could make you feel less stuck.

When you finally find the water, you sit down, deciding this is the perfect spot to sing a little tune, somewhere your companions will not be disturbed. The notes flow, like the water. Your thoughts come racing out into the air, your tears flow a little too. Luckily no one is around to see, or hear your pain. Then, a branch snaps behind you.

"Ignis!"

You turn and cast quickly, unsure of who or what is behind you. Thankfully you miss, because it's just Astarion, and the fire goes out as fast as it came into existence.

"Gods, is a man not allowed to investigate such a beautiful sound?"

You blush a little, embarrassed both by the fact that he heard you and the fact that you almost burnt him to a crisp.

"Sorry, I couldn't sleep."

"And whatever are you sorry for?

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you almost became tomorrow's campfire?"

"Oh darling, I knew you were going to cast it before you spoke."

Oh. Perhaps you need to work on that.

"Is something the matter? You look, perturbed."

You realize your face is still damp with tears, and you quickly go to wipe them off, the reflection of the moon leaving with them.

"Of course, I'm fine. Like I said, just couldn't sleep."

He furrows his brow inquisitively.

"Well, the product of your insomnia was quite pleasant. You should distract me again sometime."

He goes to walk away, and turns back to look at you.

"And if you'd like to share whatever it is those tears were about sometime, I'm all ears."

He smirks, and makes his way back into the woods. Maybe he isn't all pretty looks and complaints after all.

[leighsartworks216]

If the requests are still open... May we have an astarion x Reader inspired in these song: https://youtu.be/CRllw_LSesQ?feature=shared

I can't stop thinking how much it would suit our lovely vampire while realizing he's starting to catch feelings for Tav

Short but sweet <333 Also I love that song sm I listened to it over and over again when I first discovered it like last year or a couple years ago lol

Warnings: manipulation

Word Count: 441

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion doesn’t realize what’s happened until he’s already in too deep. Charming lines from 200 years of practice become genuine, and a bit less cheesy. (Though, they still make you laugh more than blush.) Your asking if he’s okay with every slightly uncomfortable thing stops making him bristle. (Though, he cannot ignore the sirens that go off in the back of his mind each time.) Getting so lost watching as you go around camp helping everyone else, never resting until everyone is satisfied, that he doesn’t notice the fond look in his eyes or the subconscious smile on his lips. (Though, the moment you look over, he’s rolling his eyes and scowling and flipping the page in his book.)

It was like one day he woke up, basked in the sun, and realized. Everything he’d done to manipulate you, trick you into liking him so you’d protect him, had turned around on himself.

First, he thinks you may have done something. You must have! You bewitched him or injected something into your blood to weaken his mind or… something! You saw right through him and used his own charms against him - that must be it!

So, naturally, he distances himself. Builds his walls back up. And you notice immediately. Perhaps his self-preservation had tampered with your plans. But when you asked, and he claimed he was tired or hungry - or whatever excuse he could make up in the moment - you just smiled, provided a solution, and allowed him his space.

And, gods, it made him fall deeper.

And, gods, did that terrify him.

From the very first moment he landed on that beach, safely warmed in the sun’s rays and free from the incessant tug of Cazador’s commands, all he’d been worried about was removing ties. “Befriending” you was the safest, fastest way to destroy Cazador. A necessity if he had any hopes of killing his puppeteer. He had minimal attachments, exposed very little of himself, and still he failed. He waltzed right into someone else’s arms. Into their control and power and protection, like a complete and utter fool.

And he knows he’s wrong. You didn’t deceive him. You weren’t trying to use him for more than picking a lock here and there or stealth combat. He wasn’t falling for you because of some grand scheme. He wasn’t walking into the strings of another puppeteer, ready to make him dance at their command.

Perhaps that made it worse. That everything he felt was by the fault of no one else - not even his own fault. It just was. An indisputable fact of the universe.

He was in love with you.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog

[minorvamp]

Bullet with Butterfly Wings

Astarion x f!Tav, Explicit

Ascended Astarion, Vampire sex, blood, Vampire bites, AFAB tiefling Tav

"On your knees darling."

But this, this is something entirely new. There's something glinting, sharp and dangerous out of his eyes now. Something deep and dark, pulled up from the recesses of his soul by the ritual. Something not Astarion.

Reposting this from a few weeks ago, because Tumblr decided to not show it on any of the tag feeds.

Title is from the Smashing Pumpkins song of the same name, because I can't hear it without thinking of Astarion

Available on AO3 or under the cut

"On your knees, darling."

The first thing Aranrei feels after sinking to the floor is the press of his cold fingers against her shoulders. The gentle bite of his claws pricking the skin around her collar bones as he leans in behind her. It's a firm touch, possessive even, but not threatening. Not yet.

She shivers as he traces one of those claws up her neck, pulling up a pink welt across her skin that he soothes quickly with his tongue.

"There." She feels his lips pull into that dangerous smile against her skin. "You know how I adore those little shakes of excitement whenever you feel my mouth near that delectable neck of yours. You'll be my undoing, my love."

He presses a trail of kisses up her neck, and she feels her pulse quicken as his lips follow along the artery there, his tongue pressing over his favourite spot where the thrum is strongest. She feels her heart fluttering wildly against the cage of her ribs, nerves, anticipation, fear, as he sets his fangs against her skin. Astarion nips softly, drawing a few pinpricks of blood to dance sweet copper over his tongue. He's delighted by the power he holds over her even with such a delicate touch. The thrill of it washes over him and settles as deep thrum in his groin, pulsing in time with every frantic beat of her heart. He moves his mouth up to tease his tongue over her ear.

"Patience, my sweet. We have an eternity to explore a cornucopia of carnal delights. I have plans for centuries of ecstacy, lost in each other. There's no need to rush so quickly to the main event." The honeyed words, the sultry tone are all so familiar, but as he turns her face towards his, she sees something in his eyes that gives her pause. She's seen them lost, vacant as they were during their first night together. She's seen the melancholy that lingers in them far too often, the fear that sometimes even his most practiced of charming veneers won't hide. She's watched them fill with joy, the lines around them creasing deeply as he laughs at Shadowheart and Lae'zel, their blades at each other's throats. And she's seen them full of white hot rage, the red of his irises burning as he recounted some of the fouler things Cazador had done to him. Or worse, forced him to do to others.

But this, this is something entirely new. There's something glinting, sharp and dangerous out of them now. Something deep and dark, pulled up from the recesses of his soul by the ritual. Something not Astarion.

"You always flush so beautifully for me my darling." He says as he admires the pretty pink blush smudged across her cheeks, the hue lustred by the pale lavender of her skin. He moves to kiss her, and she allows the press of his mouth against hers to push away the doubt that has started gnawing in the pit of stomach. They had made the right decision, he was finally free. Free of Cazador, free of fear, free to live for himself for the first time in 200 years. She had done the right thing.

Aranrei feels the moan rumble through his chest as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites down the way he likes it. Just on the edge of too painful. Responds with her own when he slides that silver tongue against hers, pushing into her mouth to claim every inch of it. His hands smooth over her shoulders before pressing against them, encouraging her to spin around and bare herself to him. He pulls away from the kiss and drinks in the sight of her before him. Her lips and neck bruised a dark purple from his attentions, face and breasts flushed with arousal. "I can taste it, you know. In the air, on your skin, in your blood. I can taste how much you want this. How much you need me."

He pushes her down against the hard wooden boards, but she manages to catch herself on her elbows before her head smacks against the floor. She feels another pang of fear race through her heart as she stares up into his beautiful face. The soft halo of white curls catching in the dim light of the room. The face of the man she loves more than anything else in the realms. A face that could charm all the gods above and below. All hers, but now turned stranger. That dagger smile of his now a smirk cut across it like a gash. The cold steel in his eyes that she doesn't recognise.

She's prey, she realises. That gnawing doubt in her stomach now a lump of cold hard rock. He pushes her legs apart with a foot, taking in the whole of her, before sinking to his knees between her thighs. There's a feline quality to his movements as he slinks up her body, hands coming to a stop either side of her head as he fixes her with that predatory gaze once again. "Astarion, I'm not-"

"You are perfect." He leans down to capture her lips in another kiss, cutting her off before she can bring voice to the feeling. She relaxes into the kiss, allowing the slow grind of his body against hers to reignite the fire inside. Even through his trousers, the insistent press of his hard cock against her soft core leaves her aching for him, and he feels the wetness of her soaking through his clothes. She finds herself helpless to the waves of arousal his well practiced movements pull from her, soothing away her doubts with the stroke of his tongue against hers.

Keeping himself braced above her, his other hand moves to massage her breasts and she breaks the kiss with a gasp. Her pupils are blown as he gently rakes his newly clawed hand down her side, sending yet another shudder of arousal to race through her. He sits up on his knees, hand now stroking its way down his own chest over sculpted muscles before coming to rest over the closure of his britches. He moans decadently as he squeezes his hand over his erection, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he relieves some of the ache of his arousal. It's performance, any good bard would be able to tell, but it sits somewhere on that fuzzy line of exaggerated truth. And it's for her, Aranrei tells herself. They did the right thing.

With a few motions of his deft fingers, he opens his trousers and pulls his cock free from their confines. Gives her another deep moan of pleasure as he pulls his hand over the shaft, twisting slightly as moisture beads at the head. He grins, wicked, at her reaction to him. Leans down over her again and uses his hand to guide his cock to stroke through her wet folds, head rubbing over her swollen clit. Tuts at her when she tries to move her hips to press him into where the ache of her arousal is deepest. "Patience, my love. You've waited so long already, what's a minute more to savour the moment, hmm?"

She suppresses the sudden urge to cover herself, feeling trapped and exposed by the ravenous stare he gives her as he takes in the state of her. Her chest still flushed and now heaving as the anticipation of him starts to overwhelm her. Her hands are desperate for something to dig her claws into, her tail winding around his clothed thigh trying to pull him to her. She's missed him, missed this, so much. Dreamt of this moment a thousand times, where he would trust her and himself enough to share this with her again. And yet the nagging feeling that something isn't quite right resurfaces. Persists through his pretty words, and his touch even as he hitches her thigh against his hip and enters her in one smooth, strong thrust.

She moans his name, long and loud, relieved to finally have him inside of her again, the glorious stretch as he fills her. He responds in kind as the feeling of hot, tight, wet, mine surrounds him. He stills for a moment, enjoying the sensations of her walls fluttering around him, inviting him to thrust deep and hard. To not stop until she's stuffed full of his cock and his cum, his fangs buried in her neck, his name on lips, her blood in his mouth, until she's so full of him that there's no room for her anymore. Until she's mine, all mine, only mine.

He traces a hand down her chest and stomach, feeling the shape of every ridge as he moves it down to her core. She draws in a sharp gasp as his thumb finds her swollen clit, draws the wetness around in small circles across it that have her muscles squeezing vice like around his throbbing cock. "My perfect, pretty consort." He offers her another dangerous smile as he pulls halfway out of her, enjoying the delicious friction as he drags himself out, "I do so love to hear you sing out my name, little bird. Do it again." He thrusts back in, slow and deep, wants to hear her whimper for him.

"Fuck, Astarion. You feel so - I-" she can't help the strangled moan that escapes her as he continues his languorous strokes inside of her. He watches, enraptured by the sight of his cock filling her, watches her as she squirms and whimpers, already so sensitive for him. How could he have been so weak before, to not take this, what was his to own and to treasure. He resists the urge to rut into her, hard and fast, to cum and to take her. He relaxes his jaw to try and relieve some of the ache in his fangs, he won't feel complete until he's claimed her as his. Instead he continues his slow rhythm, pausing to grind deep every time his hips meet hers. A gasp of pleasure falling from his own lips as his sensitive head rubs against the spongy bundle of nerves inside her.

