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tavs-tressym · 17 hours ago

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Delicious Denial - Chapter Ten

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 4850 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

WARNING: Graphic smut (hand + mouth stuffs), references to abusive backstory, dirty talk, top Astarion.

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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

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A/N: My posting may be slow, but my chapters are juicy. Enjoy this one, my lovelies. 💖

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Chapter Ten - Hard

Fuck, okay… Fuck…

Your tent walls never felt so transparent. The anxiety and conflict is practically radiating off your skin as the pit in your stomach only gouges deeper. Everything just needs to shut up for a minute, you need to think… But the soft snoring from neighbouring tents and the gentle breeze in the trees has never been more deafening.

Deep breath. Think.

Pros: Astarion wants to fuck you.

Cons: Astarion wants to fuck you.

Okay, that doesn’t really clear things up… Gods, why does it feel so intense? Why can’t it be easy? It seems easy enough for him…

It’s like being a virgin all over again. The thought of him seeing you naked for the first time constricts your throat. You aren’t ashamed of your body, quite the opposite: You relish each wandering gaze you receive, each pair of eyes that struggles to focus on yours. But, here and now, you forget that he’d most likely be naked too. You can only think of his hands on you, feeling and grabbing for things you aren’t ready to give.

Hands have done this before, touched and ripped pants and moans from your lips. Two hands. Hers. And you were so young when that started… Old enough for most, but, not for you. You didn’t even know who you were yet.

So, do you know now? Are you ready, now?

You’re ready for something... You don’t know what it is, how to ask for it or if he’s even capable of giving it to you… So, is it worth the risk? Is it even possible?

Last time was different to what you’re used to, and you loved every moment. You felt things, you did things. It was all on your terms and it grounded you, if only for a moment. But what would this look like? Would you be suffocated by his selfish weight? Would he let you take the lead again? Would you have to fight him for it?

I just want to feel good, like everybody else…

You want it to be possible. Can he really do that? He certainly thinks he can… Gods, he could be fucking terrible, couldn’t he? What a letdown that would be…

Wait… Shit… You could be terrible…

You don’t think you are. But you only have one witness to those talents and she didn’t have… A certain ‘appendage’… The fuck do you even do with one of those? There’s a big difference between humping it through his breeches and having it directly in front of you… You guess…

Okay, whatever, back on track. Are you doing this, or not?

…

Are you doing this, or not?

…

Are you doing this… Or not…?

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The world outside your tent is cold. You should probably be wearing more than your shirt and small clothes, but is there really any point to putting more clothes on at this point? Your tent flap, flops behind you. The soil beneath you infuses a growing, aching chill into the soles of your feet. You glance at his tent, not far from yours, but far enough to piss you off a little. Hasty steps that grow numb with the cold and…

There it is… And here you are…

The red of his tent, coupled with an emerging candlelight glow, a moving shadow, the slightest sound of a metallic clink and a stroke of parchment.

Deep breath. Sigh.

“Darling…?”

Stop sighing. Stop sighing. “Uh... No…?”

He chuckles softly. “Darling, I know it’s you… Are you coming in?” His voice is warm.

“... Maybe…?”

There’s a pause as he waits for you to decide. “Isn’t it cold, out there…?”

…

“Yes…”

Fuck, okay…

You step closer to the flap of his tent. Hesitating for a moment, you pull it up. Soft flame-light leaks onto the cool, blueish grass. You can’t resist the promise of heat any longer, quickly ducking under and crawling inside. The flap hits your ass on your way in, shoving you the rest of the way, just in case you thought to abort your mission. You scoldingly look back at it as though it were a pushy friend.

“Excellent choice…”

You slowly drag your gaze towards him, and there he is. Shirtless, resting back on one elbow, a cup of wine in hand and a book on his blanket covered lap, grinning mercilessly. He silently appreciates your form: The way your plump thighs expand as you kneel beside him, the way the loose fastenings of your shirt expose your collarbones, and that small triangle of fabric sitting at the apex of your thighs.

Your breathing deepens at the sight of him like this, in a state of almost relaxation. You always knew you were attracted to men as well as women. But, this is a whole other level of attraction. The heat you feel is regardless of gender, you just see something you like. And gods, do you like it…

You need to hurry up and get this over with, before you change your mind. Just have the experience, answer your questions and go.

“So, how are we doing this?” You ask, looking around his tent and avoiding what you really want to see. It isn’t the neatest of tents: Littered with small piles of books and a few bits of clothing he’s found along the way. There’s something else, too. A large fabric lies beside him that might have been white once, but now is stained with enough dirt to render the original colour unrecognisable.

His grin falters a little at your question. “Are you in a rush?” He inspects you, the way your hands fidget as you shrug in response. You’re nervous. It’s unlike you. What happened to the confident, flirty little brat that he’s grown so fond of? He takes a breath and rethinks his approach. He sits up properly, setting his book and wine aside, and shuffling closer. “Darling, why did you come, if you’re so nervous?”

Well, there goes any hope of seeming cool and casual about all of this…

Sighing exasperatedly, your chest finding relief in finally just being honest about your feelings. “Fuck, I don’t know…”

He smiles slightly, seeing your shoulders relax a little. Your hand is lifted into his, forcing you to glance up at him. “Do you actually want this?”

Taking a deep breath, you nod. “Yeah, I think so…”

His eyes narrow slightly and his eyes flick over you in suspicion. Then, he grins in slight amusement. “Don’t tell me, you’re a virgin…?”

“What? No! Well… Not exactly.” Those burning red eyes could pierce your soul with how intrigued they are by your answer. “Look, I’ve had sex, alright? Just not… This kind.”

“And what kind is that, my darling?”

You sigh and roll your eyes at having to spell it out for him. You point directly at his crotch. “My ex didn’t have one of those, alright?!”

He can’t help but huff in amusement. “Ah, I see… And only the one ‘ex’, too? Hmm… Sounds rather tedious if you ask me…”

“Ugh, you have no idea…” Soft smiles are exchanged and the tension between you begins to feel less like a wall and more like a magnetism.

It feels good to talk.

“Well, I can assure you, I am far from a ‘tedious’ lover…”

“Uhuh, so you say…” You grin, beginning to feel your usual, sassy self return to your mouth.

He scoffs and grins right back, he shuffles closer, positively itching to prove it. “Lie down.” The words rumble from his chest to yours, you feel them call to you, lure you, just as he designed them to do.

He lifts one side of the blanket, inviting you inside his bedroll. The glimpse of the waistband of his breeches at his abdomen both relieves and disappoints you. You attempt a confident smirk as you crawl in, beside him. He watches as you settle onto the pillow, covering you with the blanket and half leaning over you. Smiling softly, he appreciates your features and gently strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, more softly than he’s ever spoken to you before.

“Yes…”

“Good… Now, I need to know something, my dear.”

Your eyes widen. “What? What is it? Why?”

He chuckles softly. “Don’t panic. I just like to know what I’m dealing with. I want to know what you like. Can you give me that, darling?”

Fuck, okay. What do I like?

The question sounds so foreign. It’s another language, another life that isn’t yours. You nod anyway, at least willing to try, and he smiles, nodding back. He takes a moment to cup your cheek and leans down closer.

“I’m going to kiss you, now. Hard… Or soft?” His cool breath fans against your lips and you have to stop yourself from sucking it in, just to have a piece of him flow through you for a second.

‘Soft’? Can you even do ‘soft’? Yet another language you cannot speak.

“Hard…” Safe. Stick with what you know.

He isn’t surprised by your answer, but he does inspect you for further insight. His trained vermillion almost deciphers you faster than you can decipher yourself. You don’t know what he could discover, but you know you at least want to be the first to find it. But, then, the hand on your cheek slides down to your jaw and pulls you up to crash your lips against his. He’s cold, just as he was before. And although you’ve anticipated (obsessed) over this potential contact all evening, it still makes you gasp. A gasp that he almost instantly swallows. It’s his now.

He harshly sucks your lower lip between his teeth, not biting yet. You expect the pain of it, but it becomes clear to you now that he wants you to wait. He’s testing, experimenting, playing with you. It’s quickly apparent that this is more than a kiss; he’s reading your palm, discovering who you are. He notes how you lean into him, how your brows knit for him, how your back arches for him. He slowly bites down until you hold your breath and instinctively reach for his shoulder. Your limit.

He releases your lip and soothes it with a gentle swirl of his tongue, coaxing the slightest of hums from your throat. If you could do anything but kiss, you’d probably scold yourself for that noise. That unfiltered, slight noise. His hand rests on the ground beside your head, body leaning over you further, the new angle giving him further command of your lips. His knee comes to sit between your thighs and he looks down at you. He grins at the sight of your wide eyes and parted lips, blanketed by his shadow, submerged in his likeness. Only now do you realise that your breathing is much deeper than before, not a full pant, but enough to be noticeable. And he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Wanting more, are we?” He grins, mischievously.

Smug fucker…

You can’t help but huff in amusement, shaking your head in dismissal of his audacity. But he doesn’t allow it, leaning in closer. “My dear, this is what I do. You’re allowed to enjoy it. In fact, I insist that you do.” He sees how you look away, the way your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Usually, he’d relish this, but he has a better goal in mind for tonight. And for that to happen… “You need to relax. Can you do that for me?”

Deep breath. Nod.

He lifts his hand from beside your head and holds it in front of you. “I want you to take this, and put it anywhere you like to be touched.”

You glance at his hand, hesitating before holding it with both of yours and slowly guiding it down to the centre of your chest.

He watches as you move it across your shirt, fingers brushing against the underside of your breast to reach your waist. “Here.”

The journey isn’t over though. Next, you guide his hand to cup your thigh. “Here.”

Finally, you slide it up your thigh until he instinctively squeezes the flesh of your rear. “Here…”

Each word is breathier than the last. His eyes lock onto yours, though now, significantly more lidded. He squeezes again. “Here…?” He asks, leaving his lips parted. You nod. You don’t think his smirk could look any more wolfish if he tried. But, you only see it for a moment before he crashes his lips into yours once again, hand pawing at your soft skin and sliding down your leg to pull it up and hook it around his waist. The sound you make is enough to flush your cheeks with embarrassment, but then you feel how he only kisses you with more vigour.

Fuck it…

Your fingers twist in his hair, earning a noise of his own to vibrate against your skin. His leg moves to join the other, between your thighs. He lowers himself onto you, his chest pressing against yours.

Now, you’re panting. You both are.

Open mouthed, messy movements paint each other’s lips. His tongue seeks yours and you don’t hesitate to taste him again. At this point, you’re convinced there’s something supernaturally addictive about a vampire’s kiss. It’s unlike any you’ve had before and it’s driving you insane, just like last time. Just as he designed it to do.

But he’s not immune either, it seems. There’s something about the way you respond to him, the way your breath hitches with every move he makes… Gods, he could devour you if you’d let him. And that… That, is new… He cares about this… He wants you to understand, to know that he’s good at this. You have to know that he’s good at this.

His hand slips to your inner thigh, inching closer to the hem of your small clothes. “Can I touch you here…?” He whispers urgently against your lips.

“Y-yes…” You stammer back, no hesitation.

His fingers press into the warm, wet fabric that waits for him, earning a gasp and a moan from you. “Gods… You’re soaked…” His fingers begin to rub you in large, perfect movements that make you whimper.

He needs so much more. He needs to hear what other noises he can coax out of you. “Fuck… I… I want these off… Darling, can… Can I take them off?” He asks, tugging at the waistband. There are no words that leave your mouth. Your hands, eagerly shoving them down your thighs is your answer. Sitting back, he hungrily watches and reaches down to aid you, yanking them down and leaving them to hang around one of your ankles.

Instinctively, your legs close, causing him to stop and glance up at you. He places a hand on your knee, keeping his eyes on yours and offering you a small, reassuring nod. You bite your lip and take a second to breathe through any initial fears you may have, then, slowly, your knees part. He smiles softly in the knowledge that, in this moment, you trust him.

Seeing you like this for the first time, he releases a sigh of appreciation, hand sliding up your inner thigh. He can’t help but push your legs further apart to get a better look. He’s seen hundreds of these and hundreds of others. Seeing what lies beneath some stranger’s clothes is a novelty that wore off long ago. But you… You aren’t a stranger… This is you… And this one… It’s yours… It excites him, the sight of something so new, and yet, not new at all…

His hand moves closer, his thumb brushes against the hair that frames your most sensitive and intimate parts. Biting his lip, he uses his thumb to gently guide your lips open, exposing you fully to his view. He has to suppress a groan, his mouth watering at the sight of your glistening arousal. He guesses how you’d taste: The sweetness of summer fruits with the richness of wine… Whatever it may be, it is undoubtedly, uniquely you. He yearns for it.

Patience.

Tearing his gaze away from the delicious sight before him, he focuses on your face. He leans over you again, finding your lips with his in another passionate, hard kiss. Gasp. The pad of his middle finger gently grazes just above your sensitive bud. He doesn’t stop kissing you, even as your mouth opens wide with a barely suppressed moan. Again, his finger moves, but this time in steady, slow circles. “A-ahh…” The moan escapes you anyway, there’s no stopping it. He moves faster and you frantically cup his face, pulling him in to muffle your sounds with his mouth. Gods, the taste of him, the feel of him. You had braced for a messy, brutal chafe, but his touch is gentle, exactly when and where it should be.

Then, your hips jolt as he directly swipes over that oversensitive button.

He pulls back, enough to see your face. “Too much?”

“A-a little…”

He returns to his earlier ministrations and you feel yourself melting into the pillow once again, as if by his command. “Like this?”

A whimper pushes against the back of your teeth as you bite down hard on your lower lip, you nod fervently. You can feel that familiar tightening in your core as he continues that perfect movement. It’s consistent, steady and if he could just keep it up for a little longer… “N-no…” You whine with disappointment as he stops, leaving his post.

He chuckles softly. “Patience, my dear. I just want to take my time with you.”

You feel a second finger slide down your folds with the first, towards your entrance. You gasp as he finds it, preparing yourself for intrusion, but it doesn’t quite come. Instead, he strokes the neighbouring, sensitive skin; playing with the abundance of slick that has gathered there. “Darling…” His darkened eyes are locked on yours, loving every twitch in your expression. “Can I…?”

The question alone is enough to make you hold your breath. You manage to release enough for a small whisper. “Yes…”

He can’t help but grin as he positions his fingers at your entrance. He starts with one, slowly sinking it into you with shallow pumps, easing you open. As you breathe a soft moan and close your eyes, one of your hands slides down his neck to grip onto his shoulder. He’s cold, inside you. Your walls flutter around his finger at the strange, but welcome sensation. He feels your body adjust and accept him and it fills him with a hot thrill. You’re vulnerable. His mind races with all the things he could do with that kind of power, but he can’t even bring himself to gloat about this. He can only enjoy the tight, pulsing heat that relaxes around him.

You are so… Alive…

Once you’ve adjusted, he introduces the second one. But, this time, he delves into you so eagerly, so deeply, that he lifts your hips with his hand. Thank gods, you’re not a virgin…

Back arches, head tilts back, mouth opens and a loud, ragged, deep moan claws it’s way out of your throat. Thankfully, only the beginnings of it are unfiltered as his free hand quickly clamps down onto your mouth. “Shh… Let’s not wake the others, hm?” He whispers with the most triumphant of grins.

Then, like the absolute prick that he is, he curls his fingers and begins to steadily pump them in and out of you. You whimper into his palm, wetting it with your breath. Your eyes can barely stay open, your hand pulls at his hair whilst the other claws at his shoulder. “Mmmff! Mmm! Mmmhh!”

“Gods, you’re so sensitive… And you’re taking it all so well, aren’t you, dear?” He remarks, entranced by this view of you, completely consumed by pleasure. His long fingers stroke your walls in places that have never been reached before and massage that part of you that makes your eyes roll.