Her lilac skin glows with a sheen of sweat as she rolls her hips to meet his thrusts, twisting slightly to feel every inch of him sliding into her. Their deliberate pace draws out the pleasure, winding them both higher and higher with ecstasy and holding them there, not yet ready to crest and fall. She closes her eyes against the mounting wave he's bringing her to, little gasps and hiccups of pleasure escaping uninhibited every time he grinds against her g-spot. The delicious curve of his cock that fits so perfectly inside her. Like they were both made for this.

She opens her eyes to watch his face, the pleasure dancing across its planes unable to hide the desperate hunger shining in his eyes. She reaches for him, and he allows her to pull him down, burying his face against her neck as his hips finally pick up speed. She traces her fingers down the scars on his back, digs in her claws as her nerve endings start to sing out their joy. Muscles in her lower body growing tense, her thighs gripping his hips and her walls pulling tight as he fills her over and over.

He pants his pleasure into her neck as she clenches hard around his swollen cock, feels her pulse racing under his tongue as the hot, wet pull of her body drives him higher still. "Ah- Ast- I'm cu- Ah!" She chokes over her moans, unable to get the words out. Every thrust of his perfect cock winding the pleasure tighter and tighter in her center, until it's too much to bear. He growls as he bares his fangs, allowing his instinct to take over, and he sinks them into the soft skin of her neck.

Aranrei screams out as he bites her. The sharp pain in her neck is nothing compared to the white hot waves of pleasure now crashing through her body. Her muscles spasm around his cock as her orgasm washes over her, it radiates out from her core sending tingles through to her fingers and she surrenders herself completely to the incredible pleasure he's brought her to. Her world narrows down to the feel of him inside of her, his hips still working relentlessly, his skin under her hands, hair brushing her ears, his mouth at her neck. Every deep suck at her throat sending another wave to wash over her, pulling her deeper and deeper into him, until she's delirious with it.

The rush of her blood into his mouth as she cums is exquisite. He can taste the sweetness of her orgasm as it pours over his tongue, the tingle of magic in her blood better than any nectar of the gods. His hips are frantic now, pumping rapidly to work her through the last of her orgasm as he chases his own. He drives himself into her desperately as she gushes wetness and contracts around him, her blood singing through his body as he drinks. His cock sensitive, swollen, harder than he's ever been and every nerve ending is aflame with pleasure. He rides the delicious agony of almost there, floating higher and higher, desperate to live in this moment with her forever. His moan is a broken sob against her neck as his balls draw up tight against his body before his pleasure finally crests, he thrusts deep and hard one last time before he erupts inside of her.

His vision goes white and there's a roar in his ears as his cock jerks over and over again, painting her walls with ropes of his hot cum. It ripples endlessly through his body as he drinks from her and she trembles through her aftershocks, clenching her muscles sporadically around his over sensitive cock. She is divine in her pleasure, his beautiful saviour and dark consort, and she belongs to him.

And still he drinks. Sucking hard at the puncture wounds on her neck to draw more of her blood down his throat. She starts to lose herself to it, her mind already hazy with pleasure; she feels everything start to wash away with the ebb and flow of her blood as it leaves her body. Her doubts, her worries, her pain, her joy, everything lost to the feel of Astarion at her neck. She relaxes completely, there's no strength left in her muscles to keep her thighs held around his hip, and her arms slide off of his back as darkness starts to cloud her vision. She's left with only one tiny spark of fear, one last thought before her consciousness slips away and everything goes black.

We did the right thing.

He feels as she goes limp underneath him. Thinks he can taste the last drops of life spilling over his tongue before he finally pulls away from her neck to admire his work, cock slipping out of her. She's beautiful. The sheen of sweat still lingering on her pale skin gives her an ethereal glow, the flush of her arousal still present despite her bloodless state. It's a stark contrast to the bloody red mess of her throat, the vulgarity of his seed dripping out of her onto the floor below, the dark bruise of his fingers across her thighs. He's enraptured by the ruin he's brought to her, such a pretty thing to be marred by such violence, and he burns it into his memory.

He shifts up onto his knees and raising his hands he drags a sharp claw across his wrist, satisfied as blood blooms to the surface. He turns her face towards him and gently opens her mouth before holding his bloody wrist over it. He allows one singular drop of his blood to fall into it, dropping onto her tongue and sealing her fate.

He strokes his thumb over her cold cheek, and smiles at her as he waits for the changes to start.

"Oh my love, we're going to have so much fun."

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Distances Melded (Part 5)

18+ implied drug use (Tav smoking the slutweed babey), edging, restraint, merciless teasing, oral (m!), p-in-v, sub/dom if you squint, tenderness

Astarion X F! Plus Sized Tav

listening to: Dinner & Diatribes - Hozier, We're In Love - boygenius

-

He was discovering more and more surprises about his lover.

One late night, after a particularly dreary and painfully boring quest Halsin made a rather interesting offer.

"It'll help us.. relax. Feel more in tune with the world, you know."

"Relaxing herbs..." Shadowheart said, her tone dubious.

"Drugs, yes." Lae'zel said flatly.

"Thank you, Lae'zel."

"Well, I'm going to bed."

"No one asked, Gale."

Halsin began packing his pipe, unbothered. "Well I'll be partaking, if any of you feel like joining in dont be afraid to-"

"I'll have some, sure."

Everyone looked at Tav with shock.

"What? I'm not allowed to unwind?" She raised her eyebrows playfully, sending a wink to Astarion.

"Our fearless leader? Imbibing in substances?Well, well, well..." She wiggled her eyebrows at him with a wide smile. Gods he adored her.

Within an hour those who had stayed were all laying around the fire like house cats. Seems they weren't so resistant after all, Astarion thought, unimpressed.

He found Tav particularly.. distracting. The herbs had made her languid and sensual. Stretching her lower back, arms out in front of her. That delectable line of her hip creasing, the roundness of her ass on full display. She leaned back and flopped over into his lap.

The others were too busy with their own experience to notice her but it almost made him blush.

She stared up at him, a relaxed smile splitting her face. "Hey there, lovely." Reaching up to play with the ties of his tunic.

"And how are you feeling?" He said, smirking. His hand unconsciously trailing through her hair.

She pushed into his hand. A small moan leaving her at his touch.

"Good, really good." She purred, pulling his hand to her mouth, nipping at it a bit. Giving him a mischievous smile. Gods she would be the death of him.

She threw her hands above her head and stretched again, arching her back deliciously over him. Letting out a little relaxed whine.

"Darling, you seem rather tired." He coaxed, mouth dry. "Would you like to retire to my quarters? You can use my tent for the night."

"Oh can I?" She said eyes sliding over to him, arms still above her head, bringing her legs up into a cheeky curl. Teasing him. "That's awfully nice of you." Her eyes lidding, a cat with a saucer of milk.

He had never seen her so haughty and it was making him crazy. "You little viper," He said so low that only she could hear. She bit her lip at him, smiling.

He stood up, quicker than he meant to, taking her hand and leading her away. She practically skipped behind him, giggling. "Uh-oh.. I'm in trouble~" She sing-songed.

He only made it as far as a distant tree until he was pushing her against the bark. She moaned into his mouth.

Looping both of her legs around his thighs she pulled, forcing him off balance to press his hips into her.

"Oh you've got tricks, do you?" He said low into her ear, heard her giggle and took the chance to nip at his lobe. He groaned, Gods how did she know his weaknesses already.

She took his chin in her hand, immobilizing him as her mouth was still trained on his ear. Pushed her hand up his shirt, brushing her fingers over his nipples. He whined, trying not to grind into her. Fuck.

She pulled back, a wicked smile on her lips. Her eyes lidded and knowing only made him feel hazier.

She moved her thumb to his lips, still holding his chin in the same hand. Slowly drug it back and forth across his bottom lip, asking for entrance. He opened his mouth and she slid it in, dragging it hard along his fang. Drawing blood.

He moaned, tongue working. Already lapping up the rivulets that poured out. Her heady taste overwhelming.

She cocked her head to the side, a satisfied smile on her flushed face. "So hungry," She breathed.

Her thumb still in his mouth she snaked her hand down his front, her hand palming him over his clothes.

His eyes hitched back in his head, could already feel himself straining hard. The realization that they were still out in the open only making it worse.

Her mouth found his neck, nipping and licking. Her hand moving so slowly, sliding up and down his length over his leathers, applying pressure.

Strong legs still hooked around his he had nowhere to go, he was at her mercy. The realization making him shiver, bracing his forearms next to her head against the tree.

Blind with lust he began grinding into her hand. She pulled away in response and he resisted whining. Her fingers slipping teasingly along the inside lining of his leathers, the backs caressing the sensitive skin there.

He didnt know how much more of her heavenly torture he could take.

She pulled her thumb out of his mouth with a wet pop, hand resting on his clavicle. Still teasing the sensitive skin of his pelvis. Fingers oh so gently wrapping around his throat.

"Astarion," She said, as if in thought. "I've realized that I've been the only one to have gotten off between us."

"Have you now?" He tried for suave but he couldn't hide the pant in his voice.

That cat smile. "Would you want me to rectify that, my perfect Star?" She said low in his ear. He felt her hand loosen, her legs released him slightly. An offer to stop.

He was on fire, pushing her hands above her head, holding them there in one hand. She smiled and squirmed beneath him cheekily.

"Not here," He breathed, hot with need.

In one motion he leaned down and caught her waist on his shoulder, flipping her onto his back. Her wrists still trapped in his hand. She squealed in delight as he braced her waist with the other.

He walked as fast as his long legs would take them, pushing open the entrance to his tent.

"In such a rush, are we?" She admonished, hot into his ear. The herbs were making her so much more vocal and it was making him wild.

"My sweet, you're playing with fire," He warned, she shook her ass in response. Incorrigible.

He threw her down on the cushions on his bedroll, pulling his tunic off. Her hand drifted under her own, pulling it up just high enough that he could see the underside of her breasts. Her other hand slipping into her leggings, the outline of her fingers working.

"Tell me what you want." She whispered.

He crawled down to her, kissing on the exposed skin of her stomach. He never got used to her considering of him, what he desired. Through the thick haze of his lust he felt his heart flutter.

"I.. need to be inside you, sweet girl." He murmured into her skin, surprising himself. Gaining in his sureness, "I've waited for you. For this."

He saw her eyes soften, pulling his face up to hers. "If it becomes too much I want us to stop, okay? You'll tell me?" She whispered to him.

He nodded, kissing her deeply. She sighed into the kiss, leg hooking around him. Pulling him up to her. His hand slid over her mound, thumb making lazy circles. Her breath hitched and she reached for the ties in his leathers, her need rising again.

She held onto them as if to untie, then pushed his hips causing him to fall back, knees bent. Right into her trap. He gasped and his breath hitched into a groan as her hand quickly slid inside his trousers. Mouth meeting his stomach, licking hungry strokes up the lines of his hips. He shivered and threw his head back, already feeling the wetness of precum in his small clothes.

He was not going to last long at this rate.

His hands made quick work of the ties and he was blissfully free. She smiled at the length of him, finger trailing up the vein he already knew was throbbing.

With no warning she took him entirely into her mouth, tongue working. He gasped and braced himself against her shoulder, gripping hard. One hand behind him, barely holding him up.

She was making lewd sounds, groaning and slurping. He thought he was going to go mad.

Oh Gods he was already close. She pulled back as if sensing this and shimmied down her leggings. He pulled them the rest of the way off with more force than he intended. "What a gentleman," She purred.

The words made his head spin. He pulled her onto his lap, sitting in a kneeling position. She looped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply, sliding her core back and forth against him. He gripped her thighs and helped her onto him, letting her weight down slowly. She hissed out a moan into his ear as he filled her. Her body adjusting to him. He groaned, his eyes rolling slightly at the molten pressure around him.

They stayed still for a moment, their joined breathing. Then she planted her feet.

Slowly she rose and fell, rolling her hips.

He looped an arm around her back, pulling her closer. Nuzzling his mouth into the crook of her neck, silencing himself there. Her smell intoxicating.

She leaned her head back as she rode him, all slick inside her. She felt like velvet, like heaven, his eyelids fluttering as she picked up speed.