He can only wonder: If this is how you react to his hand, how might you react to…

He begins to grind his palm onto your clit with every deep thrust of his hand. Your whimpers staccato with your pants as he brings you closer to that glorious edge. “Eyes on me, darling.”

You can’t. Even if you could open your eyes, it would be a herculean effort to stop them from rolling back at this point.

So, he stops.

You whine again, you were so close. “Eyes on me, or you won’t be coming, my dear.” He grins and speaks infuriatingly softly. Prying your lids open, you steer your eyes to connect with his. He’s gorgeous like this: Half-lidded eyes, hair ruffled and unkempt, breathing heavily over you from his arousal and efforts.

“Good girl.”

Wet, rhythmic sounds fill the tent as he plunges his fingers in and out of your perfect cunt with increased intensity. Panting and digging your nails into his shoulders, you approach your peak once more. Your throat scratches with the guttural squeal that hits his palm. Convulsing, shuddering, your walls grip him tightly, to the point of almost halting his movements, which he continues mercilessly. And all the while, he is watching you. His obsessed, beguiled gaze pierces through the haze of your orgasm and you force yourself not to look away. Then, it’s too much. You reach down and grip his wrist to stop him.

He removes his fingers suddenly, releasing your mouth and sitting up as you gasp for air, dazed and disoriented beneath him. He looks down at his hand with a feral intensity, parting his fingers and admiring the connecting strands of your juices that glaze his skin. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around them, sucking them clean as though he’s alone in this tent. His free hand twitches, aching to free the strain within his breeches. Your chest rises and falls slower, even deeper than before as you are unable to tear your eyes from the sight. He moans around his fingers and reluctantly removes them once he realises that there’s nothing left of you to taste. He sighs and looks up at you.

His eyes widen at first in what could be embarrassment, but it’s more like shock. He forgot himself for a moment there. He lost himself in you…

His expression changes slightly, and that’s when you realise that there’s almost… Anger, in his eyes. He shakes his head, unable to look at you right now as he realises that he’s enjoying this too much, enjoying you, too much. He’s served himself up on a platter, pleasured thousands of people and not thought twice about it in two-hundred years. He never got swept up in it, never let his guard down, not even for a moment.

Until now.

“What? No, fuck you. You… You don’t get to do that.” His mind scrambles for understanding… For blame…

You didn’t even touch him. You just laid there and… No, it doesn’t make sense and he won’t let it happen again.

He looks down at you, lay there before him, legs spread and body boneless, still catching your breath. Chuckling smugly, he places that careful smirk over his lips once again. “More?”

You narrow your eyes at him, hating how easily he’s managed to reduce you to nothing but a wanton puddle. But, you can’t help the way your eyes drift to the strained lacing of his breeches. It’s true, you want more, but you’re not sure if your body can take it. You haven’t had an orgasm like that in… Well, ever…

You sigh and reluctantly shake your head, still unable to form words. You expect disappointment, but he only grins wider. He tilts his head to the side and continues to observe you. “Have I tired you out already, dear?” Scoffing, the only thing you manage to do in response is hold up your middle finger. He laughs, takes it and places a soft kiss on your knuckle, gazing up at you. “I’ll take that as a yes…”

He’d ask if you enjoyed it, but the sight of your utterly debauched form is all the answer he needs. He shuffles back and closes your legs for you, the shift causing you to shiver slightly. The pillow sinks on one side as he lays beside you, propping up his head by his elbow. You gaze up at him and that cocky fucking grin. You can’t bring yourself to hate it, though… After all, he did earn it.

Eyes half-lidded and lazy, you reach up and cup his cheek. The tenderness of your touch causes his eyes to widen slightly. “Thank you…” You whisper.

He huffs amusedly and leans in closer. “Any time, darling…” The kiss is sweet and slow, betraying the brutal passion you shared only moments ago.

Pulling back, you open your eyes to find that his are still closed. That line between his brows seems fainter, his lips are relaxed and dusted with pink from your attention. He looks so… Peaceful… Like this…

Clearing your throat, you sit up, relieving the weight on your chest that only grew the longer you observed him. Let’s not get carried away, here. This was just a bit of fun. He got to prove his point and you got to lay there and take it. Simple. Easy.

Simple… Easy…

“Well, I should probably go and get some sleep…” You find your smallclothes, still hooked onto your ankle, and pull them up. He watches with an unreadable expression… Or maybe he isn’t watching at all... His eyes seem focused, yet dormant, as though he can’t see a thing. You’re about to leave when he reaches out, gently holding onto your wrist. “Wait...”

Your eyes shoot down to his hand on your wrist, then up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I just… Want to make sure that we’re okay, that you won’t avoid me tomorrow, like you did last time…” His eyes are round and earnest as he looks up at you.

You feel the tent walls growing closer. “I… I won’t. I’ll be normal… I swear.” ‘Normal’? Maybe not ‘normal’, after this… But you’ll try. He inspects you, seeing no deception, even as you struggle to look him in the eye. Nodding, he releases your wrist, allowing you to leave. You turn and almost jump at the opportunity, but then, you stop in your tracks.

With a shameful sigh, you look back at him. “I… I never apologised for that… Did I?” He glances up at you in confusion. “For avoiding you, after…” The confusion doesn’t leave his face. You take a deep breath, choosing to continue anyway. “I… I didn’t know how to feel about it… I’d never done something like that before and… I just needed some space but I never… I never told you that… And that wasn’t fair…” He just stares at you, as though you’re speaking a different language. “So… I’m sorry… For making things weird.” You sigh, relieved to have finally addressed it.

Silence. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. Finding no words, he simply clears his throat and nods. You nod back. More silence. You clear your throat. “So… I guess, I’ll see you in the morning…” You smile softly, he returns it and nods again.

Lifting the flap to the tent, the chill of the outdoors hits your heated face, somehow even colder than before. When did the tent get so hot?

No matter. You duck under and it closes behind you.

He watches you disappear, mind still desperately trying to process your words. ‘Sorry’. You’re… ‘sorry’... A word he’s spoken countless times, begging for mercy, begging for safety. But no one has said that to him in…

Gods, it’s just a word. He rubs his face and sighs, trying to get a hold of himself.

His eyes drift to the new, empty space beside him, that familiar dip in the pillow. The tent feels colder now, but he just chalks it up to you, annoyingly, letting all the heat out when you lifted the tent flap. He attempts to fill the space, shuffling up and laying on his back.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long to regain himself again, but that momentary, strange pull in his chest makes him feel uneasy, even after it has passed. The fading warmth of your body is pressed into the bedroll, embracing his bare back and everything that’s carved into it.

An hour passes, and he tries to fall into a trance, he really does. But the memory of you writhing beneath him, the feeling of you clenching around his fingers and the taste of you on his tongue refuses to leave his mind. He sighs in irritation, feeling no better than a horny teenager.

With his breeches unlaced and shimmied below his hips, his hand disappears beneath the blanket. His eyes close and there you are again: Soft skin, parted lips, heaving chest and eyes, needily locked onto his.

“F-fuck…”

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whiskeyskin · 13 hours ago

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Love the lil' realistic tummy rolls 😚👌

heh hey

full spicy on hellsite and bsky

#love the full version even more #😉😏#bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion smut

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verbenaa · 9 hours ago

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to eden | chapter nine

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 11.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: blowjobs 😎; canon-compliant, non-graphic mentions of SA 😔 (Astarion 😭)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

𝒶/𝓃: hello!!!!! apologies it took me so long to get this chapter completed. But it is finally done and I very much hope you enjoy it. Here's to chapter 10 taking me half the time to write as this one did. please let me know your thoughts down in the comments and I appreciate you all!!!

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“Are you even listening to me?”

Rin blocks out the sound of Astarion, positively incensed about absolutely nothing of consequence, as he follows her around the grounds of the Last Light Inn, complaining rather loudly for her tastes.

She sighs as she trudges down one of the dirt paths leading away from the inn and back towards their camp, the area thankfully empty as he strides just behind her at a clipped pace.

“I stopped listening about five minutes ago, Astarion, when you decided to keep saying the same thing over and over again,” Rin says, annoyance sneaking into her words as she cuts a look back towards the angry vampire somehow managing to stomp elegantly after her.

“I’ll stop saying it over and over again when you realize that I am right.”

Gods, he could be so irritating.

While their encounter with Ketheric Thorm went surprisingly well and no one dared to second guess them in their ruse of pretending to be True Souls, Rin still felt somewhat unmoored by it all. The plot was thickening with a quickness and intensity she didn’t care for; something that was only growing more and more sinister brewing just beneath the surface, and she isn’t looking forward to figuring out whatever that something might be.

There’s a very large part of her the longs to run—to simply disappear into the darkness and never return; to sprint away from all of this madness, the constant battles, the sharp malice of it all.

Her life may not have accumulated to very much back in Baldur’s Gate—little money, the occasional performance at a shitty tavern, the more-than-occasional odd job for the Guild—but at the very least it was predicable in its unpredictability.

Sure, she didn’t always have the money that she quite desperately needed, but she always knew to expect the possibility of not having it. She always knew how to sweet talk her way into getting more time to pay her debts, how to charm the baker into giving her an extra roll or two, or when times were particularly tough, how to steal what she needed to without even getting caught (most of the time).

They were skills she had honed over a lifetime of living on the streets and in the murky shadows of the Lower City, things that she had worked hard to perfect to the best of her ability in order to survive. If there was one thing Rin knew, it was how to work to the system.

Thirty-four years in and she’s yet to meet a magistrate while draped in chains, so she must be doing something right.

But the only thing she can dare to expect these days is the unexpected.

And Rin is not a fan of unexpected things—unless said things happen to be a nice bottle of wine or a fancy necklace; though as far as she can remember, no one has ever gifted her much of anything.

“What exactly did you want me to do, Astarion?”

“We should have stayed longer,” he hisses towards her, eyes narrowed and lip curled menacingly. “There was more information we could have dug out. There were merchants we could have bought more weapons and potions from. There were plenty of things we could have done, and yet you had us running away scared. You even let those goblins fight for their lives instead of just killing them outright. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Clearly, she doesn’t see the issue the same as Astarion, because she couldn’t find a single problem with the plan. It was the sane, normal thing to do after such a covert operation. They were a rag-tag group of adventurers, not spies.

They had maintained their cover, eventually killed the goblins, talked to the decidedly awful Disciple Z’rell, and then got the hells out of there as fast as they could.

The memory of Z’rell searching through her mind draws a minute shiver to her form, the sensation of another tadpole clawing through her brain with a wave of energy and touching on the darker things she keeps hidden in the depths of her thoughts—old memories that were purposely forgotten, hopes that she had long given up on having, disappointments that had been left to languish in the corners like dusty cobwebs—had been very unwelcome, to say the least.

She hadn’t been expecting to have to defend herself against Z’rell’s invasion, and she hated having to use her desire for Astarion as a distraction, even it if had worked.

It had left her feeling as though she had been stripped bare, like some raw part of her had been left exposed to salt.

She didn’t dare to show Z’rell any of the truly illicit memories, for the half-orc certainly didn’t deserve to see Astarion in such a way and Rin was not about to put his body on display for her, even within the relative safety of her own mind or for the sake of the mission.

Thankfully, she had plenty of other memories to use to showcase her more…amorous feelings about him.

The memory of him crowding her up against a cave wall, the feeling of his lips on her neck as he kissed it seconds before biting in, his lips claiming hers for the first time in the forest clearing what feels like forever ago, his fingers removing her armor piece by piece in the Underdark as heat had begun to curl in her belly…she could, theoretically, probably go on for forever.

Rin breathes out a frustrated breath, attempting to steady herself as she turns around to face Astarion with little thought, and he pulls up short to avoid running into her, stopping right before they collide.

“Here’s the thing. You are not in charge because you did not want to be, and so now I am. And as such, I made a decision to leave, and so we did. If you don’t like it, Astarion, then by all means, go march your way back to Moonrise and have a look around, if you’d like.”

Rin is careful to annunciate her every word as her finger pokes in the center of his chest, eyes steely as she glares up at him.

“But,” she continues, “in the event that you decide to not trot off back to that hellish place, can you please tell me how to possibly shut you up now? Because as much as I honor and appreciate your opinion, I am tiring of hearing it.”

Astarion casts a slow look down at the finger resting innocuously against him before dragging his gaze back up to hers, brow raised alongside the casual arrogance painted on his face.

Rin knows she couldn’t look any less threatening—camp clothes slightly wrinkled from where she had pulled them on hurriedly after bathing, her hair still slightly damp, and at least a full head shorter than Astarion.

Anger has never been her strong suit, she’s far better at using the written word as a weapon than she is at yelling, and she realizes she probably has all the intimidation of a hissing cat rather than something terrifyingly ferocious and beautiful.

At the very least, the letter she writes him later tonight will be properly vicious—or at least her version of it. She’s not sure she’s capable of the raw rage of someone like Karlach or the steel-sharpened vitriol of Lae’zel, but she can at least use several choice adjectives to describe him that she has no doubt will irritate him.

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it then you shouldn’t make stupid decisions,” Astarion says through gritted teeth, claret eyes glaring down at her. “and if you want to shut me up, you’re going to have to make me.”

“‘Make you’? How old are you, ten?” She presses her finger into his chest harder as her patience thins, biting down on her lip hard in failed attempt to take a calming breath.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest even after a relatively relaxing bath, and Astarion yelling at her about it does not help one bit. She aches to wipe the smirk off his lips as her eyes dart down to them, the way they curve up into a maddening off-kilter smile one that burns itself into her memory.

The traitorous part of her mind, the one that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries to banish it and instead only serves to grow stronger as if to spite her, taunts her to kiss him if she really wants to shut him up.

No better way to rid his mouth of that self-righteous smirk than by giving his lips something better to do instead, after all.

She had thought after that night, the one where he had so coldly thrown her out while still in the haze of their shared pleasure, that whatever it was that had been growing between them would be no more. It had seemed, at the time at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Instead, Astarion had shown up every night since at her tent.

And every single night, he’d ruined her.

It had become their new routine, apparently. Every night they start by the fire as they always do—talking, drinking, divulging secrets in one another; and then afterwards, he follows her back to her tent, sets her alight with his touch, only to leave when he’s done with her.

They make something that Rin thinks must be akin to love; although she’s never really made love with anyone else before, so what does she know?

Perhaps he simply fucks everyone like the way he does her.

The Traitor in her mind is quick to point out the falsehood that statement, reminding her that he didn’t lay with her at first like he does now. At first, there had been no mistaking what they were doing—it was sex, pure and simple, between two people indulging in a mutual curiosity and need.

Looking back, it feels like Astarion had barely even enjoyed their first few liaisons together, his actions mostly halfhearted and his mind barely present.

Now, though, there’s a marked difference in the press of lips, each and every one meaningful and every caress upon her skin intentional during the house they spend lost in one another.

She could no longer call it just sex, at least by her standards.

Rin didn’t know what to think.

And how could she know, when he comes to her and sends her into complete bliss with a touch that only seems to grow more reverent with every passing night, the look in his eyes when they twine together that of a fire only growing as if being fed by more and more fuel.

But no matter how rough or how gentle he handles her—his touch somehow both softer and more intense with each night that passes, no matter how passionate or sweet the presses of his lips are against hers are as they find their completion together—he never stays.

Astarion’s interests, it seemed, were only in her physical attributes.

She shouldn’t be surprised, in the end. She was nothing more than a half-rate bard whose skills amounted to little of importance, so she can’t quite blame him for not being interested in the rest of her.

She was no sagely wizard like Gale nor a noble warlock like Wyll. She patroned no cause like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, no matter how questionable Rin finds their worship and ideals.

She has no greater calling, no reason to be; neither a paragon of good nor an avatar of evil.

She simply exists, day to day, in whatever way she can make it through.

Perhaps if she were someone greater, someone of skill or importance, someone of knowledge; he would want her for more than just nights of shared passion.

The thought rankles something in her, though it shouldn’t. People like her weren’t meant for much more, and she’s never done anything to be worthy of things like tenderness, affection, or love.

If she were, then surely everyone else wouldn’t have left her. She wouldn’t have been abandoned if she’d been worth it.

Rin has nothing more to offer anyone but simply who she is—and who she is has never, ever been enough for anyone to ever take a chance on.

She’ll just have to make do with what she gets when it comes to Astarion, though he’ll no doubt leave her like all the rest when he’s had his fill of her.

But in the meantime, she’d rather have him in whatever way she can—in whatever way he will let her have him—than not get have him at all.

And so she gives in to that traitorous part of her brain, the one still whispering of all the ways she can distract him, of the limited chances she has to revel in his closeness, and makes her move.

“You know what, fine. You want me to shut you up? I’d love the honor.”

Rin flattens her hand against his chest and pushes before taking a step forward into his space. Astarion glances down at her hand once before gracing her with a very skeptically raised brow.

Slowly, Rin steps forward again and Astarion steps back; one step followed by another and then another as they walk backwards until his back hits the stone of the wall behind them, dirt and chipped rock crumbling onto the ground next to them.

“Many have tried, most have failed.” He’s devastatingly handsome with such a devious smile, and she almost hates the way it makes anticipation startle to life in her chest. Almost.

Rin keeps her hand where it is as a small smirk of her own forms on her lips. “Most have not been me.”

“Do tell, little bard, what is to be your perfect strategy, hm?” He’s teasing and taunting her again as his head leans down towards hers, eyes narrowed in challenge.

She’s not quire sure what sparks the idea in her head; but she blames it on her ever-evolving and only growing adoration of him—slightly painful to admit, despite being very, very true.

Regardless of whatever the reason is, she takes her chance.

No time like the present, they say.

“Maybe I don’t need to shut you up so much as I want to hear you say something else instead,” And for the first time, it’s her own register that drops, words hushed as her cheeks flush despite herself.

Astarion is quick to catch on, a knowing glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gleans something in her own gaze. In an instant, Rin feels an arm come to circle around her waist, dragging her closer to him until they’re flush together.

“And what is it that you have in mind, darling?” Her skin tingles where his hand rests upon her lower back, thumb brushing teasing strokes that send her mind swirling with a rush of delight at his touch.

Rin runs her hand up, drawing it across the expanse of his chest with enough pressure to make sure that he can feel the drag of it until it finds its home around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

She stays silent in the wake of his query, answering with only an innocent quirk of her lips before giving the path they’re standing on a quick, covert glance. She can see or hear no other being near them and, so long as they’re quick about it, she doubts anyone else will be coming this way.

Hopefully.

“I must say, I’m intrigued. Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“I guess it depends on what you think I plan to do.” She flicks her gaze back to his.

“I think that you want to—” Astarion’s voice cuts off and the smirk falls from his lips as Rin slides the hand from around his neck down his front and she lowers with it.

Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes as her knees hit the dusty earth below her with a soft thump and she runs her hands up and down his thighs in teasing passes, thumbs pressing into the muscles of them intently.

He looks momentarily bewildered at the sight of her before him, expression going slack as his brows knit in surprise. Clearly, of all the things he expected of her, dropping to her knees on a decently well-trodden pathway wasn’t one of them.

For all the times he’s tasted her, Astarion’s yet to give her the same opportunity and she has plans to fix such a terrible discrepancy. He has no idea how long she’s waited to worship him like this—to touch and taste and learn his body as well as he’s studied her own.

She wishes that she had more time to make such an important scholarly pursuit, and the privacy of one of their tents would be vastly preferable, but Rin was nothing if not adaptable.

“Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

He’s flustered, and it’s an absolute wonder to see.

Her cheeks flush and her heart swells, despite that fact that she is technically still mad at him. Or at least she’s supposed to be.

She can’t feel her agitation quite as keenly as she could a few minutes ago.

Rin had lowered herself onto her knees for only a few people in her lifetime, the act one she couldn’t say she had the most practice at. Men were always so typical, shoving themselves into her mouth without care until they reached their end; it was no wonder she rarely offered herself up in such a manner.

But, Astarion—Astarion she knows will be different.

“I can’t promise to be the best you’ve ever had, but—”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Astarion cuts her off, his hand coming down to trace her jaw lightly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

Rin leans her head slightly into his hand as it runs along the line of her face, turning slightly to press her lips against his fingers. “Is this alright, then? Will you let me suck your cock?”

Astarion’s thumb brushes along the plush of her lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth and nip at it playfully.

“Do you think you can take it, darling?” His eyes darken as her lips encircle the tip of his finger and she sucks, Rin relishing the almost imperceptible intake of his breath.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what I can handle.”

“Well. By all means, then. Have at it,” Astarion says, eyebrows raising in smug challenge.

At his permission Rin’s hands jump to life, fingertips tracing up his covered thighs to hook into the waistband of his pants. She keeps her eyes on his as she slowly pulls them down, revealing his hardening length still hidden behind his underwear.

She leans in to press kisses to the defined line of muscles along his hips, nosing his shirt out of the way as she runs her lips over the indentations of each and every one of them as she slowly traces her way down, moving ever closer to where his member twitches with every press of her lips.

“I must say, our pretty little leader on her knees is quite a sight.” The words are meant to be easy, teasing; but the tightness in his voice belies any ease, his hips jumping as she traces her lips over the silhouette of him through his underwear.

Astarion chokes back a moan at the feeling and she smiles up at him, fingers playing at the edge of the final barrier between them before she begins to pull. Her fingers find his length once she’s freed it from his underwear, quick to run them down the velvet softness of his shaft as the deep green of her gaze meets the darkened ruby of his own once more.

“Only for you, Astarion.” Rin cuts off anything further he could have to say by leaning her head forward to press a searing kiss to the side of his erection before tracing her lips over his length.

The first touch of her mouth against his cock has him exhaling sharply, one of the hands at his side coming up reflexively to rest atop top her head, fingers sliding through her curls as his hips jump.

She wastes no time as she licks a line across his slit, the heady saltiness of him hitting her tongue as she brings a hand up to grip him at the base, pumping him gently in her palm.

“Does it feel good like this?” Rin swirls her tongue around the head of him, savoring her first real taste of his essence. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it, Astarion.”

His hand curls in her hair, brushing stray locks back from her face as he watches her mouth move along his length, tongue slicking across a vein before she finally wraps her lips around him.

“I assure you, you’re already doing a very, very good job.” He sags back against the crumbling stone facade of the wall as Rin takes him deeper into the warmth of her mouth, her hand pumping at the base of him as her lips work the rest that she doesn’t yet fit inside.

His praise sends a trail of heat straight to the core of her, pleasure of her own ebbing deep in her stomach as her thighs rub together. She leaves his length for no more than a second, adjusting her position on her knees before pressing more kisses to the side of him. “And this?”

Astarion moans as her lips envelop him once more, sucking at his cock with hollowed cheeks as she takes him in, her hand moving in time with her mouth as she begins to bob her head.

“Decidedly perfect technique,” He’s practically breathless as he speaks, eyes closing as his head falls back against the wall behind him with a dull thud.

His moans echo off the ancient stone as she sucks and licks and kisses his cock, pouring every ounce of her wayward affection for him into this moment.

Astarion, she’s learned, doesn’t give up his iron-clad self control very easily; and Rin’s not going to let herself think about what it means that he trusts her enough to let her take care of him, even if it’s only like this.

It’s intoxicating to have him so utterly undone as she alternates her ministrations, each and every one only serving to push him further and further to the brink as she laves at his length, pleasure flitting openly across his handsome face.

She should tell him to be quieter, but she doesn’t have it in her to halt those beautiful moans and breathy gasps leaving his mouth, not when she revels in the sound of them far too much.

Rin pops off him to take a breath, tongue running around the crown of him before she renews her attentions, swallowing him down deeper and taking as much of him as she can fit into her mouth.

Dots of crystalline tears settle on her lashes as the head of him brushes against the back of her throat, but the ragged moan he releases is more than worth it, another bolt of heat surging down to the place between her legs.

She’s lucky she cares nothing for her reputation, because being found on her knees in front of her most dubious companion with his cock shoved deep down her throat would most certainly ruin it.

“Such pretty noises you make, Astarion,” She hums as she pops off his cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his length as she breathes in another lungful of air. “Please don’t stop making them.”

The hands in her hair tighten as her mouth envelops the head of his length again and he whines, Rin once again savoring the tang of him as she sucks before taking him back into her mouth, deep again as he slides against her tongue.

“Fuck, darling—” She breaths through her nose as his thighs quiver, making sure to keep her mouth moving back and forth on his cock. “Don’t stop. Rin, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

Sweetheart. It was a new one from him, one that she finds that she likes.

Quite a lot.

He breaks off as Rin hollows her cheeks once more around him just as his cock hits the back of her throat again, stray tears breaking free to run down her cheeks and she can barely breathe with him like this in her mouth but can’t seem to find it in her to care.

The thrill of finally being able to taste him and to bring him to the edge of pleasure is one she knows she would do anything to feel again, the weight of his cock nothing short of exquisite in her mouth.

She gives him a final suck and Astarion comes down her throat with a wanton moan, hips bucking as his brows crease and he cries out his completion, the sounds of his ecstasy nothing short of beautiful as they ring off the rock and stone and dirt around them.

Rin swallows his come down as his body quivers and his hips rut into her, the hands in her hair tightening into a vice grip as he rides her mouth.

He tastes as perfect as she knew he would as words fall from his lips in a torrent—a chorus of praise, moans, and the occasional elvish word or phrase she doesn’t understand all flowing freely from his lips.

Rin lets him ride out his orgasm however long he pleases, a deep satisfaction coursing through her as she watches the pleasure painted across his features until his hips begin to slow and air he doesn’t need finally begins to return to his lungs.

“Dear Gods—” Astarion groans as his eyes open as the hands in her hair loosen and he stares down at her, one of them migrating down from her curls to her cheeks, softly brushing away the tears that have tracked down the planes of her face.

She pulls off his softening cock slowly, taking in a much needed breath of air.

“Do you still question my decision making skills?” Rin licks off a stray drop of his come from her bottom lip before she smiles.

“Absolutely; and if this is the treatment I’m going to get every time I do, then I think I’ll have to disagree with you more often.” Astarion’s still catching his breath as he replies, but it doesn’t stop a wolfish grin from spreading across his face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Astarion.” Rin gently tucks him back into his pants, patting his hip with a smirk before she rises back up to her full height, knees aching slightly with the motion. “If I did that every time we had a disagreement, I’m not sure I would have much time to do anything else.”

Astarion has an arm wrapped back around her waist in a mere moment and she’s pulled close again, the one hand still in her hair curving around the back of her head to tilt her face up to his own.

“Then maybe you should try to be less difficult, dearest.” His hand runs down, caressing the curve of her bottom before sweeping back up and around to hover at the front of her pants.

His touch sends a spark of heat down to her neglected arousal, Rin taking a steadying breath as she braces her hands on his chest. “If I were less difficult, you would be bored.”

Astarion chuckles as his fingertips dip below her waistband, more heat curling deep in her core as they quickly slip beneath the band of her underwear, intent to find the wetness that has settled between her thighs.

He wastes no time gliding them through her folds, running them up and down her center as Rin gasps, Astarion’s eyes intent on hers as he slicks his fingers with her arousal before finding her entrance and sinking two of them inside her with ease.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself,” Astarion groans at the evidence of her own lust he finds waiting, pushing his fingers deeper.

“Far from it, Astarion.” She moans as her head falls forward onto his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he curls them once, twice; her limbs tightening as he seats them fully inside her.

It would be so easy to let Astarion bring her to brink and push her over into euphoria, no doubt only a few quirks of his fingers and she’d be gone, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength as he makes her come.

But she doesn’t want it to be about her. Not right now.

Despite the breath that rushes free and the soft whine she lets out as Astarion pumps the fingers he has buried in her, the desire almost painfully hot in her core; Rin reaches one of her hands down to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from where she wants him most.

She’ll take care of herself later. She certainly has plenty of material to think about.

Astarion sends her a questioning look as he slips his fingers out of her, Rin’s hand still on his as she guides him out of her leggings. “Is there a problem, sweet? Need something else inside of you instead?”

Rin huffs a soft laugh as she intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. She fears that her expression is entirely too open as she looks up at him and her lips quirk into a smile, but it’s too late for her to take it back so she commits to it, letting a tiny bit of the feeling that’s been growing inside her show on her features.

“I just—it doesn’t always need to be about me. Take your pleasure and enjoy it. You don’t owe me one back, or anything silly like that.”

Astarion stares at her as his expression clouds with confusion, but the hand in hers doesn’t weaken, his grip still strong and sure.

Rin stands up on her tiptoes, lips seeking his cheek as she bestows a light kiss upon it before whispering, “Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She steals her hand back, the slide of his skin against her own slow as she takes a step away from him, sending a little wave his way before she turns and walks back towards camp, leaving Astarion to stare perplexed at her retreating form.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Astarion sits perched on his favorite rock in camp, handsome and brooding, no doubt the perfect portrait of a mercurial and mysterious vampire to anyone with eyes who chose to look his way.

Or he would be, if anybody in this damn camp would pay any attention to him.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff as he directs his gaze towards the small group of idiots that are now his companions; a preposterous notion that he even considers them to be such.

They make their merry by the fire, passing around a bottle of what is clearly a very strong whiskey if the faces they pull after taking swigs of it are anything to go by.

He can imagine the smell of it, smokey and stout, and is very glad to have a goblet of wine beside him instead.

Whiskey was all fine and good and certainly had its uses, but it lacked the elegance of a fine wine; no whiskey ever as smooth on its own as a delectable vintage feels gliding over his tongue and down.

It’s a chilling thought that he’s been in such close contact with these fools for months now, Astarion learning all their little intricacies whether he wants to or not.

Yet, he doesn’t find himself hating the growing familiarity quite as much as he did at the beginning.

He knew his siblings, of course. But that bond was different, one forged by mutual fear and shared pain. He didn’t know what kinds of books they liked to read or what their favorite sweets had been. Instead, he knew how each of their screams sounded and how their bodies had looked torn apart under Cazador and Godey’s punishments, flesh rent from bone.

No, he firmly knew more about this merry little band of imbeciles he had been thrown together with than the six souls he had known for years and years and years, with one individual in particular standing out above the rest.

Astarion, it seems, now knew more about Rin than he had ever cared to know about another person in over 200 years. Useless, meaningless information she’s offered up about herself seemingly at random and without purpose or prize.

She was a complete and utter fool.

And yet, he drank up each and every tiny piece about herself that she gave him as though it were her blood, flowing free and pomegranate-sweet from her neck.

Astarion knew her favorite flowers—a hard choice, according to her, but she tends to favor the perfect, happy purple of the crocus a little more than the rest.

He had rolled his eyes at this, swiftly informing her that flowers were essentially no more than useless, pretty things with little substance; and had earned himself a very sound swat upon his arm.

He knew her favorite foods—any sort of sweet berry at midsummer, along with a nice loaf of bread and perhaps some butter or cheese.

Her taste in food was pitifully simple, though Astarion supposes a life on the Lower City streets didn’t usually imbue people with a terribly complicated palate for the finer delicacies life had to offer.

He knew that Rin did not know her father—only that he had been an elf come to the city on some sort of business from a far away place and Rin her human mother’s only token of remembrance from an affair she only wanted to forget about, and one she eventually did forget about when she left Rin to fend for herself.