Tight breaths left his lips as his undoing approached, eyes screwing shut in concentration. She smiled diabolically, grinding down harder. Suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back taut. Her voice low in his ear as he gasped raggedly.

"I want you to come. Now."

Blinding white light behind his eyes. Gripping onto her back he strangled out a cry, her hips still rising and falling into him. Shaking and whimpering, his face crumpled in near painful ecstasy.

She held her wrist to his mouth and eyes wide, he sank into her. The blood bringing him to new heights. Uncontrolled he bucked his hips, her wrist flesh muffling the high moan that left him. Mercifully her hips started to slow, the overstimulation making his eyes water.

She smiled fondly at him, straddling him. Still buried inside her as he drank. The spreading warmth of her blood mixed with his comedown, a delicious exhaustion overtaking him.

He fell back, hand holding her wrist to his mouth. She came down with him, laying on her side. Her free hand drawing designs on his stomach as he licked at the wound. "How do you feel?" She whispered.

He looked over at her, eyes wide. "I cant even begin to describe it." He panted. "You've killed me, blessed me. Thank you, thank you." He turned and buried his face into her neck, holding her tightly. His body still trembling.

She smiled, wrapping herself around him. Planting kisses all down the side of his neck.

Laying in the gentle haze of morning, Astarion looked over his lover.

Adored how she slept, all limbs and abandon. Flat on her back, still bare to him she breathed low and steady. He had been melded into her blissfully but had pulled back. Taking an indulgent moment to fully take her in, the wild beauty of her.

The hooked curve of her nose, the elegant slant to her eyes, the height of her cheekbones. The waves and waves of her ebony hair. So thick, she always complained, pulling it away from her overheated neck. Lips dark and flushed, the way they would purse when she was trying to hold back a smile.

She was of the heavens, of the sweet dark.

In the growing light his eyes drank her, words failing him. Knew no words would be enough. Scooped her up into his lap and held her as close as he could.

~

Part 6

[justanerdy-gal]

“Our Sinful Desires” (Astarion x Tav)

-> pairing: Astarion x Tav -> content: sexual tension/seduction, sfw (stops just before it gets nsfw) -> summary: Tav asks for a lesson in the rapier through a game of fencing. Astarion uses this opportunity to finally bridge the gap between him and Tav that he’d been building up to for weeks. Timed a few weeks after Tav first lets him bite her.

-> notes: wrote this from a prompt from @thefreak0fhawkinshigh about a romantically charged fencing session between Astarion and Tav hehe. I love reading sexual tension but I’ve never WRITTEN it before, I probably agonized too much about this one shot and I still don’t know if I like it but I hope you enjoy 🥹 The vision is that Astarion isn’t totally manipulating her here, he is actually interested her as well (which I HC Astarion was always a little interested even when manipulating her into a “tactical alliance” in the game, if you have high approval with him). But Tav is stubborn, and tries to fight a losing battle 😁

—————

Why was he doing this? he wondered.

Except he knows exactly why. The menace of a woman in front of him had seen him messing around with his rapier in camp, and had begged him to teach her a few concepts through a game of “fencing”.

He vaguely remembers the dull sport from his days as a magistrate in Baldur’s Gate, but he was rare to partake in it himself. His talents were more suited as a means to an end, rather than an enjoyment in and of itself.

However, Astarion found it exhaustingly hard to say no to Tav’s puppy eyes whenever she asked him for a favour.

No matter. He’d use this opportunity to his advantage.

In fact, this is the opportunity he’d been waiting weeks for. An opportunity he’d been building up to for weeks now, ever since Tav had allowed him to sup from her blood.

“So darling, ready to begin?”

“Born ready,” Tav said, as she adjusted the mesh armor she was wearing. He insisted on the two wearing chain mesh armor, and he had procured wood-fashioned rapiers for the two of them - they had surprisingly the same hand-feel as the real thing, but would help prevent any … accidental dangers.

He smirked. “I’d be careful, darling. I may make it look easy, but there’s a lot more… finesse to this sword than you might think.”

Tav pouted. “Think I can’t handle it?”

“Not at all,” he purred. Tav eyes widened for a second, but quickly composed herself, which earned a smirk from Astarion. “I just wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

Tav’s pout began to turn into a frown. “Let’s just get to it, then,” Tav grumbled, and Astarion chuckled. She was right where he wanted her.

“Tsk tsk. First, you must bow,” Astarion wagged his finger at Tav.

“… You’re kidding me?” Tav questioned, as she got visibly more frustrated.

“It’s a part of the art, my dear” he stated, as if it was obvious. “I didn’t make the rules,” he shrugged.

Actually, the rule was to salute, but she didn’t need to know that.

Tav grumbled to herself, something about why she thought this was even a good idea, he thinks he heard. Astarion chuckled to himself. They both bow to each other, at the hip, holding the position for a moment.

As they bow, Astarion looked down towards her, as her head was tilted downwards. He thought about how he rather liked her in that position.

Tav happened to glance upward, and saw Astarion looking down at her through her lashes. She blushed as she saw Astarion’s stare on her, earning a smirk from him.

She stood up with an irritable look on her face, and Astarion chuckled yet again.

“Alright darling, show me what you got,” he said, facing his rapier upward.

Tav had a general understanding of how fencing worked - she had been the one to suggest it, after all. The trick was using the finesse of the weapon to hit the opponent, without giving them on opportunity to feint out of the way. A feat in Dexterity, one that Astarion did not lack.

Astarion settled in a stance, one that Tav tried to mimic. Astarion smiled at that. He knew he had the upper hand here, but Tav was doing her best to make a show of her own dexterity.

Tav attempted to make her first jab at Astarion, but he easily feinted out of the way. Astarion took his chance while she was off her balance to strike, his sword grazing her mesh armor lightly, as to not actually hit her.

“I guess that’s a point for me, love,” Astarion said with a smug look on his face.

“Lucky strike,” she muttered, as she settled herself back in her stance.

Astarion laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” he said as he settled into his stance again, opting to wait for Tav to strike again. He knew she would, not being the patient type.

And strike again she did. A frustrated huff escaped her as she missed once again, by quite a margin. Astarion barely had to parry away to avoid her blade.

“I see why you wanted the lesson, darling,” Astarion taunted. “You’re going to need to do much better than that …” he said, as he took a step closer into her range.

Tav hesitated as he did, becoming acutely aware of how much closer they were getting without her awareness. Her gaze narrowed, but there was a tenseness as she seemed to get lost in his gaze. In her moment of hesitation, Astarion grinned, taking his chance.

Astarion lunged, the blade of his sword grazing hers, a clash echoing in the air. As their swords met, he used the momentum to pull himself in to her until they were standing right in front of each other. Not anticipating this, Tav did not have the chance to pull away, and she found herself staring up into his crimson eyes, a look akin to a deer in headlights.

“My, my, darling, I had expected a little more skill from you than this,” Astarion purred, as he watched Tav’s eyes adjust to the closeness of Astarion’s body to hers, only to attempt to face away.

“How am I supposed to when you’re not playing fair?” Tav grumbled, averting her eyes downward, refusing to look him in the face.

Astarion chuckled darkly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, as if matter-of-factly. “I am just playing the sport.” He quirked his head, as if examining her, a knowing smile on his face. “Perhaps you can tell me where your mind is wandering to then …. if we’re throwing accusations around.”

He slightly adjusted his stance, just enough so that his lower body pulled closer to Tav, and his hand lightly rests on Tav’s waist. He heard a light intake of breath that Tav obviously tries to hide. Astarion watched as Tav eyes shifted, her mind at war with her logical side, vs. the side that felt an incessant need to melt into Astarion’s stare. To add to the agony, he caressed her hip with his thumb, small circles meant to soothe and lower her guard.

Tav’s eyebrows furrowed.

“And why would you think my mind is elsewhere?” Tav said, attempting to maintain composure, but there is a slight rasp to her voice as she spat out the words.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed, in a low whisper, leaning ever closer towards her, until his breath fanned her face. “Well, I’m a pretty good reader of body language. I can see when a person’s eyes dilate, when they lose focus. I can feel the quickening of their heartbeat, when they hold their breath, the little tremors when they’re held close. And darling…you have all the tells.”

Tav did not move, trying not think about how close they were, considering her response. “And let’s say your judgement is actually right…. what would you say about it?”

Astarion pretended to consider, raising the hand that was on her hip, to brush against her cheek, earning a jolt from Tav. “I would say that…. perhaps it’s time to let your guard down, for once.”

Tav was surprised. That was not what she was expecting to come from his lips. “What?” she said, slightly affronted.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” Astarion said. “ You help people as if it does not mean a thing in the world, but you remain closed off - to your own needs, your own wants… your own desires.”

Tav scoffed. “What importance do my desires have with everything that’s going on?”

“On the contrary, darling, I happen to think one’s desires are very important. It’s not a sin to give in to your desires sometimes… no matter how sinful those desires may be,” Astarion smiled smugly. “How is one to remain sane amongst the chaos?”

“Hah,” Tav muttered, trying to remain indignant but with not much bite left to her words. “I’m sure your desires are always sinful…”

Astarion lips twitched upward at that remark. He held the silence between them for a moment longer, considering, the tension like a taut string.

Astarion finally smiles. “But, perhaps I am wrong after all. Tell me, then…” he tilted his head as he inched towards her lips. “Would you stop me … if I did this?” he whispered against her, before he finally closed the distance.

As their lips met, Astarion entwined his hand in her own, releasing both their grips on their swords. They clattered onto the floor, but neither of them paid attention to the sound - both entranced by feeling of their lips against each others’.

Tav was the first to pull away, eyes wide at the realization of what just happened, and that she had let it happen. Astarion’s eyes, on the other hand, were hooded, and had darkened in a way that had a shiver running through Tav. He doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Well, my dear, tell me … have I read you right?”

As Astarion looked into her eyes, he knew he had her.

“Fuck you,” Tav answered. But she held fast onto his hand.

Astarion grinned. Jackpot. “Oh my darling, I’d love to.”

——————

Should I make a part 2???

My AO3 and Twitter 🙂

MASTERLIST

[pagesfromthevoid]

Imagine this because I am and it’s just. It’s cute and I just REALLY WANT TO PLATONICALLY HUG ASTARION IN THAT FUCKING DUNGEON

Cuddle Puddle:

The party returns back from killing Cazador and Astarion has essentially disappeared. Tav is worried sick, because even if they’re with Gale, Astarion is her friend and she’s scared. Gale tries to reassure her obviously because he doesn’t want her worried but she just can’t help it.

Astarion finally comes back, still covered in blood and battered from the fight, and Tav immediately approaches to check on him. He tries to wave her off but she scolds him, reminding him that they’re friends and she was scared.

“Can I just…can I hug you? Is that okay?” She asks, because she’s never actually touched Astarion, let alone hugged him.

He hesitates but nods slowly, because he also hasn’t been hugged in centuries and honestly he has no idea what to expect. But Tav throwing her arms around him to hold him like this is almost too much to bear. And he just starts sobbing into her neck.

So when he’s finally done sobbing and being a mess (Tav doesn’t mind. She reminds him over and over it’s okay to cry! She cries all the time! So does Gale!), he pulls away and apologizes. But she waves him off with a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t you lay with me a while? Just so you’re not alone.”

And Astarion immediately thinks —no, she’s not trying to proposition me. Not now, not after everything. But looking at her, he realizes she’s *not*. She’s just…being nice. Offering solace and comfort in her arms like a mother would her child.

“I’m sure your wizard would be less than thrilled,” he counters, though he wants to. So bad.

“Gale doesn’t mind —do you?” She turns to Gale now, those puppy dog eyes working wonders on the resident know it all. “Just a cuddle. Nothing more than that.”

Gale stammers a bit and blushes, but shakes his head. “I- no, of course not. A comforting embrace is an important cure for overwhelming feelings. And I’d know —Tav has spent many a night comforting me.”