She knew nothing of the Elvish ways and customs, nothing of the language that should sit so naturally on her tongue.

The knowledge that he could say anything he wanted to her in their language and she would be hopeless to ever understand him is one that tempts him in a variety of ways that he doesn’t indulge, lest his mind find its way heading into dangerous territory.

He knew that she’d had no sweeping romances with tender touches and soft sighs—only quick nighttime flings helped along by pints of cheap ale from equally cheap taverns and that while they had perhaps filled a need, they tended to leave her feeling more empty and decidedly less than, in the end.

Astarion all too well understood that particular feeling. He hated that she had ever felt the same.

He readily ignores the inkling in the back of his mind warning him that he, perhaps, is no better than the others when he leaves her every night staring up at him, poorly concealed disappointment etched across her pretty face.

Uselessly, he also knew her favorite color—the deep, turquoise blue-green of the Chionthar on a clear day at noontime, naturally, when the sun sparkled off the undulating current of the water.

It could never be anything quite so easy as simply ‘the color blue’ with her.

Astarion himself had long forgotten the color of the river, having only seen it as the darkened muddy blue-black of the midnight hours for centuries now.

Rin had been utterly shocked when she asked him for his own and he had told her he didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a favorite color? Astarion,” She had said aghast, drawing out the syllables of his name as her bright eyes had widened in surprise.

He had no use for frivolous things like favorite colors.

What colors, exactly, was he to have had the time to enjoy?

Certainly not the darkly stained, ornately paneled woods of the chamber he used to entertain his victims; or the gaudy, overly saturated reds and too brightly shined golds in that room meant to invoke opulence and luxury, yet another layer designed to further lure them into the fantasy he provided.

Nor the watery yellow glow of torchlight against the dull, muddied brown of wet cobblestones as he led whoever had been chosen that night back to the Szarr Palace, charming and seductive as he promised them his body and their control over it.

There was nothing beautiful about the metallic shine of a silver cage in the kennel, dotted with the rusty brown of dried blood, though whether it was his own or belonged to one of his siblings he never really knew.

How was there to be any joy found in color beyond the allure of the deepest burgundy wine as it filled up his cup to help dull his mind as he lowered himself to do the things his mark that evening wanted of him, mind drifting to focus on anything else as he did whatever he needed to do in order to survive.

Astarion grimaces, throwing back another swallow of his wine as the thoughts leave him tinged with the sickly yellow-green of disgust and the feeling of shame: a blistering, burning, glowing red.

At first, right after the Nautiloid had crashed and he had escaped the closeness of that dreadful pod, his chest having constricted at the tightness of it around him—it was just another cage in the end, wasn’t it? Just another leash for him to be collared to—the riot of colors in the bright light of the sun had hurt his newly sensitive eyes as he had hid in the shadow of the wreckage.

It was only once he had realized he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp in the sunshine, a wonder in its own right, that he began to take notice of them all. There were far too many colors and all of them were so…so saturated; all the different shades and intensities unbearably overwhelming.

From the small green leaves of the scrubby trees, to the brown grains of sand, to the grotesque purple of the Nautiloid and the soon-to-be rotting corpses of mindflayers—terribly, horribly overwhelming.

She was overwhelming to look at when he first saw her, too. Shining eyes of emerald green, warm skin thoroughly kissed by the sun, dark blonde curls gleaming in the unbearable brightness of the light. That awful outfit she wore that marked her as none other but a bard, albeit one with terrible sartorial sense.

Rin was the first person he had set eyes on in the sunshine in over 200 years and he had hated the very sight of her.

She had been a clash of colors, all dreadfully uncomplimentary to him, that he shied away from the sight of. Colors like that were never quite so bold in the darkness that he was so used to, their vivacity dulled by dancing firelight and the shadows of night.

She was too brilliant to bear the sight of, utterly casual and downright flippant, too unbothered by it all to be trusted—though, he knows better now; and looking back he can see that her confidence was all nothing more than a well-executed performance on her part.

He still doesn’t feel bad about holding that knife to her neck as he had dragged her down into the coarse sand with him, the scent of her scarlet blood still rich despite it drying against her cheek, dots of it mixing in with the freckles that were scattered across her cheeks like the tiniest of constellations.

Perhaps that was his first mistake in all of this, allowing himself to get so near someone so dazzling and warm. It was like playing with fire—dance too close to the flame and you were bound to be burned.

And going up into flames was something Astarion could not afford.

But now, slowly, the color has begun to come back to him little by little and he could start to appreciate again it for the first time in centuries.

The precise cornflower blue of the sky on a cloudless day or the deep violet of it at twilight as the stars wink to life.

The way sunlight dappled onto the ground through a forested canopy to illuminate the all the tiny flowers that grow up from the ground in a rainbow of colors—purples, pinks, yellows, blues.

The myriad of all the different greens that he could now truly behold: the dark, bountiful leaves of a fern, a fragile spring green stem of a flower, the lush and verdant shade of her eyes.

Astarion still didn’t have a favorite color. Not really.

But he was coming around to the idea of having one.

A laugh carries across camp, melodic and light and lovely, dragging him from the depths of his musings over to where Rin sits by the fire, their companions all floating around her like moths to a flame.

He absolutely hates the way they all look at her.

He can see it on their faces, a blatant adoration that she somehow seems to completely disregard for reasons he can’t fathom, instead intent to spend her time with him of all people.

But he cannot blame them, after all, because he’s no better. Just as desperate for her attention and her closeness, it seems, if the way his feet kept finding their way to her tent night after night was anything to go by.

Astarion wonders sometimes if they can see the very same hopeless look on his own face as he gazes upon her, despite how well he tries to hide it.

Rin leans against Halsin as she laughs, cheeks flushing at whatever it is the oversized elf says to her. Her curls are unbound, falling freely around her tonight in a wave of shining gold to her waist and he wishes he could bury his fingers in the strands to feel the softness of them for himself.

The druid does nothing to dissuade Rin from the circle of his arms as he claps a hand on her shoulder before sliding it down to the small of her back, smiling at her a touch too friendly for Astarion’s liking and a stab of something hits him straight in the chest.

Jealousy.

He has no claim to her, of course. He’s not made one and has no plans to. But the sudden thought of her underneath Halsin—or any of them, really—has his jaw clenching tight.

The other elf is attractive and strong, no doubt a good lover; and the thought of the warmth he could so easily provide her that Astarion cannot churns his long-empty stomach.

He can see it all too easily, imagining Rin so very pretty with cheeks flushed pink and body inviting as Halsin leans over and takes her sweetness for his own.

He can see Rin on her knees, looking up at the druid with the same look of affection in her eyes that she had given him earlier that day as she had tasted him.

Or perhaps the worst thoughts of them all—Rin telling Halsin all the inane things she would normally bother him with; Rin playing tiny bits of melodies and sweet little songs on her lyre for Halsin while he whittles by the light of the fire; Rin writing the druid letters that she would then hide poorly in his tent, ensuring they can always be found and read and replied to—

He was spiraling, and he needed to stop.

Astarion shakes the thoughts away with a frown, bringing his goblet back to his lips for another sip. He doesn’t know why she favors him so, why she allows him into her orbit when there’s a group full of others who would so readily take his place, all of whom would no doubt treat her better than he has.

He wouldn’t blame her, if she sought after any of the others.

Certainly not after that night, the one where he had made her undress before him for his entertainment and then kicked her out of his tent when she was still wrapped up in the afterglow of what was a very intimate evening.

Perhaps too intimate.

His chest gnaws at itself at the thought of the way he had handled it all.

Astarion had lost count of how many times he had undressed in front of others, so many of their faces blessedly long blurred by time.

He had unbuttoned and unlaced countless of his shirts, pants, doublets—a liar’s allure painted upon his features as he gave whoever it was a show, forever the night’s entertainment for his quarry.

Yet, he had made her do the same.

He had enjoyed it, too. He had enjoyed watching her undress solely for him, piece by piece, her gaze piercing his own as she reveled in his attention on her.

She hadn’t said no or objected to it. But he could see the challenge in her eyes just as easily as she could see right through him and his attempt to gain back his precious lead in their little game, the perceptive little thing.

A strange feeling—remorse—settles itself in his chest as he watches her from across camp.

The remorse only grows the longer Astarion fixates on it, leading to more and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to, the weight of them near unbearable upon his scarred shoulders.

The crushing reality was that his plan was crumbling bit by bit, like a tiny pebble crushed under foot; and the worst part about it was that he was finding it harder and harder to care.

Rin has made it abundantly clear that she is on his side.

He’d seduced her, had won her sword (mediocre skill notwithstanding), and had long secured her dedication to his cause.

By all accounts, his plan is practically complete where she’s concerned.

All they needed to do now was get back to Baldur’s Gate and—well, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after they get back into the city, Astarion was still a little fuzzy on the details of it all, but she’d help him figure it out when the time came, of course.

Rin was aways helpful when it really mattered.

So why is it that he can’t stop with the first part? Even if he were to decide to stop sleeping with her, he wasn’t particularly concerned that she would suddenly turn on him.

He has no reason to find his way into her bed now; no reason other than his own selfish, deep-seated desire for her company and attention and affection.

Rin catches his eye in a poorly timed glance of his own, and smiles so full of a sickening fondness—nose crinkled and flushed cheeks—at him.

Faster than he can follow she’s out of Halsin’s embrace, gracing the druid with a playful smile and a pat on the shoulder before she saunters over to where he sits perched on his rock, limbs unnaturally loose as she pads closer—drunk indeed.

Astarion doesn’t miss the way the light from the fire limns her figure from behind, setting her aglow in a halo of golden-red as she finds her way over to him, something in his chest warming as she nears.

She sways slightly when she stops before him and he can smell the rich tang of the whiskey on her as she sends him a mischievous look that has his lips already quirking up at the corners.

“You,” she pokes him in the chest to add an emphasis that he did not need. “Should come join us”

“And you,” he refrains from poking her back in response, though the thought amuses him. “Are drunk.”

Rin takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, slotting herself between his legs and blithely ignoring the glances the motion garners from their companions.

Astarion’s eyes widen at the blatant display of affection, taken aback by the ease of it as the scent of her surrounds him—honey and flowers and all around loveliness.

On anyone else he would hate the perfume she wears, but on her it smells nothing short of wonderful; tempting him to bury his face into her neck and breathe her in.

Her hands play with the hair on his neck, as they always seem to, delicate fingertips running through the waves and he resists the urge to lean into her soothing touch.

He can feel multiple sets of eyes upon the two of them, voices lowered into whispers as the group no doubt gossips. The nature of his relationship with Rin is far from a secret, he’s drawn too many beautiful sounds from her lips for anyone to be unaware of their trysts.

Astarion secretly revels in the idea that they are quite possibly jealous of what Rin gives to him; something that none of them have ever received from her.

So let them see, then.

Let them see that it is him who she seeks out, his arms the ones she wants to find herself in, his lips the ones she wishes to kiss.

Astarion’s arms find their way to her waist with an uncomfortable ease, hands settling along the indent of it as his thumbs run up and down her covered skin without thought, dragging her closer between his legs until their faces are mere inches from one another’s, only the rock beneath him stopping her chest from pressing fully against his own.

“I’m not drunk enough, I fear.” Rin cocks her head to the side with a smile, as she whispers covertly to him. “Maybe, if you come share a drink with me, we can fix that.”

Astarion allows himself the temptation to brush an errant curl away from her face, the lock just as soft as he knew it’d be, before matching her tone. “Don’t be such a lush, dear.”

“Oh, come on, Astarion. I know that you enjoy a good drink as much as I do. And I promise, the whiskey is good.”

He swears that he can hear her breath hitch as his fingers accidentally brush against her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise as he tucks the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt of that, my dear,” He chuckles, a corner of his mouth turning up without his permission. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be quite so tipsy in front of me.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Rin tuts, pouting.

The way her bottom lip pushes out and her eyes widen under lowered brows is, dare he say, cute; and he can’t help the inward sigh that he’s now been relegated to thinking of a beautiful woman something as absurd as cute.

It’s a blow to his seductive charm, surely, to use such a word to describe her; but all of the other adjectives he’s thought of in the past seem to had fled his mind under her spell when she looks at him like that.

What in the absolute hells has she done to him?

“Pouting? Really, darling?” Astarion drawls, the hand he had used to tuck her hair back now brushing openly down her cheek in a touch that has her face heating to a most becoming shade of pink.

Rin instinctively leans into his hand and he resists the urge to cup her cheek, suddenly possessed by the want to draw her face closer to his.

“You don’t have to come drink with me at all, of course.” Her voice takes on that same tone it had taken on earlier, intention dripping from her words like the thickest of honey as her she bites her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “We can always go find something else to do instead. Just the two of us.”

The pink of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, soothing the place where she bit down upon it, and if Astarion hadn’t been paying attention already, he certainly would be now.

“Oh? Just the two of us?” He teases her, his other hand moving to curl around her lower back to pull her even closer, Rin curving herself into him, and Gods if the feeling of her against him didn’t feel like heaven. “What do you have in mind? A game of cards? Or, perhaps we should practice our calligraphy together, hm?”

Rin leans in to let her lips brush against the tip of his ear, Astarion barely holding back the shiver that threatens to break free as her hands comb through his hair and she speaks low, “I can make you feel good again, Astarion. If you want me to.”

Her words bleed with affection and genuine sweetness, and Astarion finds it very difficult to say no to her when she asks like that.

His mind flashes back to earlier, the image of Rin on her knees as she had waited for his answer, hands poised at his waistband streaking through his mind along with others as his stomach tightens.

Her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the feeling of coming down her throat, drops of diamond-like tears tracing down flushed cheeks, his hands buried in her hair.

How she had told him to take his pleasure and not worry about hers. A very sweet sentiment that he deeply appreciated for reasons he very much didn’t want to think about at the moment.

‘Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once,’Rin had said.

As if she didn’t already give him plenty.

He’s thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy, her touch always soft and gentle while she asks for permission. It had been so many years since he had indulged in wanting to be touched like that, and having affection heaped upon him by someone so eager to please him has quickly become nothing short of addicting.

“Oh? And do tell, how you plan on doing that?” Astarion lets his fingers drift slowly up her spine, enjoying the way her body presses harder into his and her breath catches, the sound lovely.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” Rin whispers as she steps out of the circle of his arms, swaying slightly as she does, and Astarion’s brows knit together in consternation.

She grabs his hand, and Astarion swears the feeling of hers wrapped around his could scald him, every nerve in his body set alight by that innocent touch.

He allows himself to be lead to her tent, content to follow after her with hands still connected; but there seemed to be a single glaring issue standing in Astarion’s way that he was apparently now unable to ignore.

She was quite drunk tonight.

Too drunk, according to a newer, still unfamiliar voice in his head.

It’s a step too far for him now, or at least it is where she’s concerned; a step that, granted, months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at taking.

All the better if they were too drunk, it only made his job easier in the end.

But Rin’s not like that, she’s not a mark and she deserves so much better than being taken advantage of in such a state, even if for his plan or his own personal desires of her.

She would be so easy to please like this, with the alcohol addling her mind.

And oh, how he could please her.

He could so easily touch and kiss and fuck any thoughts she may have about Halsin or any of the rest of them right out of her mind, ensuring that his name is the only one that falls from her lips.

She steps through the flap of her tent, her hand still holding his, and once he’s inside she’s turning again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she balances up on tiptoes, staring earnestly into his eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Astarion. Just tell me, I want to know more about what you like.” She sways again, and his arm wraps around her waist to steady her as their bodies press together.

“Let’s get you lying down, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to say such a word earlier, but it had slipped out of his mouth as he had hit the burning, white hot peak of his pleasure at her worship.