“Gale —,”

“I mean with cuddling!”

Astarion hesitates again, but nods slowly as Tav takes his hand gently. Gale pushes two of the beds in the Elfsong room together, making it a little more comfortable for the three of them to lay down. Astarion is surprised Gale agreed, given how uppity he had gotten when Halsin approached Tav, but he’s secretly thankful the Wizard didn’t mind as he sat on the edge of the beds.

Tav practically throws herself into the middle, sighing as she pulls all the pillows around her like she’s making a nest. Astarion watches for a moment then kicks his shoes off and joins her, allowing her to take him in her arms and rest his head against her chest. Her arms snake around him tight, hugging him close to her. Gale makes room for himself on her other side, where she rests her head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her.

“What’s this, then? A cuddle party and I wasn’t invited?” Karlach all but yells, throwing her hands in the air. “Finally get my engine tuned and I can’t even have a cuddle.”

“No one said you couldn’t,” Astarion counters, peaking up from where he lay against Tav. “It *is* rather nice.”

“Softy,” Tav teases, running her nails through his hair. Then she extends her free arm out to Karlach. “C’mon then.”

Karlach all but squeals in delight, pushing another bed closer to connect the three. Then she throws herself into the mix, laying half on top of Gale and Tav.

“Fuck, this is great. I love this. I love you guys.”

Tav glances up at Gale, who’s trying not to move too much or risk pushing Karlach off him. But he leans down and kisses Tav’s hair and Astarion all but gags.

“No way,” Karlach warns, swatting Gale’s face away from Tav. “Absolutely no lovey dovey shit in the cuddle puddle.”

Halsin joins next, though he takes up far more space than anyone else. And then Shadowheart comments about missing out on all the fun, so Tav finds her way out to pull her in too. Wyll joins, laying closer to Astarion with a soft smile and his arm around the vampire (who totally doesn’t move away from Tav to lay a little closer to the Blade of Frontiers. No way). Lae’Zel side eyes everyone, but caves and sits on the floor beside the bed.

Eventually, they throw all the pillows and blankets in the sitting space by the fire to make more room for everyone.

This begins the party cuddle puddle.

[wyrmsgatebait]

Astarion’s reaction to Tav suggesting he might be aging has been rattling around in my head, and it’s got me thinking angsty little thoughts about how cruelly he might’ve been to a human lover in the past. Relationships between elves and shorter lived races require so much compassion and maturity and Astarion...doesn’t have any of that. He was the sort to become smitten with a beautiful young human and let the relationship drag on for far far too long. Oh he would say sweet things in their  ear during party’s and spend a small fortune on jewels that would compliment their skin and the season, but the doting was purely selfish. Astarion wanted a blushing beauty on his arm the same way he wanted an ermine coat. It was nice to own but it was even nicer to drink up the envy of everyone who did not.

And he drank deep for as long as he could, but his human’s beauty withered away little by little. They poured decades worth of their heart into him only to see Astarion’s lips curl in disgust when the lines around their eyes crinkle. To the human he was their whole world, but a few decades is hardly a fling to a high elf. Really he was a saint staying with them until their 40th nameday...or just about...but it was well past time for a change. He wouldn’t keep roses in his foyer after they’d begun to rot so why would he use less discernment with his choice in bedfellows. There were tears, of course, accompanying insults and accusations of being a heartless curr. It might’ve moved him if the face those tears sprang from wasn’t so unpleasant, but instead he just shooed them from the estate and busied himself with preparations to meet his next potential paramour later that evening.  ... He never made it.  Cazador practically had to scrape him off the cobblestone to force the blood down his throat. Afterwards, the idea of being loved...of being looked at with kindness becomes laughable. Now his lot in life is doing his master’s bidding and hoping he’ll be allowed to suck rotten ichor from vermin. Through all the torment his face remains untouched by the centuries. 

[thechaoticdruid]

The Spawn Vs The Ascendant (2) [Sneak Peek]

Note: This is not finished. It may be altered when the full chapter comes out. Also 18+ this part has some steaminess. Nothing seriously graphic tho.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Blood, sexual content, death, Ascended Astarion, Toxic vampire master and slave relationship.

First Part

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Savegame 2: About a month after the defeat of the Elderbrain.]

Tav walked into the brothel, hugging himself with his arms as his ruby colored eyes flicked back and forth around the room nervously. The robe he wore while indeed quite useful revealed far too much of his thighs for the young man’s liking. 

“Something troubling you, little love?” His partner smiled, looping his arm around the shorter male’s waist.  

“I’m fine…I just….feel a bit exposed…” Tav shivered a bit. Though it was his own idea to put on this accursed robe to delight his partner for their night out he was now realizing he maybe had been in over his head. 

“Well aren't you a beautiful little lady.~” A tall and  slightly drunk sounding half-orc stumbled across the room as he looked Tav over with a lustful gaze.

“Don’t you worry, my treasure. If anyone lays a hand on you without my permission I'll rip out their throat.” Astarion tugged the spawn against his form before planting a slightly aggressive kiss upon Tav’s cheek. Tav gave a small smile and leaned into Astarion's embrace before the two of them headed upstairs. 

“LADY!?” All of Tav's bashfulness faded away as his expression turned to anger. His fangs were bared and his fists were clenched.  “I'm a boy- er..man! I'm a man!” Tav huffed out with a wolf-like growl.

The half-orc blinked a bit, looking Tav over. Tav's androgynous looking appearance was confusing the brothel goer.  His soft facial features and long eyelashes did make him look rather feminine. That along with his short stature and current attire definitely did not help.  

“But you're so pretty," the half-orc said, his words slurring as he took a step closer towards the short vampire spawn. "You look like a woman to me.”

Astarion watched as his little spawn shook with rage. 

“Oh dear.” He sighed, looking down at his nails for a moment as his pet proceeded to stomp towards the much larger male. Astarion's little love did have quite the vicious temper at times. 

 He raised one clawed finger after another counting.

One. Two. Three. 

The sound of a scuffle could be heard, followed by crashing and wolf growls all the while the vampire lord started looking over his nails. A slightly off-key hum leaving his lips as a few screams from the half-orc were heard. After a few moments there was a thud before Tav walked back over towards his lover. 

“Sorry, I may have got a little distracted.” Tav rubbed the back of his head. An unconscious and severely bruised body laid behind him. 

“I'm a little disappointed you left him alive, but I am eager to get on with tonight's main event so let's not waste anymore time.” Astarion held out his hand allowing his lover to take it before the two of them continued up another set of stairs. Tav's little scene had caused a few heads to turn though no one dared to get involved.  

They entered a dark room on the top floor. The sweet scent of lavender hit Tav's senses as he and Astarion entered the room.

“Back again already?” A seductive voice rang out. 

A female drow stepped out and wrapped her arms around Tav just as a second male drow moved in and did the same to Astarion. “Did you miss us that badly?” The male purred. Tav's shivered a bit before he looked down at his feet. 

“How could we not? The service last time was….mouthwatering.~” Astarion turned to face the drow behind him, “wasn't it my treasure?” 

“Ah….y-yes….it was really nice..” Tav stuttered, if he could still blush his face would be on fire right now. He bit his lip, his left fang drawing blood.