Astarion finds, though, that he likes the way it flows off his tongue when directed at her.

It fits her well enough, in his opinion.

He lets Rin drag him to the ground until her back is against her bedroll and he hovers over her, staring down into hazy green eyes as her curls spread around her. She’s a vision like this, and he memorizes the sight of her without thinking to, his eyes moving to capture every inch of her before his mind even realizes what he’s doing and can tell himself to stop.

“And now, Astarion?”

She waits on a bated breath, waiting, as his eyes finding their way again to her lips.

Kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind is nothing but a traitor as it whispers to him, knowing full well he can’t give in to such dizzying impulses like that on a whim.

He knows better than to allow himself to kiss her. Because once starts he won’t be able to stop.

It would be so easy to fall into her, to kiss her into utter oblivion and lose himself in the body she so readily offers. To forget all about his pathetic life if only for the little bit of time they steal away to spend together in temporary bliss.

But it always comes back after.

The memories, the reality of who is he and what he’s done, the feeling of his skin crawling in the aftermath of so many hands that have touched him without permission.

Her touch is different, but when he’s been touched thousands of times by thousands of people, it all seems to blend together in the end no matter what he wants—even if hers is the only one he wants to think about and remember the feeling of, thoughts of her consuming him even with just a gentle brush of her arm against his.

“And now, darling, you sleep.”

He doubts she’ll remember much come morning, the whiskey burning through her veins hotter than a flask of alchemist’s fire; but Astarion finds that he wants to be remembered, if only by her, just this once.

Wants her to remember their time together the way he always will. If they survive this, even when he has his freedom and is long gone to wherever it is he wants to go—he will always remember.

He ignores the stutter of loneliness that pangs in his chest as he imagines ever so briefly what his freedom will look like when he’s on his own with no one else around.

It would certainly be quiet. Perhaps even peaceful.

He would be able to spend his time however he wished it in the solitude, not a soul around to bother him with foolish chatter unless he went in search of such a thing.

Strange how the thought of it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

A hand running along his cheek draws him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present as Rin looks up at him, eyes soft and yet somehow still managing to pierce straight through his un-beating heart as she studies his features.

“I meant it, you know—what I said to you that night. You don’t have to fuck me, Astarion. You can come sleep with me and we can just lay together. Or even just talk. I know my conversation doesn’t mean much, but—” She cups his cheek in her palm, the tenderness of it threatening to burn him to cinders. “It doesn’t have to be just about sex between us. We’re friends too, aren’t we? Friends can simply enjoy each other’s company and presence and take care of each other, can’t they?”

She’s babbling, words falling out of her mouth freed by the whiskey; but the innate truth he hears in them threaten the remaining bits of resolve that he has left.

Astarion’s not quite sure who she’s trying to convince—herself or him—but his determination wanes regardless, like a thread pulled too tight and on the verge of snapping.

But it wasn’t just about the sex, and if it’s not just about his plan, then what was it about?

He’s fairly certain friends don’t typically know each other’s bodies as intimately as they do, or know how beautiful they look as they fall apart, or find themselves craving nothing more than to simply exist with the other near.

Friends probably also don’t think about each other in the depths of the night when they’re cold and alone and hurting, the thought of the other a shining light in the eternal darkness of their existence.

Astarion, though, has never had any friends that he can remember.

With more gentleness than he would prefer, Astarion removes her hand from his cheek and rights himself to a kneel, his knees finding their home on either side of her hips.

He holds her hand within his own, turning his attention where he cradles it in his palm. Her hand is smaller than his, several calluses along the places where she holds her rapier and her quill, fingers still decorated with the ink she must have used earlier to write him a very scathing letter.

He had briefly considered tearing the letter to bits, the words contained on the piece of paper properly irritating and, in Astarion’s opinion, practically libel, but he couldn’t do it; instead relegating it to the pile where he keeps all the other useless slips of parchment from her in a neat stack hidden out of plain sight in his tent.

Her letters were, after all, the first tangible thing anyone had given him since he was bestowed with his sanguine hunger, his dark curse.

And whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s so far been unable to find a valid reason to rid himself of them, useless though they may be.

Before he can catch himself, he’s leaning his head down to the hand he holds within his own, and with a damning softness he brushes a kiss onto each of her ink-stained fingertips where they had touched his face, lips light against them before placing a final, reverent kiss in the center of her palm.

She’s looks as though she’s not even breathing when Astarion raises his head to stare down at her, her hand still clasped in his own.

He can hear the beat of her heart, drumming loudly against her ribcage with a rhythm he’s become so very familiar with, and he can smell the ambrosia of her blood as it soars through her veins.

Even in the darkness he can see the pink of her cheeks and the freckles that dust over the tops of them and he’s half-tempted to count them, wishing to brush his fingers over each and every one of them, if only to feel his skin against the sunny warmth of her own.

But it’s too much, and he’s spiraling downdowndown again into the depths of somewhere he’s not yet ready to be, and so he needs to leave. Needs to leave for the same reason he has to leave her every night, despite the weakness that has him indulging in anything and everything else she’ll afford him.

He has no other choice, for when she speaks such innocent words to him, offering him the simple solace of rest so full of a tender, blossoming affection, he’s filled with a want so heavy it threatens to drag him under.

Because if Astarion allows himself to give in—to know what it would be like to be warm, comfortable, safe—he knows he would never be able to go without it again.

Warmth, kisses, attention, kindness—all heaped upon him without wanting anything in return. No money, no favors, no motive other than her pure wish to spend time with him.

It’s a good thing his heart no longer beats, for if it did, Astarion has no doubt that she would be able to hear the rampant sound of it in his chest just as he can hear her own.

He rests her hand back down, letting it settle across her stomach as he swallows down the torrent of things that threaten to break free from him, Rin looking at him with a confused sort of wonder, as though he were a puzzle she was trying desperately to fit the pieces of together in her mind.

“Good night.” He stands to leave, movements as quiet as the night around them thanks to the unnatural grace he possess, before turning toward the tent flap. “Sleep well, my darling.”

He’ll allow himself that much, at least; for what was the harm in letting himself indulge in getting to call her his own just this once, if only to see what it feels like?

“You too, Astarion.” He turns his head briefly at her whispered words and meets her eyes, something molten and unguarded smoldering in her gaze as she watches him leave.

He can’t bear the sight of it a moment more, another utterance from her all it would take for him to succumb to his most secret desires—things he can barely stand to admit to himself—and so he turns his head forward and walks back out into the darkness, letting the honest and true longing that has been slowly burning him from the inside out finally consume him.

#feelings: they've both got a lot of em #and what are they going to do about it? they don't know!!!!#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion fandom #verbenaa writes things!

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mutualcombat · 1 month ago

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*bites ur scruff*

[full on twitter]

#dont be mad at me but um the shirt is fake sorry ):#how do i censor this in a god fearing & satan fucking way?#i dont have the legendary focus to do all of kinktober but if i see mating kink you know im fucking there babes #bg3 #nsft #astarion #astarion smut #ok im gonna go take a nap b #tavstarion #astarion x tav #adriannu: why are you so fucking yolked dude

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bloodsuckingfiends · 7 months ago

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Astarion likes missionary sex. Likes being able to see his love’s face and the way their body reacts to his.

He loves being able to lace his fingers with theirs, and press their hands to the mattress. It grounds him just as much as the steady eye contact does. Doesn’t matter if he has to coax them into it, murmuring “eyes on me, darling” as he rolls his hips into theirs.

He loves the way he can hold them close to his chest as he comes with their thighs wrapped around him, completely engulfed in one another.

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shewr1tes4astarion · 3 days ago

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I haven't read this yet, but the image spells " big bad wolf " and Tav " red riding hood " is in trouble. Lol

I'll get to that good smut later on, darling. Lmao

Lithium Pt. 5

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

10.1k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Ronnie must reflect on what Astarion had told her the previous day, while she plays with the strange but somehow fitting gift he gave her.

She's to meet him at the park, and they get up to 🌶️no good🌶️ past the treeline.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, darkfic but NOT a dead dove. PLEASE READ FULL TAG LIST ON AO3.

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes:

I wasn't expecting to finish this chapter so soon, but I fixated on it. This might be the chapter that I'm the most proud of so far :)

This chapter is a whopping 10.1k words.

I can't believe it.

I'm still trying my best to breathe life into Ronnie, but I've been finding it very difficult so bear with me as I periodically go back to previous chapters and tweak her internal thoughts.

I'm BEGGING you to read on AO3 for proper spacing and formatting </3

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐧

꧁꧂

It'd been less than twenty-four hours since she last saw Astarion.

And she'd spent those past twenty-four hours thinking about him.

She laid in bed with her blackout curtains closed, as it was eerily dark outside by this time of night. The lamp inside her bedroom was warm, and tungsten-like. It sat on her reddish, wooden bedside table, and had a ceramic base and an off-white lampshade, stained with specs of blood.

Nag champa incense that Jen had let her take burned on her bedside table, creating a ribbon of smoke that dispersed as it flowed towards her eggshell-white ceiling.

She let herself sink into her navy-blue duvet, wearing headphones and the soft rope Astarion left—tied in a noose—draped loosely around her throat like a pearl necklace as she listened to music.

The rope… it reminded her of him.

All day, she'd been playing with the blue chrome balisong he'd gifted to her, decorated in intricate baroque-esq engravings. It was a real one—sharp as hell, and she was careful not to cut herself on it.

She ran her thumb in a line down the engravings on the handle. The metal was warm from holding it all day, and polished like its maker had put in a great deal of care.

Her lips pulled into a smile, admiring it.

When he'd given it to her, her immediate thought was that it was insensitive of him to gift her a weapon.

—Of all things.

But then, when she actually held it—felt its weight through her arm, and the smoothness of the pins—it felt like home. That was the only way she could explain it.

Something felt familiar about the balisong.

When Astarion gave it to her, he'd taken it out of its—equally blue—velvet-lined box and given it a toss.

Everything he'd done with the knife should've been impossible to keep track of—with all of his complex tricks—but somehow, Ronnie felt names for each one on the tip of her tongue. She could almost feel the motions in her own hands as she watched him play.

Magnificent, she thought, the way he whipped it around. She couldn't wait to try it herself when he left.

When she did…

Well…

It was automatic—she could whip the blade around just as well, if not better than Astarion had.

A part of her stirred with worry. Why was she so good at this?

The only reasonable conclusion was that she'd done it before.

She didn't like that.

But a single consolation made the fact tolerable: Astarion would go mad once he saw her wielding the knife like a seasoned professional.

—Oh—he'll be so proud.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he—being the chaotic little gremlin he was—would be impressed at her skill.

The thought made her blush, and he wasn't even fucking there.

She opened the balisong and clipped its handle together, hugging it to her bare chest. She let her heels slide closer to her bottom, the blanket flitting in their wake.

Her knees came together and she closed her eyes.

—Astarion…

—Astarion is a vampire.

What a confession that was.

The vampire man—Astarion—had finally given her his number, but he explained that they had to talk in code, just in case his boss saw. Although, he assured her that that wouldn't happen.

The thought of it freaked her out, though, sending a chill down her spine.

—It'd better not happen.

Nevertheless, code or otherwise, she was glad to finally be able to text him.

She’d given him her work schedule, and he said he wanted to meet up with her as much as he could.

—As much as he could.

She wanted that too. Hell, she'd be elated to spend every waking hour with the bloke if it were on the table.

She'd board up all the windows in her flat—whatever it took.

The bite mark on her neck had been itchy. She tried not to scratch it. She scratched it. It bled more, smearing blood on her fingertips and beneath her nails.

He said she was the first person he'd ever drank from. That his hunger got the best of him, but that it shouldn't have been able to.

…

He described his ties to his boss as some sort of pact, similar to a “deal with the devil”. Theoretically, it was supposed to make him physically incapable of refusing orders.

Drinking the blood of a “thinking creature” went directly against those orders.

But he tried to run before, and he wasn't supposed to be able to do that, either, as it went against Mr Szarr’s orders.

When Mr Szarr found him, Astarion was punished severely—he was locked and buried in a coffin for a whole year.

Without food.

Without blood.

He didn't have time to explain everything. He had to leave Ronnie's flat before the sun came up.

Astarion doesn't sparkle.

But, up until the moment he left, he’d been very… attentive towards Ronnie. He'd cleaned her up, and gotten her a blanket and water.

And she passed out on the couch when he showered.

The process of being carried to her bed and untied roused her from her sleep.

“See you,” she whispered, half asleep as he tossed the blankets over her.

“See you,” he responded as he walked out of her bedroom.

Ronnie worried that he might get caught. If Mr Szarr could compel him to do anything, could he force the truth out of him?

He said that he and his “siblings” had historically been able to get away with half-truths and redirects. Astarion in particular had somehow refused his compulsions entirely before.

He wasn't sure why he could, but he said that he “couldn't afford to squander any blessings.”

“I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure that you'd be safe,” he assured her.

He sounded so… genuine. His eyes were dark and serious as he squeezed her thigh over the throw blanket.

“Trust me,” he said.

She wasn't sure yet if trusting him was wise, but intuitively, it felt right. Had he given her any reason to distrust him?

Well…

other than the first day they met, when he lured her there.

But he wasn’t… he wouldn't do that again.

But it played in the back of her mind—turned her stomach.

It scared her, but… she didn't care because it doesn't matter what happens to her, really. She doesn't have a family, or many friends. Her life… it’s going nowhere.

What did she have to live for? What if not for the feeling of being held? That felt like something worth living for.

Something worth dying for.

She didn't possess such hubris to deny the inevitability of her kismet.

Death and abandonment were all her cards read. That, or she’d spend the rest of her sorry life working for pennies, living in her musty basement flat, stealing, and getting fucked up.

She'd probably end up in prison eventually—it astonished her that it hadn't happened yet.

It was inimitable—the way she’d felt in his arms. Not even Jenevelle could make her feel this way. Not ever.

But… she didn't want to kill. Was it not against everything she'd been working so hard to become?

…

But as Astarion said: Mr Szarr owns slaves—kills multiple people a week, himself. Wouldn't it be better to kill him than not? Wouldn't it actually save people?

—Isn't that justice?

Calling the cops wouldn't work, Astarion was adamant in that—Mr Szarr had been paying them off for decades.

“He must die,” Astarion expressed, as his eyes conveyed a newly surmounted level of intensity.

This was all too much to process in a single day… especially after they…

That was unexpected.

Maybe it was selfish, or maybe it was self-destructive—hard to tell which.

Was it okay? Her mind raced. He made her feel so… good. But she somehow felt… ugly—ugly on the inside.

She saw a grotesque, grey pile of sludge, tar, and sticks staring back at her in the mirror of her mind's eye.

That made her feel ugly on the outside, too.

Really, even if Astarion was doing this all as a ruse to lure her and sacrifice her again, she would deserve an end like that.

Dying sounded peaceful.

—Anyways…

She didn't want to think about it—it didn't matter.

Nothing matters.

—But other people matter. And keeping them safe.

… But not her.

—Ugh.

Her self-loathing was draining.

When Astarion told her that he was a vampire, she considered whether or not she should believe him. The internet said that vampires aren't real, but she called Jen, and Jen said that she thinks they're real.

Jen not only said that she thinks vampires are real, but also that her family are descendants of lycanthropes.

It all seemed a bit “woo woo”, but Astarion took a picture of Ronnie's neck with her phone, and showed her the bite marks.

Then she noticed the blood on his lips.

And it was hot.

It made sense. She’d never seen him in the daytime, his skin was always cool, and his eyes… she had originally thought they were a deep hazel, never having seen him in daylight, but they were red.

So either he was a vampire or she was the most gullible girl in the world.

She was supposed to meet him at one of their designated meeting spots soon.