“Perhaps we should continue on from last time then?” The female drow said, lips dangerously close to Tav's ear. 

~~~

Nearly thirty minutes had passed. Lustful cries and groans echoed throughout the room. Once everyone was spent, Tav found himself snuggled up in his master's lap, his head pressed against his chest as he listened to Astarion's heartbeat. 

It was strange to think that not too long ago these roles had been reversed. The sound was comforting even if the person it came from became less and less so these days. 

“Pet.” Astarion spoke quietly as he noticed the two courtesans had drifted off into a slumber. 

“Yes?” Tav glanced upwards.  

“You haven't fed in three days.” 

“I'm not hungry…” Tav lied, he could feel the gaping maw deep inside him crying out as they spoke, but he did his damndest to ignore it. He'd only ever really allowed himself to feed from Astarion since his turning, which did not happen often. ‘Too much may drive you mad.’ His master would say. Perhaps that was possible, but knew it was more likely that Astarion didn't want to risk giving him his freedom back.  

“What have I said about lying to me?” Astarion gripped his spawn’s face, pinching Tav's cheeks between two fingers and making him return his gaze.

“I'm sorry.” Tav replied.

Astarion thought for a moment before glancing over at the sleeping bodies besides. Tav's eyes widened in surprise. “No, Astarion, please don't make me-” 

“Feed,” was all his master said, glowing red eyes bore into his soul before his body began to react on its own. He moved over to the male drow slowly, his teeth grit together and deep inside feelings of utter disgust and pure delight waged war against one another.  Shakily Tav placed a clawed hand over the male and turned him so that his neck was exposed.  His eyes grew wide at the sight of the grey skinned male’s jugular, his tongue instinctively flicked over his fangs. 

Finally he bit down, sinking his fangs into the mortal’s flesh. Warm blood dripped onto his tongue, sending a feeling of euphoria coursing through his body.  Tav moaned barely even noticing his master petting his head before Astarion sank his own fangs into the female drow, not wasting a second to begin feasting upon her life force.  It only took a few moments before both courtesans were sucked dry. Tav breathed out heavily, blood dripped down his chin, his hands shook as he looked down at the lifeless body in front of him. They didn't need to die. They had never done anything wrong to him. This was sickening.

“That's a good boy.” Astarion's voice rang out, breaking Tav from his trance. “Now come here.~”

The Vampire Lord pulled his spawn back into his lap, possessively draping his arms around him before locking their lips. Tav hesitantly returns the kiss allowing his master's tongue inside to claim and dominate his mouth. “Mmm…” Tav moaned, feeling Astarion pull him flush against his bare body, leaving no space between them as blood and saliva mixed. The spawn wrapped his arms around his master's neck feeling Astarion's nails dig into his back slightly. The vampire lord pulled back a bit, taking in a breath of air before forcing his tongue back into Tav's mouth, his hands gripping his ass as he began to grind against him.

Feelings of guilt and shame were forgotten for now as Tav allowed himself to become lost in his master. 

[suitetarts]

reasons to be honest

Astarion x Original Female Character, Dark Urge Tav (Good) Angst, Comfort, Kissing, Fluff (Link to AO3) After Astarion’s confession, Delilah is conflicted but still very in love–which she hasn’t quite admitted to yet. Unfortunately for sober her, she is a sad drunk on a mission after the celebrations in Moonrise Tower. Angst-fueled barbs and comforting words ensue.

Another one shot with my Tav, Delilah. This one happens to make no reference to her features or gender, just that she's a drow with mommy issues. You can go to the AO3 series for the other fic I have for her, or click here.

“Another… please.”

The red tiefling boy hesitates as Delilah’s head rolls awkwardly to the side, the previous shots of liquor clearly hitting her hard. Her piercing red eyes dart to his unmoving hands and then meet his own in a cold glare. With a squeal, he grabs a new liquor bottle from Ketheric’s stores and begins to pour once more.

Another child, a bluish tiefling with tight curls, collecting bottles from the small goblin hovels hidden throughout the first floor of Moonrise, comes marching over to chastise. “Drow Lady, oi! That’s enough!”

“Mmm? I saved your sorry little hides ‘nd you’re cutting me off?” Delilah exhales out of her nose indignantly, easily swiping the nearly full bottle from the boy’s hands.

“Oi oi oi! But that’s s’posed to be mine to sell on the road,” the blue tiefling cries.

The darkness within her, the other parasite on her psyche that pulls her to violence, begs her to reverse her grip on the bottle and crack it open, spilling red across the floor in a viscous new style of carpet. Delilah lets out a puff of air and pushes the thought away with a spot of effort. As she walks away with a stagger, she raises her free hand to wave the children good night.

The various hallways and great meeting spaces that were host to a battle between her companions and the Absolute cultists only a few hours ago is now just a bloody path of stones, one that she hopes will lead her to her bedroll. These cursed lands had truly been a nightmare in every sense of the word. Delilah is hopeful that being one step closer to their goals will allow her some peace and rest. However, she knows that defeating Myrkul’s Chosen can’t possibly help the matters of the heart that tear her from a good night’s sleep.

As the liquid inside the bottle hits her lips, she winces. Blood red and horrendously strong like it was distilled from pure malice. Whoever had decided to keep this in their stores either had something powerfully flavorful to mix it with or hated themselves. Delilah ponders if there is anything in this tower that would be sweet enough to cover the taste, blushes, and takes a decidedly large and bitter sip.

She curses under her breath as she finds herself walking the ramparts of Moonrise, her mind wandering back to Astarion despite the severity of all their other issues surrounding the tadpoles. Delilah continued to mull over their talk the other night and had been unintentionally distant, even though she knew that there was still so much more to say. The discussion replays in her mind once more. Astarion had, at least initially, lied about it all. He had manipulated her so comprehensively, body and soul. He told her such sweet things, some that she recognized as flirtatious tricks, but others that she had come to actually believe. He laid with her nearly every night not because he wanted to, but to control her. The bastard had admitted to her face that the only part of his plan that failed is, essentially, he harbored guilt about doing it after catching feelings.

And even after hurting her so profoundly, Delilah had reassured him. The typical shrill tone with which he joked or complained or flirted during their adventures was absent, replaced with a lower, more melancholy genuineness that she couldn’t help but comfort. She said that she deeply cared for him, that she would stay by his side as he created boundaries for himself. The two had a productive yet brief discussion and she never lied, not a single sweet word or supportive touch. 

All despite her heart cracking down the middle, threatening to shatter. 

Delilah staggers, reaching to the cold stony walls of the tower for support. Her fingers grip the edge of one of the stones and she could imagine it was Astarion’s collarbones. Her nails dig into the sandy mortar for a moment as her temper flares, before guilt and sympathy eases the tension in her joints. She feels justified in her frustration, but he doesn’t deserve her anger. His situation is beyond complicated and she truly is trying to understand it from his perspective. She goes through the situation again, as accurately as she can manage:

After being kidnapped and implanted with ticking time bomb mind flayer parasites, a hot and powerful drow sorceress (with a tendency to murder without warning or reason!) prances around in the wilds of the Storm Coast with a group of equally powerful strangers, including a famous monster hunter and a fierce alien warrior. The sorceress comes across a vampire spawn that has done little else besides use his body to ensnare meals for his master and suffer indescribable abuse for multiple mortal lifetimes. It makes perfect sense that he would use the tools at his disposal to secure his safety with a band of questionable characters. It makes sense to deceive one of these powerful fools into a relationship. It makes sense to target her as the leader of the group. It makes sense to manipulate her until she is no longer useful. It makes sense to try his damnedest to not actually feel anything for her, because gods forbid she’s worthy of real love. It makes sense. It makes sense.

Delilah sighs into the darkness. Perhaps this was not the most favorable interpretation to Astarion’s reasons for pursuing her the way he did. He had admitted that he’d fallen for her, that he wanted them to be real. It was her who felt an implication in his words that he wanted them to be real moving forward and that everything before was never real.

A chill runs through her as she takes another sip of liquor and she decides to focus on finding her way to camp. She rounds the same door twice before going the correct path and finding a host of friendly faces. Lae’zel, Aylin, and Isobel are near the door, with the former two animatedly discussing fighting techniques while the cleric takes the opportunity to rest and enjoy the peaceful evening with her lover. Delilah stops for a moment to listen in before moving further into camp, where Wyll and Karlach speak in a more somber tone around the fire. She almost goes to join them, but Karlach’s heat and ire at the Chosen of Bane the group had seen right before the battle with Ketheric is palpable in the air. Perhaps it's selfish, but she doesn’t want to be angry for Karlach's sake. Not when she’s already feeling so anxious and irritated about her own stupid problems.

Owlbert barrels past Delilah with Scratch hot on his feathered tail, passing close enough to her that she dodges clumsily and begins to trip. Her hands are sent to break her fall but instead catch on the bleached white linen of Astarion’s shirt.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before speaking with a coy grin. “Darling, I knew you’d fallen for me but I didn’t realize you were going to take it literally.”

A fierce blush overtakes her, bringing a pink tint to her gray complexion. Her tongue rolls awkwardly in her mouth as she tries to cover herself, “I– I didn’t mean to fall. But thank you.”

“You’re completely trashed,” Astarion observes with amused surprise as he attempts to help restore Delilah’s balance. He steadies her forearms before tentatively letting go. Her red eyes, so similar to his own, beam up at him as she only slightly wobbles. His lips pull into one of those sweet half smiles that he only gives to her. “Adorable.”

“Y’think I’m adorable?”

“We’ve been over this. You’re very attractive.”

Delilah narrows her eyes and snickers, doing her best to rub her hands together like a villain in a street play while still holding onto the bottle of liquor. “Again.” He rolls his eyes and begins to lead her towards her tent.

“This–” Astarion emphasizes as he easily snatches the liquor from her loose grip. “–is for not returning the compliment.”

While Astarion has it hoisted in the air, he inches his nose closer before reeling at the strong vapors of the alcohol. She does not opt to carry herself with the typical pride of a female drow, instead choosing to whine and reach for the bottle. The two are evenly matched on height, but he's a master at using his tricks to keep any item just barely too far away.

“Tut tut tut. You know how this works dear.”

She stamps her foot down playfully. “I’ve told you a million times, ‘Starion. You’re–” 

He cuts her off with a press of his index finger to her lips. “Ah-starion. If you please,” he asks with a shiteating grin. “Do continue.”

Delilah pulls her mouth to a straight line as she groans in her throat, but her eyes betray the annoyed facade she’s trying to convince him of. They’re smiling. She starts again, “I’ve told you a million times, Ahhh-starion. You’re perfectly gorgeous.”

He preens with satisfaction, tossing his hand through his hair for dramatic flair. “Thank you love, you’re quite perfect yourself.”

Delilah hums and turns away, in part to watch her feet as they approach her tent and also to avoid him seeing her as she repeats his words in her head. Her? Perfect? After all the nasty and selfish thoughts she’s had tonight, and every other night since he finally opened up to her? Hardly. Not to mention that falling for some charlatan with a pretty face and a sad life who tells her what she wants to hear is all far too unbecoming for a drow of her nobility and breeding. Her mother would literally kill her three times over for even an ounce of this behavior. It's frankly a miracle that a mistake like her made it to adulthood. And then there’s the whole thing with nearly uncontrollable murderous urges that, only a few weeks prior, had almost cost him his life?! Perfect.

Astarion notices Delilah’s withdrawal and leans forward to see her chin quivering and her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey, hey, wait.” His voice drops its usual mirthful cadence. She stops, still facing away from him. “What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

“I’m not perfect,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear. Delilah kneels at the rugs outside her tent, clumsily reaching behind her ass to take off her shoes. “Also, I think I’m mad… but I dunno.” 

“Mad at what?”

“At you.”

Astarion freezes for a split second before nodding his head in begrudged acceptance. He sets the bottle down and kneels next to her, leaning forward to make eye contact. “Better to be mad than leaving me, which frankly, is what I expected when I confessed what I had done to you. I deserve your anger.”

“No, you don’t,” she says, doing her best to maintain eye contact as the liquor and tears threaten to make her crumble. “Everything you did makes sense.”

He clears his throat, giving himself a moment to gather his response. “I had my reasons, but that doesn’t mean the things I did were right .”

Delilah’s throat contorts as she tries to suppress a sob. All at once, the proximity of the others makes her panic and she quickly retreats into the darkness of her tent. When Astarion doesn’t immediately follow her, she kicks the flap. He peeks in to find her sitting cross legged at the far end, her eyes darting between him and a pillow just out of arm's reach of her.

Nervously drumming against the stiff canvas tent flap as he holds it open, Astarion sighs. “Darling, I’m not sure you’ll be pleased that we’ve had this conversation when you’re so drunk. Maybe this should wait.”

She wipes her eyes with the collar of her shirt. “I don’ care, sit.”