He texted her earlier. It said: “23-green”, which meant that they would meet at the park near her house at eleven PM.

If he told her to meet her somewhere, she would.

She realised that about herself.

…

Her own thoughts and feelings were discordant—they were sickeningly overwhelming.

—It might be a good time to take those anti-anxiety meds.

Ronnie pushed herself upright, her slippers grazing the floor as she moved. Passing by the wall where her bag hung, she idly toyed with her balisong. With a practised flick, she snapped the knife shut and fastened it. The bag came off its hook, the blade slipping inside with a muted thud.

Settling onto the sofa, she leaned into the cushions and began rummaging through her bag. Her fingers sifted through the contents, searching for the medication Astarion had given her too much of that first night.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, shamefully navigating through her crumpled receipts and loose peanuts that littered the bottom of her bag.

Finally acquiring the small orange pill bottle, she read the label for the first time ever. It said: “LORAZEPAM 0.5MG SL—Dissolve 1 tablet under the tongue when needed.”

—Huh…

—Only one…

One to curb the anxiety and five to be completely incapacitated.

—How many should I take this time?

The bottle rattled as she poured the pills into her hand. They were tiny blue things, with an “A” on one side and “0.5” on the other. It was hard for Ronnie to believe that such a small thing could do so much.

—Maybe just one, she decided.

So she let the spare pills fall back into the bottle and inserted one under her tongue. She closed the bottle with a strong palm, and put it back in her purse.

The flavour this time was almost… sweet—notably less bitter than the last time.

—Good.

She liked the feeling of something so powerful, right beneath her tongue. As if she were changing the will of the gods.

The park was a five-minute walk—she had to leave soon.

꧁꧂

She left early.

She would not be late this time.

Wearing a long, dark-grey peacoat that billowed open as she moved, she locked her door and ascended the stairs of her building's corridor towards the heavy, metal exit.

She pushed it open with some effort, letting it slam shut behind her, and took long strides between the parked vehicles, crossing the empty street as it glistened with the remnants of a previous storm. The air was thick with the earthy scent of rain-soaked pavement and the subtle hint of ozone, lingering in the tiniest, invisible beads that stuck to her skin.

“Ronnie?” called a rich voice from behind her.

She froze, halfway across the black, rain-slicked street, a smile spreading across her face...

—Astarion.

Stopped in her tracks, she slowly spun on her heels, her eyes locking onto his. She tried to maintain a straight face, but the corner of her lip quirked up, betraying her attempted composure.

He was leaning against her building with his hands in his pockets, smiling with a slight furrow in his brow. He wore a white button-up dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows and black formal trousers.

She took a deep breath. “I thought you wanted to meet me at the park?”

With a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat, his cool demeanour faltering. “Well… I thought it might be safer if I walked you there.”

When he said that, it felt the same as when he had asked Ronnie, “How are you?”—as if it was his first time ever saying it.

“Right,” Ronnie said, stepping off the street and walking towards him.

She watched her own step up onto the curb, but was stopped by his gesture.

He offered his arm… again.

Her eyes flitted from his arm to his eyes, as if she didn't know what was happening. But she did—she knew he wanted her to take his arm.

And she loved it.

But she couldn't show him just how much she loved it.

He nudged his arm towards her. “Still playing coy, Ronnie?” he smirked.

She loved the way he said her name.

Gritting her teeth, she begrudgingly took his arm. “No.”

She tugged him, and they started walking across the street together.

And she realised that she had walked to him.

—Desperate.

—Fuck.

She was practically dragging him across the street—leading the way—but she forced herself to settle down when they reached the other side, loosening her grip around the back of his elbow and slowing to a more suitable pace.

She glanced up at him, and he had that stupid smile on his face. Again.

“Having fun, are we?” he asked.

“I just wanted to get across the street, and you were too slow,” she said, huffing and looking at the ground ahead as they approached a cobblestone alleyway.

“Oh, yes. Thank you kindly for saving me—your little damsel in distress. What would I do without you?” He laughed.

Ronnie clenched her fists. He was so… annoying.

—Ugh.

She wanted to rip away from him and walk ahead—to make him follow her the rest of the way. But she stayed. And they walked onwards through the dingy alleyway, past a smelly dumpster towards the street over.

Ronnie held her breath until they were far enough from the dumpster. When she finally breathed again, she tried to do so slowly—undramatically.

“So…” she began, gearing up for her question, “How are you able to come and see me if your boss’s rules are so… strict?”

Astarion sighed, pausing for a moment. “My siblings are able to pick up my slack for… this… cause,” he explained.

Ronnie felt the familiar pang of guilt in her stomach. “And by that, you mean they’re… bringing victims to Mr Szarr for you?”

“Instead of me,” he spat. “It's not as if I want him to have any more victims.” His face twisted in misplaced anger.

Ronnie had assumed what his job entailed before, but every time she thought about it, it stirred something pained and uncomfortable within her, almost like the smell of the dumpster. She didn’t want to think about it.

—But maybe talking about it would help.

She pressed more, “Dalyria… is she… having sex with people to lure them like how you did with me?” Ronnie asked.

Astarion stopped on the sidewalk, and, consequently, Ronnie did too.

He walked in front of her, gripping both of her arms at her sides.

She looked up at him, witnessing the subtle intensity in his brow.

“I’m. Sorry.”

Again, he said something as if it was his first time uttering the phrase.

Ronnie tensed her shoulders closer to her ears. He looked… scared.

His grip loosened, and his thumbs rubbed along the front of her arms. He was clearly attempting to soothe her, but it was like he’d forgotten how. He’d been caring and affectionate after their couplings, but outside of that, he was a bit… awkward—like he was trying his very best to keep something contained.

Ronnie wondered what that was.

“Hey—it’s okay.” She bit her lip.

“It was my job to bring you to him,” his words echoed in her memory. “Nobody has ever bested him like that.”

“I—I want to help you.” The words leaked from her. She didn’t know why.

“Just—” don’t leave me when this is all over, she wanted to say but didn’t. Couldn’t.

He wouldn’t lure her there again.

—He doesn’t even want to be there. Ever again.

Closing his eyes, he huffed out an exhale through his nose. He held his arm out for Ronnie again, looking ahead—away from her.

She squeezed and unsqueezed her hands a few times, noticing they were suddenly clammy. Hooking onto his arm, she followed his lead to the park.

꧁꧂

The swings creaked in the cool breeze, their metallic squeaks echoing in the still night. The grass and rocks around the playground glistened with moisture, dark and wet from the earlier rain. Beyond the playground, a dense treeline marked the beginning of a small patch of woods. The sky remained overcast, the stars obscured by clouds.

They walked across the damp ground and paused before the playground, standing side-by-side, the night air filled with the scent of wet earth and foliage.

“So… why did you want to bring me here?” Ronnie asked, her voice tense. She held her breath, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a nervous habit.

“The trees,” Astarion replied, “they make for accessible targets to practice on.” He released her arm and looked down at her. “Did you bring it?”

He hadn’t even asked her to bring it, but—of course—she did. Just more evidence of how embarrassingly obsessed she was with him. And he’d surely pick up on it.

She exhaled sharply. “Yeah, I have it.” Reaching into her bag reluctantly, she grasped the cold metal of the balisong and pulled it out, feeling its familiar weight in her hand.

She wanted to show him what she could do.

“Perfect. Can I see it for a moment?” he asked, extending his hand.

With a hint of reluctance, she placed the weapon in his hand, not saying a word.

While it remained closed, he tossed it a few inches into the air, catching it with ease as if gauging its weight. “Here—come,” he said, gesturing to the trees and beginning to walk towards them.

She hugged herself, though she wasn’t cold.

Following in his footsteps, she did as he asked.

She wanted her knife back.

When they reached the trees, he glanced back to ensure she was watching. Unclipping the balisong, he unfolded it and snapped it open with practised ease.

This time, when he tossed the knife, he threw it higher. It spun in the air before he caught it effortlessly by the hilt.

—I could do that.

He flung it at a tree, it spun on axis and it hit with a satisfying thunk, embedding itself into the wood.

—The poor tree.

“Want to try?” he asked, walking over to pull the knife out.

Easing the balisong free with a careful, vertical wiggle, he inspected the blade for damage.

Seemingly satisfied, he took steps toward her and offered her the blade on his open palm, like he was offering a treat to a bad dog.

Ronnie removed her hands from under her arms and took her balisong back, avoiding his gaze as she dropped her bag on the ground against a nearby tree.

Taking a few steps back from where he'd thrown it, she tossed the knife in the air just as he had, catching it by the hilt.

She hadn’t tried this before, but it felt as natural as breathing. She wasn't scared.

She glanced at him and saw him grinning, arms crossed.

He was looking at her like that again.

Eyes snapping back to the tree in embarrassment, she blushed unbiddenly and steadied herself on her two feet, a bend in her knee.

Inhaling slowly through her mouth, she held her breath.

Exhaling, she flung the balisong…

And it stuck in the exact spot he'd hit.

And she wasn't scared.

Straightening up, she turned her head to him to gauge his reaction.

His eyes widened, and his arms uncrossed as he stared at the tree. He looked back at Ronnie, cleared his throat into his fist, and painted on a smile—placing his knuckles on his hips. “You've been practising?” he laughed facetiously.

Ronnie made way to the blade-struck tree, freeing it from its peril, just as Astarion had previously. She, too, inspected the blade's tip for any damage, and she was grateful that it remained just as flawless as it'd been before.

“No, I… I just know how to do it.” Ronnie forced a smile. “Retrograde amnesia. Sometimes people forget everything from their past, but retain—uh,” she paused, swinging awkwardly, “certain skills or talents like… playing the piano. And other things, apparently.” Despite her stiff demeanour, her hands shook as she undid the handle and clipped the blade closed. She stared at the balisong in her hand. “Thanks for this, by the way. It was… actually really thoughtful,” she said, holding it tightly. Her eyes flicked back to Astarion, and her lips formed a tight line.

Meeting Astarion was one of the keys to uncovering her past.

She couldn't hide from it anymore—not when it was staring at her like this.

She'd hoped that her paroxysms were only ever a consequence of her “brain injury,” but the knife…

The knife—it changed things.

The knife meant that she'd always been this way, or something like that.

Fresh out of the hospital, she only had a few large scars. Now, she was swarmed with them.

How many people had she killed? How in the hells did she know how to wield this weapon so well?

Were there any other skills she possessed but didn't know about?

She sank to her knees on the pine-needle-covered dirt ground to place her balisong back in her bag. She pushed her palm into the earth and felt the thump of the weapon as it fell to the bottom. She grabbed at the dirt, letting the pine needles poke between her fingers. It felt good.

The wind blew through the trees, shaking raindrops from their branches, and she didn't feel anything except sick.

She heard Astarion crouch beside her.

“Ronnie?”

She wondered if that was her name before.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, and when she looked at him, her vision was blurred by tears.

Her chin was seized by a gentle grip between his thumb and finger.

And she felt the nausea fade away a little bit.

She closed her eyes.

She could stay there forever.

Until she died.

But she felt his breath on her lips, and then his lips.

And they were so soft.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want him to go. He made her feel better. He made her feel normal.

Tilting her head, she nudged closer into him, deepening the kiss.

He let go of her chin and slid his hand under her peacoat, to her back, grasping at the fabric of her shirt like he'd fall right off the earth if he didn't.

She could do anything with her hands, so she chose to hold his head, carding her fingers through his hair on both sides with a thumb in front of either ear.

She breathed through her nose as he pulled at her shirt, lowering her and kissing her into the dirt, his hand flattening under the weight of her ribcage.

Her arms flopped around the back of his neck as he unslotted his hand from her back only to hold her waist while his elbow dug into the dirt beside her.

He was between her legs, and she wrapped herself around him. It was like nothing else. Nothing had ever made her feel so… safe.

She felt safe like this.

With him.

She broke their kiss. And breathed. And opened her eyes.

And he was there…

looking at her.

He was so beautiful.

“Astarion,” she whispered, “thank you.”

His brow tensed again.

—Was he afraid for the same reason?

He tucked his face between her head and shoulder, and she held him tighter.

Allowing himself to collapse onto her, she felt his nose nudge her neck.

He was hungry.

And if she could give him a semblance of what he'd give her, she'd do it.

“You can drink from me again, Astarion.”

Groaning, he pushed his hips into her core.

And she held him so close.

“I can't.” he rasped.

Ronnie closed her eyes. “Because of—” Mr Szarr? she held her tongue.

He didn't say anything, he just rocked into her, and she could feel his hardness straining against his trousers as he hid away in the crook of her neck.

“Astarion.”

“I love it when you say my name, Ronnie.”

—How is this real right now?

She released one arm from around him to rummage through her purse beside her, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape as she watched him.

When she found her balisong, her fingers curled around it. “Can you sit up?”

He nodded, pushing himself up and back to sit on his heels, her legs draped over his thighs.

Ronnie pulled the blade from her bag and placed it down in the dirt to shrug off her coat. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and onto the ground behind her.

His hands slid up her thighs, fingers tracing the skin beneath the hem of her loose t-shirt, lingering at the elastic waistband of her leggings.

It was very distracting.

She laid back on her coat and picked up her balisong, unclipping it, opening it, and admiring the detailed engravings on the blade.

It was really her, and that didn't make sense.

She held the blade to her scarred wrist, swiftly slicing a small line close to her hand. Blood immediately began to bead on the surface of her skin.

His expression shifted as he eyed the bleeding cut, restrained and hungry, like when she had bitten her lip. He watched the small droplet raptly as it journeyed over and around the other scars on her arm, trailing downwards towards her elbow.

“For you,” Ronnie whispered, “please.” She held up her wrist, offering herself to him.

He looked at her, seeking reassurance. She nodded, eyes steady, urging him on.

His gaze dropped back to her wrist as he took it in his hand, his thumb pressing into her palm. Their eyes locked as he leaned closer, propping himself up with one hand in the dirt.

She let him take his time, shivering as he kissed the backs of her fingers first.

This made her blood flutter in her veins.

She didn't know what this was—it felt like falling, but it was good, better than any drug she'd ever done.

He closed his eyes, turning her wrist along with his head, placing the flat of his tongue on the tiny trailing droplet. He closed his eyes so tight, as if savouring the taste.

She was entranced, watching him work his way up her arm.

The way he looked—she wanted to taste him, too.

The trees creaked and swayed, moonlight speckling through his curls.

He finally reached her wound, wrapping his lips around it. His groan of pleasure resonated through her.

It tickled, sending shivers down her spine.

She felt his tongue roll on her skin, and his hips roll into her.

He pressed his tongue onto her skin one last time before pulling away, leaving nothing left but the scratch she'd made.

She had stopped bleeding, but she knew it wasn’t enough.

He let go of her wrist, and she started to sit up. “Here,” she murmured, shimmying out from under him.

She stood, looked around, bent down, and grabbed her jacket. She flung it over her shoulder and laid it out beside a tree.

“You can sit with your back against this tree. What do you think?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting, hoping to make him feel comfortable.

He stood up and walked to her. “What have you got planned?” he asked, smiling.

“A treat,” she replied, smiling back and gesturing to the tree with both hands.

He looked at her sceptically but walked over and sat on her coat as she had asked.

Ronnie already started lowering herself to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest.

It was as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Ronnie leaned her head back on his shoulder, looking up at him. “I’m here.” She smiled, then looked away, pulling her hair to one side and exposing the bite marks from the night before. “Please—just try.”

She tilted her head for him and closed her eyes.

His arms found their way around her torso, holding her arms to her ribcage.

His breath was shaky, each inhalation expanding his chest against her back. His exhalations blew cool puffs of air against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She could feel his hesitation in the way he gripped her, his fingers tracing the marred skin on her arms as if unsure where to rest. The closeness of their bodies made her hyper-aware of every sensation—the lifelessness of his breath, the steady thrum of his strange heartbeat against her spine, the way his chest rose and fell.

“Please,” she whispered, “I trust you.”

His lips brushed against the tender skin of her neck, and she felt a wave of heat wash over her. The anticipation, the tension—it was intoxicating.

He hesitated for a moment longer before pressing his lips to her neck, his mouth lingering over the bite marks from the night before. She gasped softly, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as his teeth grazed her skin.

His grip tightened around her, his hands finally finding their place as they held her closer. Each breath—each touch—was electric, sending jolts of desire through her.

“Your heart’s not racing, Ronnie. Why not?” he murmured.

—The medication.

“I took one of those little blue pills before we came here,” she said.

“You were scared?” he asked.

“I was… stressed. Just—thinking too much,”

“About us?”

—Us?

Her cheeks bloomed with blood, the warmth spreading across her face.

“That’s better—quicker,” he noted, his breath cool against her neck.

“Do you like it better like that?” she asked, her voice breathy and trembling.

He pressed his lips to her throat. “It drives me crazy,” he whispered, grazing his fangs along her pulse point. He squeezed her arms, his grip possessive. “Stay very still, darling,” he cooed.

When he sank his fangs into her neck, she winced quietly at first as he held her taut against him.

Winced—at the pain, but it faded into a numb drumming.

It felt like everything.

He groaned again, his breath tickling her throat as he exhaled through his nose.

She tried to stay still, to keep breathing steadily—she wanted to make this easy for him.

His fingertips pulled at the skin on her arms, and she felt him take his first gulp.

She could feel him growing needy—the outline of him, against her back—and she couldn't blame him because she was feeling needy herself, with the way he held her like a vice.

Small grunts of pleasure escaped his chest as he imbibed. The more he drank, the less frantic his grip became, his hands travelling across her torso—one hand searched under her shirt, and the other ventured past her navel, slipping below her waistband.

He moved slowly and carefully, his cool fingers applying pressure to her skin on their journeys. It made it difficult for Ronnie to stay still.

She could feel her heart beating faster than before, each thump echoing in her ears. She wondered if that was why he was teasing her.

The sensation of his touch, the way he drank from her… it was stupefying, overwhelming her senses. His hands explored her body with deliberate slowness, igniting a cascade of sensations that rippled through her most sacred spots.

His one hand moved upwards, under her shirt until he was pulling down her bralette, making her breast fall out. Ronnie gasped—every way he touched her left sparks on her skin.

He grabbed her mound, and she bit her inner lip, trying not to move or gasp like before—she had to remember to breathe.

But once he had a hold of her breast, his other hand journeyed lower—under her leggings. She parted her legs for him, and when his fingers slotted between her folds, her entire body tensed—his touch was still initially electric on her starved skin.

When he felt how wet she was, he moaned deeply into her claimed neck, and that incited her unbidden squirming further.

He moved through her folds under her tight pants, and dipped two fingers into her, palming her clit. He held her like that—close to him as he hooked into her cunt and latched onto her neck like a feral animal.

She didn't dare move—she needed him to feel comfortable.

But the longer they stayed like that, the more her stomach fluttered and her cheeks burned. She hummed a small moan—she couldn't stop it this time, but he groaned his approval at her noise, rewarding her with a wiggle of his fingers inside of her and a thumb across her nipple, which only made her moan more.

He kept going like that, and her breathing picked up—she didn't know how he expected her to stay still like this. It was torture, truly. Maybe he was evil, after all.

He pressed his pelvis into her back—it was clear that he was hard.

Something felt different this time—like more than just sex. She thought of his mind and where it might be at, or if he felt the same way at all.

She hopes.

She thinks he does.

He sometimes held her like this—like he was afraid of losing her. She knew she felt like that—afraid of losing him. Afraid that he'd disappear and she'd be alone again. Alone, and messy, and fucked up.

But she felt okay like this. To feel okay was an anomaly—it never happened, not really.

Not for people like her.

There was always a shadow, following her everywhere she went, casting over everything she did, like a tall building that blocked the sun and consequently stopped the flowers from blooming there.

She felt like her flowers were blooming with him.

And it was stupid.

She was stupid.

But maybe it was okay…

She felt okay.

A soft sigh escaped her as she felt the bristling trees shake themselves dry—a drop, landing on her cheek.

And she realised that things inside her were fading away—all the worst parts being washed off and leaving her pure and… free.

And he was still there…

Pulling his fangs out with a pop and pressing his lips on the wounds he made—like an apology.

He pulled his fingers out, and took his hand out of her shirt just to… hug her. He wrapped his arms around her like before, but much softer this time—like he was okay too.

Ronnie rested on him, and they stayed there, breathing together like they had all the time in the world, or like that was enough.

The clouds were all gone, and the summer air was heavy and humid, leaving a thin layer of it on their stacked bodies.

If they were out of the city, they might have been able to see the stars, or lay in some tall grass and pick out the constellations.

She shut her eyes, and let her breaths come and go with his now-warmer arms around her.

“Thank you, too,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, and he was looking down at her. His brow was scrunched like he was afraid, again.

Ronnie turned and placed her hand on his chest. And she kissed him, like how he did for her.

A kiss meant “I'm here”.

She broke the kiss, and gazed down to where her wrist met his chest. For some reason, looking into his eyes felt like too much—as if it made a time bomb start ticking and the only way to stop it was to look away.

She gave his shirt an affectionate scrunch before turning away again.

They could still see the park through the trees, completely desolate except for the occasional squeak of the swings in the warm breeze. Everything was so dark and quiet—safe.

Ronnie imagined the sounds of people—children playing on the slides, parents chatting at the picnic tables. It hit her that she had never actually been to this park before. She lived so close, yet had only ever walked by.

“How do you feel?” Astarion asked from behind her.

She laughed softly. “Me? Just thinking about this park, wondering if it's always this quiet at night.” She laid her head back on his shoulder.

“Hmm… I suspect we just got lucky.”

Just then, a group of teenagers approached the park, smelling of spliff, laughing and hushing one another.

“Well now. Fun's over,” Astarion said.

Ronnie hung her head, sighed and then came onto her hands and knees to push herself up. She stretched her arms far above her head and then adjusted her bralette so it lay properly.

With her sneakered feet standing on her coat, she turned and offered a hand to Astarion to help him up.

He stared at her hand for a moment, then took it and pushed himself up.

Every spot his body had touched her lingered.

They began to walk away, leaving the quiet park and its fleeting serenity behind.

꧁꧂

“Do you remember being a teenager?” Ronnie asked as she walked beside Astarion down the sidewalk, her hands tucked into her peacoat pockets. It was easier that way.

“I—er—honestly, no,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as well.

Maybe he had the same idea.

“I can't remember much of my past—centuries of torment will do that to you.”

“Centuries?” Ronnie didn't know why, but she’d assumed he was younger.

“Two hundred years—give or take a few.”

“So you were here through it all. World War One? And Two?”

“Oh, yes. Work didn't stop for Mr Szarr’s spawn, either. We still had to bring…” His face twisted in disgust. “...bodies back to him.” He smiled sarcastically, turning his head to face Ronnie as they walked. “It's much easier—so to speak—to kill horrid people.” His head turned to watch the pavement in front of him. “People who the world would be better off without. By nature, my sisters are better at luring those… rotters.”

Was that what she was? A rotter?

“Here we are,” he said as they stopped on the sidewalk, between his Hummer and her building's door. “Suppose this is where we part ways.”

The aura between them was thick and heavy.

“Right.” She nodded curtly.

She stood stiffly for a moment, staring at the ground and clenching her clammy fists.

Turning to face the door, she dug in her purse for her keys, but she wasn’t ready to leave yet.

She wanted to stay with him. They still had so much time before sunrise. Still, it didn't feel right for her to pursue this; even if she could be restrained in private, it didn't change her fate.

She felt the balisong in her purse.

She began to turn to thank him again.

But he was already so close—right there.

And then he was on her—on her lips, on her everywhere.

He stole her breath with a hand through her peacoat and under her shirt, splayed out on the small of her back. His other hand carded through her hair, holding her head at the right angle.

Her own hands found purchase anywhere they could on his body with how fervently he kissed.

His splayed hand changed its goal, as he pulled at the front of her leggings' waistband, causing her to lose footing.

Her body moved instinctively, tugging at his dress shirt to untuck it at the front and undo his leather belt.

But he grabbed her wrist to stop her. And he withdrew from their kiss.

She thought she ruined it—grossed him out, or made him uncomfortable with her eagerness.

But when he said, “My car or your flat?” she thought she might fly out of her body.

“Car,” she said.

Her whole body was becoming all too hot under her peacoat as he pulled her towards the large vehicle by her wrist. He reached into his pocket, grabbed the fob, unlocked the doors, and swung one open.

The vehicle's doors were high, and the fob was tossed somewhere on the floor inside.

With his hands around her ribs, he lifted her like a ballerina into the backseat, and she watched him crawl in gracelessly as she backed away on all fours.

Once he was in, he closed the door and pressed a button to lock it.

Every window was tinted, including the windshield—making things private but not too secluded.

Astarion sat on one heel, with his other leg off the seat, and started unlacing her sneaker.

He removed it quickly, his brow knitted in focus. The other one came off with the same level of ease.

Both sneakers were tossed on the ground and he hastily slotted his fingers under her leggings, pulling them down along with her knickers and socks in one go. The rush to undress filled the vehicle with the constant rustle of fabric.

Ronnie shimmied to sit on her bum and then shook her coat and bag off before lifting off her t-shirt and then her bralette.

Everything was happening non-stop without any time to breathe between beats.

By the time all of her clothes were off, Astarion had already thrown his own shirt on the front seat, slid off his shoes, and he'd begun to unbuckle his belt.

Ronnie thought he was the hottest person she'd ever seen, with his abs wrinkled as he slouched to view his buckle.

He focused on unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, and he stood with one knee on the seat and his foot on the ground as he used his thumbs to pull his formal trousers below his hip bones.

He stood, crouching under the Hummer roof to get the rest of his trousers off—his socks following immediately after.

He was completely naked and his cock was already hard.

Ronnie lay back on her coat—as she had earlier that night—and parted her knees for him as he stroked himself impatiently. She was already soaking from their mischief in the trees.

He brought two fingers through her folds, slipping them inside and feeling her out for good measure. When he pulled them out, he grabbed the back of her thigh, pushing it back before lining himself up with her seam, fisting his swollen length with urgency.

Once he had the tip in, he let go of his hardness and grabbed at Ronnie’s hips to twirl himself inwards, slowly.

The stretch felt lurid, and she pulsed around him as he worked his way to her cervix. It didn't take much effort for him to do so, and she knew it wouldn't take much effort for her to cum, either.

“Fuck, Ronnie. You're so tight and warm around me,” he cursed, pulling out almost completely before snapping back in. “And I can almost fit all the way inside of you.”

He began his motions, ebbing and flowing into her.

The inside of her coat was silky—it reminded her of a plush and expensive blanket. She felt like a princess as she jostled on it.

His thumb was already toying with her clit, and the rolls of his hips were sultry and languid—almost matching the rhythm of his thumb.

The car was probably rocking, and the windows were becoming steamy like the lid of a pot of boiling water.

He was gorgeous—his mouth hung open, exposing his fangs as his eyes lay fixed on Ronnie's body; looking from her bouncing tits to their lower entanglement.

And then finally: her face—her eyes.

They hadn't truly looked at one another since their coupling in the trees. It stirred something inside her—both her chest and stomach tightened and tingled, as if birds were trying to fly out of her body like it was a cage.

She didn't want to look away, but the gaze between them was no longer playful—there was something behind his eyes that synchronised with her own.

And it was terrifying.

She didn’t deserve this.

She didn't deserve any of this.

Yet he was so good to her.

It felt wrong to question what they meant to one another, but she knew he made her feel a psychotic level of yearning that was a constant effort to quell or quench. It went beyond just the physicality of it all—beyond their ready bodies that so clearly wanted each other.

And she was fitted around him like his formal wear always was. He wasn't even going fast when she came—breathing heavily as her whole body lit up with surges of ecstasy. She had to grab onto the seat to ground herself, scratching at the leather fabric with her short nails.

He rasped a lengthy “Oh” when she fluttered around him.

Gods, he was so hot.

He kept going as she rode out the tail end of her orgasm, removing his thumb at just the right time—before he started rutting much faster… and harder.

Ronnie's body was tired and limp from her climax, and he looked her over with smouldering eyes.

Her arms had fallen so that her hands rested lazily on her torso.

He got her body moving almost like liquid—that made it clear he wasn't done with her yet.

The sounds they made were sloppy and uninhibited—Ronnie's coat would surely be a mess by the end of this. It probably already was.

She could feel each push and pull of his hips everywhere inside her, pervasive like dry red wine on her tongue.

With tepid hands, he pushed her knees towards her shoulders by grabbing the backs of her thighs, leaning into her closely—the herbaceous scent of his cologne whelming her.

He drew out his motion. “There we go—all the way in, now,” he cooed, a thrust breaking his sentence.

Once he settled into a rhythm, his movements intensified, growing more vehement and purposeful.

She wanted to hold him. She could hold him. Again.

So she wrapped her forearms around the back of his neck, his skin sticky and glistening as she urged him towards her for a kiss. He complied, their lips meeting in a messy, fervent lock; all while his hips were relentless.

She could still taste her ichor on him, and smell it lacing his minty breath as their lips, teeth, and tongues fumbled against one another.

When he was done with her lips, he tucked his damp head between her neck and shoulder—the undertones of his scent always perforated her the most when he did that.

He was warmer than she'd ever felt him before, but still cooler than her. Despite his coolness, he still sweated, and he somehow made that look beautiful, too. It was unfair.

She uncrossed her hands and grabbed his shoulders, beginning to slide her fingers down his back. But she felt ridges on his skin—they felt like her scars.

They were scars.

In one swift movement, he pulled away from her, grabbing one of her wrists a bit too tightly at first.

Her heart skipped at the suddenness, breath catching in her throat and expanding the top of her chest, causing her shoulders to near her ears.

His eyes were wide, almost panicked, his hold firm as if anchoring himself to reality.

Ronnie subconsciously mirrored his expressions as he went. She just knew she did something wrong.

In the subtle intensity of his eyes and brow, Ronnie sensed that fear again.

It was a fleeting expression, but he mustn't have wanted her to feel what she'd felt on his back—his own scars.

His eyes darted away—he wasn't looking at her, but rather somewhere irrelevant as he held her wrist; half zoned out or something.

His pace became offbeat, like he didn't want to be doing this with Ronnie anymore.

She didn't want it if he didn't want it, but that wouldn't change the way she'd never forgive herself for screwing everything up.

It was always too good to be true, anyways.

“Astarion—” she began, her voice trembling with uncertainty. She didn't want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.

Now, she was scared.

His eyes snapped to her, intense and searching. He took a deep breath, eyes closing as his thumb traced a comforting path along her wrist before letting her go. “I—” he began, but his words faltered.

And he was still fucking her, each thrust a contradiction—steady, but full of tension. Every motion was a blend of need and hesitation, making it difficult for Ronnie to track his aura.

But her body felt so right—she still couldn’t help but lose her breath each time he went into her again. However, she could almost see the cogs turning in Astarion’s mind, like conflict was carved into every movement.

She remained silent—like no words available to her could bridge the gap. Surely, nothing she could think to say would fix what felt broken between them.

It felt like everything they'd been building together was crashing down in an instant—her hands as the wrecking-ball. All she could do was lay there and take it.

Her heart hammered in the silence—

—Why hasn't he stopped yet?

She kept herself still, her hands withdrawn—since they were the grubby creatures that fucked things up in the first place.