As he crawls in on his hands and knees, his fingers splaying out as his palm leans into the plush of her bedding, she closes her eyes to steel herself. Of their many encounters prior to Astarion’s confession, most of those had been spent here. She was no stranger to the ways of pleasure, but he had brought her to rapture in ways she had never imagined were possible. She had thought of those nightly trysts as an escape from reality, an easy and fun passion to help them both get away from the looming despair of the tadpoles. Just the thought of how Astarion must recollect those evenings makes her own memories turn sour and rotten.

He mirrors her cross legged sit from across the tent, laying the pillow in his lap so that he can fidget with the tassels and flange. He is uncharacteristically quiet.

Was he expecting a scolding, for her to hit him, or some other form of anger, even cruelty? Delilah looks down at her feet. “D’you think I’m gonna yell at you?”

“No,” Astarion says quickly. He plucks at the silver threads of her pillow. “Maybe.”

“I’d never–” she starts, before seeing a fang poke out of his smile and one of his eyebrows shoot up questioningly. “Well, not never, but not about this. ‘Nd I’m not really mad at you. I dunno. You just hurt me–a lot–when y’said you lied to me.” The words seem innocent and childish as she speaks them to her toes. After a pause, she adds, “For months.”

Astarion draws his shoulders forward until his nose almost touches his knees, almost as if he’s trying to make his body as uncomfortable as he feels. “I know, I’m sorry my love.” He looks up at her through his white lashes, a move that could fit right into his flirtatious fop routine if not for the sincerity dripping from his words. “You have every right to be mad.”

“Stop that,” Delilah begs, a smile breaking across her face as she lets out a short sad whimper.

He pulls his back straight once more, looking down before looking back up at her. “Stop what?”

“Stop apologizing and being so nice to me,” she sighs around a smile. But the smile quickly fades. She continues, “And complicated. I dunno.”

“I’m supposed to cut back on the complaints about the niceties you give to me, but you tell me to stop? I thought you wanted me to be all empathetic and sweet to every body,” he says with an air of their usual banter. The pair sit in silence for a moment as the tension once again rises, like a taut bow string waiting for the call to loose. 

“What do you mean… ‘complicated’?” Astarion asks, without hardly using any air to carry his words, staring at the pillow flange’s thread between his fingertips as he unweaves it. She knows that he knows what she’s talking about, in general terms. Delilah huffs as she lays down on her side facing away from him, unable to explain this with even the possibility of eye contact.

“I had a lot of fun when we did, y’know, horizontal stuff. I thought you did too,” she starts nervously, holding onto her shoulders as she curls in on herself. “But now… Gods, I’m so gross. I took advantage of you. And you–”

“Stop. You didn’t take advantage of me.” His voice sounds strangled behind her. She can hear him padding closer to her, slowly. “Please, look at me.”

She curls further into herself. “But you didn’t want to fuck me.”

“Stop it, Del. Stop,” Astarion says sternly, pulling her back flush to the ground. He reaches over to hold both of her shoulders in place as he steadies himself on his knees to her side. His eyes unintentionally drift towards her neck, and she recalls this position, with him leaning his chest over hers, is much like that first night when he fed from her neck. His throat bobs, swallowing his sanguine hunger, and returns his eyes to watch hers. “I tried to explain the other night, but– Please understand me when I tell you that everything I did was what I wanted. My intentions weren’t, uh, always the most proper. But! I did want to fuck you. I want to fuck you now. It's just… not that simple.”

Delilah’s skin is hot underneath Astarion’s intense gaze and salacious words, especially the way his hands grip tighter at the idea of taking her at this very moment. She could almost be satisfied with this explanation if sex was truly all that mattered to her. Luckily for them both, it was not.

“Did you ever want to kiss me?” She breathes the question, her eyes softening under the heat of his presence. 

He scoffs, releasing her shoulders to kneel beside her. He snakes a hand along both sides of her jaw and tenderly pulls her head up as he leans down to kiss her. Her hands fly up to his ears, her fingertips dragging through his curls. He brings her in closer, their teeth just barely feeling the pressure of the kiss, before he pulls away to hover over her face. He lets out a breath as he answers simply, “Yes. Any time you ask.”

“Even at first?”

“Even the most cold-hearted bastard wouldn’t look at a pretty thing like you and not want to kiss her,” Astarion says honestly, although a hint of his flirtatious tone seeps through. 

Delilah tucks her chin into her shoulder, the blush creeping down from her cheeks to her neck and threatening to envelop her whole. She deflects to save herself from burning up. “That better not be a canned line.”

“Well…” His voice cracks and the smile on his lips falters, before he searches her face for some evidence of forgiveness. She still looks like putty in his hands, flushed and pliable. His eyebrows pull together, from pity or guilt or a combination of, as he answers her. “It doesn’t matter, da– Del. It’s true.” He leans back down for a chaste kiss before pulling his hands away from her and returning to a comfortable sitting position.

As he pulled away from the kisses, she did her best to give him a sweet smile but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. He sighs, laying within reach of her onto his side with his head propped up by his arm. “I’m sure you’re not having an easy time trusting me lately, but… Honestly, it's true.”

She sympathized with his mild frustration. He was saying and doing all of the right things, and they were true, so why was she still upset?

Rhetorical question: she knew.

“Astarion?” She turned to face him with her elbows together and hands gripped at her chest.

“Yeah?”

“I… I think I love you,” she whispers. By the tension between them and the blank look on his face, she feels that the air has been sucked out of the tent. She feels light and breathless, floaty even, at finally putting words to her inner turmoil, and so she continues. “Even though you’re a liar. And I think I’ve loved you for a while now.”

Astarion lets out a large breath, rolling onto his back. As he fearfully studies the roof of the tent, Delilah wonders if he’s reliving some terribly sad memories of others who told him the same thing, others that were doomed to fall prey to Cazador. She wonders if it's the opposite, that he’s never been allowed to keep anyone long enough for them to love him. Or simply that he doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t want to hurt her even more. No matter what his reason is, she reaches a hand out to lay in the empty space between their bodies. An offering that she allows him to take or refuse, regardless of how much she wants to pull him closer.

“Del, I– I’m not sure what to say, but I–”

“If you don’t love me back, or you don’t know how, or whatever…” As she continues, the words trip and catch on the emotion pouring through and threatens to burst from her very soul. “Don’t tell me the truth. I can’t, I’ll… But please, don’t lie either. No more lies.”

Astarion rolls back onto his side to look at her, to look at what he’s done to her. One of his hands finds hers in the no-man’s land between them, as the other snakes through to hold the other against her sternum. “No more lies,” he repeats, earning a nod from his crying lover. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to work on, well, me, and as I do, I will become better. Stronger. For the both of us.”

Delilah curls inwards around their conjoined hands, breathing warm but fading sobs onto the cool skin of his arm. “Are we… Are we going to be okay?”

“Unless you or the tadpoles have other plans.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

He pauses, uncomfortable still with the concept of optimism. Promises of good tidings she made to him were generally met with a bitter snap from a man who over centuries had the ability to feel hope beaten out of him. But, in this moment, he softens at her, as he always has, and says, “Yes.”

They lay in silence for a few too many moments, just holding each other's hands and sharing a peaceful moment of mutual understanding. Delilah begins to lose the fight against her heavy eyelids. The anger, embarrassment, and heartache all seemed so trivial as she laid there with him on the brink of consciousness. He was right; they would be okay. 

The last thing Delilah remembers is her grip loosening on his hand at her chest, but the lingering sensation of his cool skin on hers. When her trance breaks, she finds herself parched under a haphazard pile of blankets with a certain elf still resting at her side. She gently lays some of the warmest ones on top of Astarion before she leaves to nurse her hangover, just barely missing the way his eyes peek open mischievously. She misses the way he hesitates to follow her, instead choosing to snuggle into her warmth like a reptile to a sunny rock, trying to keep her heat to himself as the stones beneath the bedding already begin to sap it cold and dry.

[larvasmoon]

Portrait of the pale elf (1) - Torn Satin and other things ruined

Chapter Summary : Astarion has opened his tailor shop in the higher city, Carmine Red. There he welcomes all sorts of customers, but more often than not, his clients cross the threshold of his shop for all the wrong reasons … or the most delighting ones.

Warnings : Mention of past abuse. Fear of intimacy. Blood drinking. Biting. Fetish.

Word count : 2,5k

Author's note : This is the first time I'm sharing something I've written, but my love for Astarion as a character has surpassed my fear of posting. So here I am :) You can also find this story on my Ao3, thank you so much for giving this story a chance !

Astarion had always had hands that could either make or unmake, create or destroy.

Hands that were made to kill. 

Hands that had killed so many people that, sometimes, he could still smell the faint perfume of gore on them.

Hands that longed to kill when thirst turned him into a slave once again.

But also, fingers that knew all the secrets of a ‘little death’.

Fingers that remembered how to caress and hold bodies, until they were all but flushed with unshed blood.

Fingers that could raise someone to the height of such pleasure, that they would ineluctably shatter when falling down from it. 

Those very fingertips now strangely belonged to the most successful tailor in all of Faerûn. 

After all of his adventures, Astarion had unexpectedly decided to dedicate his nights to creating the finest garments in all of Baldur’s Gate and beyond. 

He’d opened a luxurious tailor shop in one of the biggest avenues of the higher city. It was a place where Astarion could put to use his wonderful talents for sewing and stitching, ones he had one practiced during centuries on the only pair of miserable clothes he’d ever been allowed to own by Cazador.

It’s name, Carmine Red, was beautifully painted on the storefront in the bloodiest of color. In the window display below, one could marvel at countless shiny and beautiful things. 

Astarion often saw little kids dragging their mothers towards the shop, with sparkly eyes, and wide smiles that had a few missing teeth. "I want this princess dress, please mother !" the little girls would always say, pointing at the most expensive piece he’d ever sewn, all but made of pearls, crystals and shimmery silk. He’d laugh at the way the mothers tried talk them out of such unreasonable idea, before finally pulling away the pouty and frustrated child. 

Other times, there would be a charming lady or a young adonis, shyly approaching his shop window in the dim street lights. Their eyes would wistfully linger on a satin corset, or on gold thread embroided doublets, as if they suddenly entertained the illusion of wearing it. But then, soon enough, they would notice the small price tags attached to the garments. It was always hilarious the way they’d squint their eyes, as if to double check because such outrageous amount of money couldn’t possibly be the true price. And yet, alas, it was, and the beautiful strangers would furiously blush and turn on their heels. They would hastily disappear into the night, as if the fact that they’d even entertained the idea of owning one of Astarion’s creations was ludicrous.

It was one of the reasons why his designs were exclusively coveted by nobles, princesses and even kings. They’d all come late at night in his shop, discreetly pushing the door of his workshop, to order the finest tailored outfits.

Nobody had ever seen anything like it before : the way he would cut dresses in a slightly provocative, yet elegant way. He’d always loved dancing on fine lines, after all, it was his signature. 

Delicate lace would effortlessly fall a little lower than acceptable on the cleavage of a lady. The pale skin of her breast tentatively, yet barely, outlined through the fabric. He would make puffy yet see-through petticoats, just enough for onlookers to make out the shadows of long legs through the modesty of a woman’s attire. The doublets he imagined were always more fitted than they usually would have been in other shops. The cinched waist highlighted men’s small hips while casting light on the width of their shoulders, the fabric all but holding their bodies in the right places. 

There was always something impossibly sensual about the silhouettes Astarion imagined. 

He had one day realized that, the centuries he’d unwillingly spent perfecting his mastery of the sensual arts, had bestowed upon him an incredible knowledge of body anatomy. One small compensation for all his sufferings, but one nonetheless. 

Every good tailor, to excel at his work, needed to first be knowledgable on bodies, on their curves and bones, on their proportions and mesures. That’s exactly what Astarion was : a contemplator of physical forms, and a master of sublimed physionomies. He only had to look at someone once to know what part of their body was the most magnificent, and how to pin, stitch, drape, or sew the finest of silks around it. 

Needless to say that his little business, was doing more than well. He spent most of his nights working on  attires for bals, masquerades, and soirees alike. His payment usually included an heavy purse of money, but also endless invitations to said parties, to admire his creations in the dim lights of ballrooms and palaces.

His new friends were baronesses, duchesses, or dukes, kings or princesses, and he only truly felt at peace in wide reception rooms, eased by the sound of violins, laughters and champaign glasses colliding.

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

That night, Astarion was sitting at his workshop table, working by the candlelights, when someone entered the shop. The little bell on the doorframe rang, and a rush of cold perfumed air entered the room with his guest. 

Jasmine and wood. He already knew who it was without having to turn around. 

Clarissa Tillerturn. 

"What owes me this impromptu visit, darling ?" he asked with his back to her, his eyes never leaving the delicate needlework he was focused on. 

Her dress and cloak shifted around her as she approached him to sit on one of his red velvet meridienne. 

"I need a new ball gown, Asti", she dramatically sighed, lying down on the plush cushions. 

He thanked the god that he was not facing her, otherwise she would’ve seen the way his face involuntarily contorted into one of pure annoyance. The pet name that she had unilaterally decided to give him was atrocious. Each time he heard it, the most vile retorts crossed his mind, but then he remembered what type of client she was. 

She was high nobility and one of his most generous customers, in more ways than one.

So if Clarissa Tillerturn wanted to call him "Asti", then "Asti" it was. 

"For what occasion, love ?"

"Oh but Duke Ravengard’s masquerade, of course ! It will take place in a tenday or so in his manor!", she exclaimed in her usual child-like tone, all but leaning on one of his shoulder with her gloved hand, "I need you to make me look angelic."

Ah yes, that masquerade, he dully thought, the one he was also supposed to attend. 

"That won’t require a lot of work on my part. You already do."

He heard her giggle behind him, her high pitched and annoying voice sounding uncomfortably loud in small space that was his shop. 

When he finally turned, his tape measure in hand, he was once again reminded of the reasons why he didn’t like her in the first place. Everything about her, from her long blond hair to her heady perfume, reminded him of the people he used to seduce for his master. 

She was the perfect kind of gullible, feeble and vain, noble girl that he would’ve easily lured into the dark with nothing but a bag of sweets and empty promises. These days, he was luring her all the same, but for his own benefit, and that knowledge made it almost bearable.

Predators hunt to eat, vampires seduce to drink blood, it was the old ways of this world. Who was he to even try and escape this vicious circle of hunger ?

"Do we really need to measure everything again ? I would argue that you know my body quite well by now."

Stupid girl, he thought, fighting the urge to not so kindly send her on her merry way. He was far too thirsty for that, and far too greedy to deny her heavy purse of money. Astarion forced a smile on his face and took her gloved hand in his to bring her to a stand. 

"I only need to take your waist’s measurements, darling."

When he bent over to glide the lace the tape around her, she pressed a clumsy kiss on his neck, right on his scars of all places. He braced himself before straightening up, and indulged her with a languid kiss he despised every second of. It was a small price to pay, just a little amuse-bouche so to speak, for her to give him what he needed. 

Sweet oblivious Clarissa melted into his arms anyways, pressing herself onto his chest and mewling with each slow and deliberate motion of his tongue.

"Are you sure you are only here to order a dress from me, lady Tillerturn ?" he breathed on her flushed cheek, as she made quick work of getting her out of her cloak, to bare her neck and décolleté to his eyes. 

Say you want me to feed, he silently begged as he looked into her wide blue eyes, I need to feed. 

"Do it, Asti. I want it."

Clarissa Tillerturn had a secret, you see. 

She had a vampire fetish, like a lot of other nobles in Baldur’s Gate.  

Between a few tailored dresses orders, she would regularly let him feed on her as a form of sexual gratification.

It never included anything other than a bite, and perhaps a kiss, on Astarion’s part however. 

"Not on your neck", he frowned, not willing to leave a mark in such a visible place, "Lie down for me, love"

And as though she was spellbound, she did. 

She settled on the scarlet velvet once again, hiked her skirts up her legs, and offered her pale thigh for him to feast on. It was already littered with faint scars near her groin, little punctured wounds he’d left the previous times she’d asked him to feed on her in the last months. 

Her hand shakily reached out of the pink ribbons holding her knee high stocking and she swiftly untied it to reveal more skin. 

"How scandalous darling …", he cooed in this irresistible silky tone he’d practiced for centuries, "What if anyone walked in on us and witnessed me debauching you in such way ?"

Clarissa bit her lips and furiously blushed, her hair pooling around her like a crown of gold. 

He didn’t need any further invitation and quickly kneeled at her feet, expertly bracing her leg on his shoulder to pepper kisses near her femoral artery. 

Her pulse raced under his lips, and he felt like he couldn’t play pretend any longer. 

The moment Astarion bit her thigh, her warm and sweet blood coating his mouth and throat, she moaned obscenely loud. It was the kind of noise people would expect to hear near brothels, not in tailor shops. If he still had a mind to himself, it would’ve worried him, but each and every one of his concern was drowned by the euphoria of feeding. 

Well, almost every single one … 

Each time he fed, from silly clients with vampiric fetishes, or from faceless strangers that offered their blood to him in parties or balls, Astarion was always reminded of her. 

Tav. 

The memory of the first time he’d fed her flashed in his mind. He sometimes wondered if the taste of her was somehow sublimed in his memory, glorified by the longing he would always feel for the only woman he’d ever loved. 

No one had ever tasted as wonderful as her. Some part of him seethed at the fact that no matter who he bit or touched, the ghost of her still visited him. Even after all this time. 

It was better than to be haunted by the memory of Cazador, of course, but he had a special place in his heart for kind of suffering the thought of her revived in him.

A beautiful thorny flower he couldn't help but sting his fingers on. A bittersweet remembrance.

He’d bared himself in front of her, in every possible way, admitting that he could not easily be intimate with someone anymore. And as expected, because he could not pleasure her with his body, she had denied him, rejected him, to offer a mere ‘friendship’, instead of patiently staying by his side. What a fool he’d been to think that what they had was special …

In the end, he would always be just a body to use for the people around him. Nothing more.

Astarion’s fangs involuntarily dug deeper into Clarissa’s flesh as he got lost in his memories. Her hands gripped her petticoat hard, her knuckles all white near his forehead, when he rhythmically sucked on her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her accidentally rip the precious satin fabric it was made of. It tore and crumpled between her shaky fingers, as she moaned harder and harder. 

"It’s enough darling, I wouldn’t want you to go home bloodless", he mumbled from between her legs, lips and chin dripping with wasted delicacies. 

He carefully licked the wound, before grabbing a scrap of blue satin lying on a table next to him. Methodically securing it around her leg to stop the bleeding, he then quickly covered her with what was left of her skirt, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. 

"Are you alright ? I could make you some tea if you’d like." 

He’d once learnt from Shadowheart, back when they were camping, how to brew herbs to make Tav feel better after he’d fed on her. It was now a generosity he liked to extend to his very satisfied "victims". 

She was still pink all over, and the scent of arousal lingered around her, but it inspired nothing in him but disgust. 

"No, Asti, I need to be on my way. I have a dinner tonight" she groaned as she sat, and collected herself. 

She hastily arranged her head of golden curls, put her cloak back on, and extended a heavy purse of money that he gladly accepted. 

"I’d like for the dress to be ready on wednesday, is that quite alright ?" 

"Of course, darling. It’s a pleasure to deal with you, as always", he purred, placing a chaste kiss on her hand. 

And with with that she was out in the streets once again. To any oblivious onlooker she was simply out and about, but the faint limp with which she walked made Astarion smirk. 

His smile fell when he looked at the purse of money that was still in his hands. 

Don’t be mistaken, he warned himself, you’re no prostitute, the money is for the dress. 

For a few seconds, the nagging thought that nothing had really changed came back to plague him. 

It often did, when he was all alone with himself, sewing, trancing, or lying in a warm bath. A constant source of doubt and despair. 

He was free, or as free as a slave to vampiric urges can be. His master was long gone. He could roam wherever he pleased, feed from whoever he pleased, make use of his time however he pleased ...

And yet, he was still begging, performing, seducing, in exchange for a few drops of blood, and indirectly, for a purse of coins. 

Some crueler part of his mind even mocked himself, wondering if anyone had ever crossed the threshold of his tailor shop because they were interested in his designs in the first place. 

The voice in his head morphed and merged with the one of his master, and as he sat before the unfinished doublet on his table to start working on it once again, it whispered :

"Still loveless, still used, you pathetic child who never amounted to anything... You are nothing without me, I told you so."

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 1: Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to New

“So what do you want?” Annoyance resurfaces on her face. “My blood? Sex?” Astarion responds with a snort of laughter. “Even if that were true, rest assured, you would survive the experience.” A smirk forms on his lips, his eyes still exploring her figure. Celeste’s jaw tenses. “What a relief.” He resists the urge to touch her cheek, opting instead to lean closer and murmur almost hypnotically in her ear. “Oh, I would be very gentle with you…” he begins, “the only manipulation you have to fear from me is the kind that would drive you mad with desire…” he purrs. A slight tingle ripples across her skin. She composes herself and brushes it off. “Cute, but no thanks.”

*Reposting after freshly editing chapter 1, currently this fic has 35 chapters, see masterlist here or read on AO3 for more*

Summary: Bored and restless in Gale's tower after their victory over the Netherbrain, Astarion sets his sights on bedding Celeste Delios, an archivist in the Waterdeep library and a former flame from Gale's past.

Celeste, a descendent of the goddess Selûne who has been hunted by Sharrans her entire life, finds herself skeptical of Astarion, but when he seeks her aid in locating a fabled ring that could grant him sunlight, she reluctantly agrees...

Astarion x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3.4k

Content (chapter): descriptions of violence, history of abuse mentioned, language, religion, (d&d/Selûne and Shar, not real), sexual themes. Smut & fluff in later chapters, see AO3 tags or for detailed fic tags and warnings.

Astarion absentmindedly flips through a battered necromancy text at the Castle Waterdeep library, holding his thumb between his teeth. He bristles with frustration, bouncing one leg under the table. Nearly midnight, the moonlight filters through the skylight above.

This has now become a regular occurrence for him.

After the defeat of the Netherbrain and subsequent loss of the tadpole that had granted him immunity to the sun, Astarion had been lodging in Gale Dekarios’ tower, growing accustomed to spending his nights in Waterdeep lurking about the Docks Ward for the past several weeks.

In the beginning, he observed the nightlife from a corner of the Blushing Nymph, a festhall brimming with debauchery. He had hoped to bury his boredom, and perhaps himself, in the company of a stranger, but none of the locals particularly caught his eye.  

He’d never admit it to Gale, but a few nights ago, he took the wizard’s recommendation to peruse Castle Waterdeep’s private library. Astarion had heard whispers in Cazador’s palace of an arcane ring that could allow a vampire to walk in the sun, and if he was going to waste his time playing roommate with Gale and his other companions, he might as well make the most of his spare time. In his search through the stacks, he’d come up empty, thus far, instead finding himself intrigued by something - someone - else entirely.

Tonight, she immerses herself in a tome, her long, ashen hair cascading down her back, intermingling with darker shades of blonde. Her hand rests on her sharp chin as she furrows her brow, jaw clenched, a hint of frustration clear in her focused expression. He’s first noticed her several nights ago and, with nothing better to do, returned to old instincts, watching her from afar, as if stalking prey. His intentions were only slightly questionable. Mostly, he was curious. 

His interest in her hadn’t gone unnoticed. Celestria caught on to the library’s new regular almost immediately. She had spent years with little nighttime company, and his wasn’t a face one soon forgets. Tonight, however, he’d been difficult to ignore. Her concentration wavered under the weight of his intense stare.

“Can I help you?” she asks, annoyed, not looking up from her book. The vampire clears his throat and glances to the side, shaking off a bit of embarrassment from the way she addresses him. Despite his efforts to uphold his charm, he feels unsettled.

“What are you reading? It looks like it has your undivided attention.” He says in a casually flirtatious tone. 

“You know,” she says, still not looking at him, “people typically seek silence, not conversation, in a library.”

Astarion suppresses a twinge of annoyance at her sarcastic remark. Her aura of indifference may be genuine, or perhaps a carefully crafted facade. Regardless, he’s determined to figure her out, unsure if his own curiosity stems from intrigue or a more self-serving motive.

“Are you studying?” he persists, attempting to get through her haughty demeanor. 

“No.” Although she’s not outright rude, her lack of interest in engaging with him is apparent.

Unfortunately for her, Astarion loves to insert himself where he’s not wanted, as long as it’s entertaining. 

“Awful late to be lingering in a private library.” Standing up, he makes his way towards her table, hovering over her. She sighs dramatically and slams her book shut.

“Yet you’re in here, several nights a week, and never during daylight. I’ve seen you around. If you’re trying at all to conceal your nature, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it, vampire.” She gives him a pointed look.  

So she has noticed him.

His curiosity gets the best of him. “Really?” He bends down, extending an arm to lean on the table. 

“Your reading choices aren’t hiding your secret well, either.” She adds, gesturing to his book. Astarion raises an eyebrow and flips it over in his hands before stowing it away behind his back.

Her deduction doesn’t alarm him, particularly because she doesn’t seem to mind his vampirism, just his personality at the moment. 

“I’m a spawn…if we’re being specific.”

She ignores his correction. “How did you even get a pass? There’s no way you’re sneaking past the guards every night.” Astarion grins. 

“I used to be a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. I still know how to pull some strings. If anyone asks though, I’m here on behalf of Gale Dekarios’ pass,” he says in a low voice. Her face flashes with recognition and her body language relaxes, but only slightly. 

“Gale? Were you part of that lot that saved Baldur’s Gate with him? Big hero sort?” She doesn’t sound unimpressed, but she’s not in awe of him either, which is a relief. 

“It would be quite a stretch to call me a hero, my dear.” Astarion replies, “It was a tad self-serving as well, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?” She shows intrigue for the first time in their conversation, rising from her chair and reaching for the tome behind his back. He releases it with a slight scowl and she reshelves it before leaning against a bookcase.

“I wouldn’t say I’m particularly villainous, but I’m far from a paragon of virtue.” Astarion’s eyes rove over her body as he speaks. She searches his face for a moment before extending her hand. 

“Celestria Delios, but Celeste is fine. I’m an archivist here.” Astarion shakes her hand, his lips curling into a sly grin. Her grip is elusive, carefully placed to avoid her hand being squeezed too hard or to allow him to gain any leverage over her. It was a trick he’d used from time to time as well, and it only made her more interesting. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Celeste. Astarion.”

“No last name?”

“Not one you need to concern yourself with.” He answers coolly before changing the subject. “So what’s with the…eyes, if you don’t mind my asking? You don’t quite appear…typical.” 

Now that he’s closer, he can see the features of her face - there’s certainly something ethereal about them. Her hair frames the peak of her cheekbones in delicate waves, a strand brushing against the soft cleft of her chin. Her eyes aren’t atypical for a moon elf, a deep, green-blue hue, but the outside edges of her irises have an almost lunar glow to them.

Celeste gives him an apprehensive look and arches her eyebrow. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“I have several guesses,” his voice takes on a playful tone. “Not a fiend or cambion…” he muses, mischeviously making a show of checking her out, as if looking for a tail. She narrows her eyes and pivots.

He pauses for a few moments, watching her intently. “Are you of the Upper Planes?” he continues to gaze at her, trying to gauge any additional clues.

She hesitates. “My mother was, in a sense. I’m…second generation.” Astarion’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise.

“And your father?”

“Moon elf.”

“Curious,” he murmurs, pushing himself from his leaning position on the table and reaching forward to tuck a strand of her hair aside to observe the soft point of her ears. She flinches a bit but has nowhere to back away.

She tilts her head to the side. “Excuse you.”

“Apologies.” he retracts his hand with an appeasing smile, raising his palms defensively. “Still adjusting to civilization.” He adds innocently. “Is there a reason you’re being so vague, my dear?” 

“For my own good.” She grabs a stack of books off a nearby table, beginning to sort and shelve them. Astarion follows her, keeping the conversation going as she works.

“Is there danger in being open about your origins?” He lowers his voice and his lips curl upwards flirtatiously. “Are you something controversial?” 

“Nothing like that. Just…” she sighs, considering whether she can trust this strange vampire. She knows enough about Gale Dekarios and the company he keeps, however, to deduce Astarion likely poses no immediate danger to her.

“If people knew everything about me, they may seek to exploit my nature. Or hand me over to others who do.”

“So now you hide out in this library? Are you an archivist because you want to avoid interacting with people? Or to hide that… inner light of yours?”

“Perhaps I just like keeping late hours.” She says with a soft grin. Astarion smiles back at her, enjoying the progress he’s making against her tough exterior. 

“Well my dear, whoever these people are that have driven you to hiding in the shadows, I assure you..” he begins, leaning closer to catch her eye once more and softens his voice, “I would never seek to harm or control you.”

“So what do you want?” Annoyance resurfaces on her face. “My blood? Sex?”

Astarion responds with a snort of laughter.

“Even if that were true, rest assured, you would survive the experience.” A smirk forms on his lips, his eyes still exploring her figure.

Celeste’s jaw tenses. “What a relief.”

He resists the urge to touch her cheek, opting instead to lean closer and murmur almost hypnotically in her ear. “Oh, I would be very gentle with you…” he begins, “the only manipulation you have to fear from me is the kind that would drive you mad with desire…” he purrs. A slight tingle ripples across her skin. She composes herself and brushes it off.

“Cute, but no thanks.”

“Is that so?” Astarion leans in and boldly scans her face as if to challenge her. She squints at him.

“Work on your flirting. It’s a bit…desperate.”

He scowls.

She opens a book, checking a few pages before making space on the shelf for it. “What’s your angle here?”

“Come now, why such mistrust? The offer is tempting, isn’t it? You know, I recently encountered a drow alchemist who practically begged for me to drink her blood. Unfortunately…” his voice trails off, nose wrinkling at the memory, “she wasn’t my type.” 

“In that case, you’re looking in the wrong place. Archivists are more interested in studying fascinating subjects than experimenting with them.” She says to him dryly. “Who do you feed on, anyway? I haven’t noticed any mysterious disappearances in Waterdeep lately. Well, any more than the norm.”

“Animals, mostly. Kobolds, bears…” he says, his voice fading away in thought. “There was a time when I was occasionally gifted a foul rat, but now I have a greater selection to choose from. I have to admit that animals have been my primary source of sustenance since I escaped my former master. I’ve had a generous enemy, now and then. And Gale, once. What?”

“Gale?”

“I don’t recommend it.” Astarion says. “Bad side effects.” Celeste lets out a noise that could almost be mistaken as a suppressed laugh. 

“If you’re a spawn, where is your master? I don’t see him lurking about.”

Astarion’s face becomes rigid. “Cazador Szarr,” he begins gruffly. “is dead. Right before that battle in Baldur’s Gate, Gale and some of my… friends,” he pauses, considering the word, not quite used to it, “... helped me kill him before he could kill me. I’m free of him now, to live as I wish.” 

“How terrible. I’m sorry.” Celeste feels a moment of sympathy for him, as if the revelation explains his behavior. She’d sensed all the grandiosity and flirtation was a front to conceal something deeper.

Astarion shrugs, his face once again displaying its usual glamour. “Let’s not dwell on it.”

“Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.” She suggests. Astarion’s expression turns curious once more. 

“In what ways are we similar?”

“Well, for starters,” she bends and picks up her things from the table. “We both seem to be nocturnal.” Winking at him, she saunters off.

Astarion can’t help smiling to himself.

As she walks under the skylight, the moon’s glow illuminates her hair until she disappears into the library’s basement. After considering what she said, he leaves the library and wanders back to Gale’s tower through the Dock Ward. It’s late, but Gale would still be up.

The Dock Ward was notoriously raucous and its stench of rotting fish isn’t particularly appealing to Astarion, but Gale lived close enough to the edge of the Castle Ward that Astarion had to only tolerate the walk there. The immediate vicinity of the tower itself was more pleasant, only a few blocks from the estate of one of the richest men in Waterdeep.

Moreover, Astarion frequently held the privilege of often being the most dangerous thing lurking in the darkness, anyway. 

Gale’s description of his home as a tower had felt like an exaggeration once Astarion had seen it. It wasn’t a small dwelling, but it certainly wasn’t some grand castle-like structure, either. Though Astarion would never reveal it, he found it quite comfortable. His sunlight aversion and insistence on being alone during the day led to his seclusion in the windowless attic. Regardless, he was grateful he didn’t have to make arrangements on his own elsewhere. 

His and Gale’s fellow traveling companions occupied the other guest rooms. After defeating the Absolute, Astarion and Shadowheart returned to Waterdeep with Gale, having nowhere else to go. Minthara and Karlach had gone to Avernus in search of a way to fix Karlach’s infernal engine, a hellish machine that kept her alive but threatened to make her combust on the mortal plane. When they’d come to Waterdeep, triumphant, the two were quite happy to share a room, a development that none of their party found surprising by the way Minthara doted on Karlach during their travels. Shadowheart had the unfortunate fate of sharing a wall with the two of them, but didn’t complain too often. 

Their other companions had moved on, embarking on fresh beginnings. Last Astarion heard, Wyll was in Baldur’s Gate, helping his father, Duke Ravengard, protect and rebuild the city. Lae’zel was gods know where, but seemed fulfilled carrying out her duties amongst the Githyanki. Jaheira and Minsc stayed behind as well, surrounded by Jaheira’s family and her remaining Harpers. Halsin had taken their animal companions, Scratch and an owlbear cub, back to the Grove, happy to escape the city. Gale’s home had effectively become an orphanage for dysfunctional vagabonds. 

Engrossed in a book by the fire, Gale sits with his tressym, Tara, perched beside him as Astarion enters the den. A pang of envy at his friend’s idyllic, quiet life tugs at Astarion as he lingers in the doorway - something he feels he will never quite have, but all the same, isn’t sure he’d enjoy so much. He frequently finds himself restless in Waterdeep, but doesn’t have a clue where else he could go right now. His newfound freedom still overwhelms him. 

He settles in the chair opposite Gale, gracefully crossing one leg over the other. “I believe I met an acquaintance of yours this evening at the library.” 

Gale looks up at him. “Oh?” Astarion nods.

“Her name was Celeste.” A look crosses Gale’s features that Astarion can’t quite identify. “What?” He inquires with a raised eyebrow.

“I knew her. Long ago. Archivist, yes? Weird eyes?” Gale gestures in a circular motion around his face as he asks the question. Astarion dips his chin. 

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, a lovely girl she was,” Tara says dotingly, leaping to the floor and resettling near the fireplace to groom her paws.

“Your cat has met her? How well did you know her?”

“Tressym, dear.” Tara warns.

“We ran in similar circles as teenagers.” He says, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. Astarion notices his discomfort but doesn’t comment on it.

“She was quite elusive with the details of her life.”

As Gale stands up, “Well, she’s quite cautious. I’m only privy to the deeper details of her…heritage because of my relationship with Mystra.” He peruses a nearby shelf as he speaks. He pulls an old book out and dusts it off, handing it to Astarion, who glances at the spine, looking for its title: The Lost Children of the Moon. 

“She’s a Moonborn.” Gale says, “History’s all there. Are you familiar?” With a flick, Astarion turns a few more pages.

“I thought her kind were just stories, honestly.” Astarion responds, reading a paragraph:

It is said that the Moonborn originated from Selûne during her conflicts with her sister Shar, the mistress of the night. Selûne crafted the Moonborn from her shimmering shards and silver essence, fashioning them into celestial servants of the moon. These beings were bestowed with humanoid forms and tasked with safeguarding life and illuminating the darkness.

The book shows a map of Faerûn, illustrating the potential places of Moonborn settlements, one in Waterdeep near the House of the Moon temple, another near Snowdown. There are a few potential locations marked, loosely cited. 

“Who writes these kinds of volumes?” Astarion asks. “This seems like a rare text.” 

Gale grins. “It is. I’m guessing a Moonborn themselves wrote it long ago. It came into my possession during my time with Mystra, entrusted in my care,” he says proudly. 

“Fucking Mystra, again.” Astarion mutters. Though the goddess had removed the threat of the orb from Gale’s chest that made him a walking time bomb, and Gale had disengaged with her, he still reminisced with a distant fondness, no doubt proud he’d once convened with a goddess.

“Celeste was part of the settlement of Moonborn here in Waterdeep.” Gale muses. “Just over a decade ago, when she was a teenager, the Moonborn suffered a devastating attack by the Sharrans. Her entire family died, and as she tells it, she nearly perished with them, but Selûne intervened. How, I’m not sure.”

“So she’s just been wandering her whole life since then, alone?” Astarion asks.

“Not wandering.” Gale responds. “Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Jaheira and the Harpers took her in for a little while when Celeste was turned away from an orphanage in Baldur’s Gate because of her age. Either way, she ended up back here. She’s been at the library for years. I don’t think she likes her quiet existence, just rather she’s forced into it. Hard to make friends when you have a big secret to keep. Surely you know something about that.”

Astarion listens to Gale but doesn’t engage, distracted by the book in his hands. “She said she’s nocturnal. Can her kind not live in the sunlight?” 

“They can.” Gale answers. “My understanding is that it’s just not preferable. She always found the daytime draining, as I recall. I’ve only ever seen her in the evening or early morning hours.” 

“Is she immortal then, too?” Astarion asks. 

Gale shrugs. “I’m not sure. Both Moonborn and moon elves have long lifespans, and Moonborn stop aging around 28 years. It’s rare to come across even immortal beings who don’t meet their demise within a few centuries.”

“You seem to know…quite a lot about her.” Astarion comments, closing the book and leaning forward. A hint of blush appears on Gale’s cheeks. 

“Like I said, we…knew one another.”

“Oh?” Amusement tinges Astarion’s voice.  

“Yes.” Gale says, looking at the fire. “We, ah...” his voice tapers off. “Before Mystra, Celeste…was my first.”

“She took your virginity?” Astarion lets out a bark of laughter and Gale shoots him a disapproving look.

“It wasn’t anything special. I had no clue what I was doing. She was…nice about it. We were young. I’d rather not dwell on that detail. I’m sure she’s eager to forget about it herself. Mystra had my entire attention soon after.”

Gale walks to the stove and puts on a kettle of hot water. “Perhaps Celeste and Shadowheart would have something to chat about.” He muses.

“So she’s a survivor of tragedy, a chosen of Selûne,” Astarion grins, “and a crush of yours.”

Gale scoffs. “I think I’ve had my lifetime’s fill of immortal and nearly-immortal women. But what’s this about, Astarion? I’ve never known you to be so intrigued by anyone during our travels together.” Gale regards him suspiciously. “Rather, what’s in this for you?”

“Curiosity.” Astarion waves his hand dismissively.

As Gale retreats to his room, Astarion reverts his attention back to the book.

Throughout history, the Moonborn have dedicated themselves to combating nocturnal evils, including deranged lycanthropes and vampires, striving to uphold the sanctity of light and life.

“Well…fuck.” He mumbles to himself.

When the morning sun appears on the horizon over Waterdeep, beginning to cascade through the curtains, Astarion wearily climbs the stairs to the attic. He eases into a trance, eager for night to fall once again.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you feel so inclined, ANy interaction/kudos on AO3 or Tumblr means the world to me! You find the full fic on AO3 here! Thank you so much! x