She fucked things up.

The silence was heavy, punctuated only by their breaths—primarily Ronnie’s—and the lewd, wet sounds of their bodies moving together. His hands anchored him to her, thumbs skimming soothingly over her pelvis—steady, grounding. Like a wordless promise that he was alright.

Or nearly there.

Then, a small, stuttered whine escaped him as he rocked forward, raw and unfiltered. His eyes opened, sliding slowly from where they were joined.

Up…

Up her body, until they fixed on her neck, lingering there.

Although discomforting, it made sense. Her neck was a safe spot—far from the intimacy of her eyes, where every glance felt too close, too revealing. It was a place he could focus on, even if her clothes were still on. A place where the only scars were the ones he’d left behind, not the others that marred her skin.

The ones she wished she could erase.

She would rip herself out of her own skin if she could…

If she could have a pretty body.

But something clicked in him when his gaze met hers.

His movements grew faster and his presence hastily morphed into something needy and desperate.

He leaned in and parted her mouth with a gentle press of his thumb, tasting herself on his skin. He pressed her tongue down, eyes locked on her lips.

She could feel every ridge of his thumbprint as he drew a line, slipping it in further. She tried to relax, but her tongue betrayed her, flexing beneath the weight of his touch.

He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed entranced, his thumb pushing against her bottom teeth, inching toward the back of her throat. She felt like a dog being trained—told not to bite, not to act, just to receive. The thought of scaring him away kept her still, though every fibre of her being ached to respond, to give in fully.

On her taste buds, he moved left and right, like he always did when trying to soothe her, his flavour a familiar metallic tang—iron, life, her remnants.

The darkness around them was absolute—an endless void that swallowed everything. But him—he was clear, vivid, a beacon in the dark. It was her blood that reddened his cheeks, a vivid flush that belonged there, like ink sinking into the coarse fibres of parchment.

He could have it. He needed it more than she did, anyway.

If only he knew she'd give it all, would he take it?

He slid further in, pushing to the back of her tongue until his palm rested against her bottom teeth. She struggled not to gag, but he brushed so deeply into her throat that she couldn’t help it. The reflex came, and with it, watery eyes and a hope that he liked this evidence of his effect on her.

His eyes darkened, filled with a focused intensity, as if he were a schoolboy holding a magnifying glass to an anthill, watching her reactions with a mix of curiosity and control.

Retracting his thumb, he used her saliva to trace a slow, deliberate circle around her plump, swollen lips, painting them like a canvas.

Like he needed it.

Ronnie thought she might just die from that—right then and there. The way he looked at her—treated her—like she was the most precious thing in the world… like a shiny diamond ring, gleaming in the dark.

He slid his thumb in again, and she looked up at him, wanting him to proceed as he focused on playing with her mouth. He parted her mouth wider this time, pulling her jaw down with the firm pressure of his hand beneath her chin. His face inched closer, the air between them charged with the electric hum of anticipation.

And then he kissed her.

He drank her in with a ravenous intensity, his fingers threading through her hair, while the moist imprint of his thumb caressed her cheek with a tenderness that belied the ferocity of his kiss.

Their teeth clashed, breaths mingling as they devoured each other in a frantic, primal exchange. He caught her lower lip with his fang, the sharp edge breaking the skin just enough to draw a bead of blood.

And he sucked on it and growled like a feral and possessive creature. But even as he overtook her, his fingers remained gentle, coaxing, subjugating her with the lightest touch.

And the sounds that rattled out of him were visceral and untamed.

“You make such a mess of me, Ronnie. You—” His voice broke off in a hiss—he was so close.

He parted his glistening torso from hers, reaching down to circle her bud.

His gaze into her pupils was commanding, a silent order that left no room for hesitation, pulling Ronnie into his desire.

He was… so intoxicatingly beautiful.

Her body was feeling so much for him.

Too much.

She had to look away.

“Eyes up here, darling,”

And then she was climbing into oblivion as soon as she looked back.

His crimson gaze… it was like a ship aflame, drifting in the middle of a dark lake.

His hand synchronised with his hips. And with that, he brought her through that burning ship.

Through oblivion.

And he was doing it, too. He was there. With her. Swimming through the heat and darkness.

And then floating down.

Descending onto Ronnie, and becoming a tangled mix of sweaty limbs—his weight on hers like hydrostatic pressure; it was pervading.

He was in her in so many ways, it felt surreal.

Like possession.

He came into her like an omen, and kissed the breath out of her lungs—kissed her face from cheek to cheek. And from cheek to neck.

It felt like worship. He was worshipping her in the back of a fucking Hummer.

She let her hands drape lazily above her head.

His hips pulled from hers and she was left feeling messily revered as he poured out of her—a trail of him.

Their breathless forms, too apathetic to catch up just yet.

His arms hugged under her head, cherishing her and her neck—clearly a spot of interest.

She grinned sadly, her brows canting up. “I'll let you drink all of me one day, Astarion.”

It felt like the ultimate way to atone for what she'd done. Not only to him, but Alfira, and anyone else she'd hurt and forgotten about.

“Don't say that,” he said into her neck. “Then who will be there for me to practise sutures on?”

She didn't deserve this, but the urge to balance how much to truly show took over, causing her mind to revert and her shell to cover her once again.

Ronnie pouted. “Mean.”

Laughing, he sat up. “I mean it. That was fun—playing with my food.” He placed his hand flatly on her stomach, looking there while he stretched out his fingers. Sighing, his grin vanished. “It's not something I've had the chance to do until—”

Ronnie watched the pain wash over him—twisting in his brow.

If she could take it away—fold it up into a pill and drink it down until it swelled her brain and stopped her heart—she would.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” he said.

She should've said no—that she would take care of herself so he wouldn't have to deal with the hard parts—but something drove her to accept his offer.

Something selfish and impulsive and stupid.

He led her into her apartment with an arm around her back. Her clothes were slung over her bag strap and she folded her peacoat closed, walking down the corridor stairs, wearing her chucks undone.

Although it happened very fast, everything after that felt like slow-motion.

From her coat and bag dropping to the ground, to him tying her, to the bath they took where her ropes got all wet.

And she could finally see his back while they were in the lavatory…

Someone had carved intricate rune-like patterns into him. Like a summoning circle, or something of that nature.

She didn't pry. She didn't stare. She just let everything soak into her pores—all the soaps that he scrubbed under her restraints… under candlelight.

Maybe she could wash him, too, one day.

He patted her down, as well as himself, and then changed her ropes with the help of the cuffs on the pole—all within their sanctuary of silence.

In the bed, after all was said and done, they shared her blanket.

Until she woke up to him untying her. And with a kiss to her brow, he was gone.

He always leaves.

It hurts.

꧁꧂

Her dream had been so peaceful, similar to the one she had at the pub.

She'd been stoking the flames of a woodstove in a cottage she lived in, heating the home for the autumn. Out the window, the tall grass had turned beige, signifying the summer's end as it blew in waves with the breeze.

A kettle whistled on the stove for tea.

“Milady?”

She ended its whistling by opening its spout and removing it from the heat. Then, she poured the steamy water into a ceramic mug, its lip lined with gold.

The water glugged into the mug, turning red from the teabag that floated towards the top.

“Milady? A word, please?”

She grabbed a steel spoon, its handle engraved with a symmetrical floral pattern. The metal clinked against the ceramic as she plopped it in the water.

She turned to her green, vintage-style fridge and pulled out a glass bottle of soy-milk. Pouring it into her tea, she stirred it slowly until the liquid reached the gold.

“Milady!”

Ronnie felt a weak tug at her blankets, waking her from her slumber.

She strained her sleepy eyes open, her heart racing as she craned her head forward to make out what was in front of her, coated by darkness.

Hastily propping herself on her palms, she flicked on her lamp with a shaky hand at the bulb’s base.

Before her, stood a small man-like creature, only his nose was bony and beak-like, his chin and ears were long and pointed, and his skin was grey—lifeless, like a corpse.

He wore a dated suit, and tophat, standing at Ronnie's bedside, near her feet with his lips stretched into a smile.

“Milady! A most joyous day it is, indeed. At long last, I have found you, oh depraved one!” said the creature, bowing. “Sceleritas Fel—your ever-faithful and adoring butler—at your service.”

꧁꧂

End notes: I hope you liked this chapter! Sorry if the Discord link expires. I believe it only lasts 7 days. :')

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #reblog #ancuninfiles #astarion x original female character #astarion smut

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riseatlantisss · 1 year ago

Text

Careful, he bites

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader around 900 words.

morning sex. in bed. with the most amazing vampire. that’s it that’s the plot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW : 18+, shameless smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, tiny bit of fang kink

I love him a completely normal amount

You open your eyes slowly, savouring the blissful, heavy fog of sleep that still weighs on your mind. The voice that greets you is one you’re sure you’ll never tire of.

“Good morning, my sweet”, Astarion whispers against your ear. The bed smells of night-blooming flowers and cold winter air, just like him. His body is a comforting spoon, the nice coolness of his powerful chest sends shivers down your spine.

Your eyelids are still heavy and with a smile, you settle back in and bury your head in your soft pillow, eager for just a few more hours of precious sleep before starting a new day in the underdark.

Astarion, of course, has other ideas. He exhales and you can feel the light puff of cold air against the back of your neck. Icy fingers skate down your bare arm, dragging the strap of your night gown with them. He dips his head and nuzzles the junction of your neck and shoulder. He toys with the hem of your night gown before slipping beneath it to caress the curve of your hip. You revel in his low groan of appreciation as he discovers you’re wearing nothing underneath.

“Gods, the things you do to me,” he growls, voice muffled slightly as he breathes your scent. “Let me take care of you.”

Wordlessly, you nod and he wastes no time. He gives you a sloppy, hungry kiss that is all tongues, teeth and fangs, and then slowly lowers himself. His fangs leave burning trails across your skin, and you love every bit of it.

You can feel his erection grow next to your thigh and you raise a hand forward to touch him but he grabs your wrist and stops the motion.

“No, darling,” he grins, “it is all about you today.”

“But –” your attempt to argue is cut short as Astarion disappears between your thighs, wraps his wet lips around your clit and starts sucking. You let out an unbelievably loud whimper of pleasure and he smirks against your body.

Pinning your thighs apart, he works his tongue in an up-and-down motion on one side of your clit and then the other. You grind into his mouth shamelessly as his tongue continues working its magic. Without interruption, he slips first one finger, then two inside you, and pushes them up against your G-spot. You’re already starting to see stars as you feel his fangs settle in the soft mound of flesh above your clit. He applies just enough pressure for it to deliciously sting without ever hurting. Those tiny pinpricks combined with the sucking of your clit and the impossible rhythm of his fingers inside you made you cry out.

“Astarion – I’m– “ you try to articulate between two heavy breaths.

“I’m right there with you, my love,” he mutters and presses his fangs slightly deeper into your skin, as to urge you to stop fighting the wave of pleasure trying to make its way through your shivering body.

His tongue slips across that one spot on the tip of your clit that always sets you off, and suddenly you are coming on his mouth, grasping fistfuls of his silver hair and moaning and moaning and moaning. He pushes his fangs deeper and deeper into your skin as he rides out your orgasm with you, using his free hand to hold your hips steady. Your core spasms longer than a pulsing heart, each beat making you thrash helplessly on the bed as he pushes his fingers deep. He waits until you come down from your high before slowly sliding his two fingers out of you and into his mouth to lick them clean. The rest of the world begins to come back into focus but you do not care for it. You only have eyes for him.

"You are absolutely exquisite when you come," he chuckles in that ridiculously arrogant way he has.

He licks his lips as he rises, expression as lazy and smug as a contented cat. You haul him up and into your arms and kiss him hard. He wraps his strong arms around you protectively and takes a moment to listen to your breathing, still shallow from the love explosion. He finds infinite comfort in the repeated rise and fall of your chest. It proves to him that you are real, safe and here, right next to him.

Before you, Astarion had never known true bliss. Sex – even when it’s mindblowing – doesn’t fix the part of you that’s broken. Good sex soothes, but doesn’t cure, and Astarion, who’s been using sex as a valium substitute since he’s been free from his former Master’s control, knows it better than anyone. But with you, it’s not just sex. It’s safety. It’s intimacy. It’s respect. And it’s all he’s ever wanted.

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neckromantics · 9 months ago

Text

More creepy and unsettling, creature Astarion please.

I beg of thee. Vampires are meant to be an uncanny valley type of thing. An undead creature of the night that passes itself as just the right amount of living and mortal for you to let your guard down. I need more examples of his vampiric nature showing once he's grown comfortable enough, and I need it now.

An Astarion who is so silent in his movements that you often got jump scared by it in the earlier stages of your relationship.

You'd be lounging around on the sofa. Reading a book, lost in thought, all serene and cozy beneath a nice knitted blanket-- just having an all around nice, relaxing time when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You glance up for just a moment, to the space before you that was previously unoccupied, and his entire face is suddenly hovering right in front of you.

Just waiting. Not moving. Pupils blown so huge that there's barely any color left to his eyes. Fangs are peeking out over the bruise-purple skin of his bottom lip. He's pallid. White as a corpse. Definitely in need of a good feeding.

His intentions were entirely innocent. He really only meant to ask you a question, and here you are being all dramatic and jumping several feet into the air and throwing your book off to the side in a panic. Thankfully, you're able to catch yourself before you full on shriek in his face.

(You love him and his ghoulishly handsome face, you really and truly do, but you sincerely thought for a moment that he was a spectre come to take you to the afterlife.)

Astarion, who routinely forgets to breathe. Yanno, like it's nothing.

You're well aware of the fact that vampires don't need to breathe. It's more of a force of habit than anything else, really-- something left over from when he was still mortal, he says.

Although, during bouts of intense emotion, or some sort of uh, stimulation, the focus on something so trivial gets put on the backburner for a bit.

The two of you will be sharing a particularly passionate kiss (or worse) when you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest stop short. It's like all of the air has gotten caught in his lungs, and he ends up making these creaky grudge-like sounds in place of his usual low moaning. A clicking in the back of his throat in place of a sigh. If you play your cards just right, there might even be a rattling from deep within his chest that almost sounds like a purr.

When he finally does breathe, usually due to a well executed nip to his bottom lip, or the gentle brush of your fingers against one of his ears as you play with his hair, it comes out as an animalistic hiss. A sharp, choking gasp that sends goosebumps down the length of your arms.

How you catch him watching you sleep.

How you'll wake up in the pitch black of your bedroom in a cold sweat. Your hair is stood on end, a fearful shudder threatening to rattle your frame. A spike in your pulse that has your sleep addled brain doing somersaults in your skull. All of your instinctual alarm bells go off at once, telling you that something must be terribly wrong. Something must be watching you.

You try to blink away the bleariness-- try to shake off the fog of sleep for long enough to get your bearings, and catch a glint in the dark so ominous that for a moment you're scared stock still.

Something is watching you. Someone, rather.

Astarion's eyes gleam back at you in the dark like a wild animal's might. A bobcat, maybe, like the ones you'd often find stalking pray outside the tree line of camp all those nights ago. Pupils that glow a filmy, holographic orange despite there being no light to reflect off of them.

You don't notice until after you've taken a second to calm yourself that he's hovering over you. The bed just barely dips from his weight as he supports himself, and you'd be baffled by it all if you had any braincells left.

"Go back to sleep, darling." His voice is so soft, even over the pounding against your eardrums. Soothing. Tranquilizing. And though your eyes do begin to feel heavy, you're not exactly in the mood for rest anymore.

Especially not when he's pressing cold, feather-light kisses down the length of your throat not a moment later.

Please, I beg. Give me more.

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 tav #astarion headcanons #astarion fluff #kinda?#astarion smut #? also kinda?

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

Text

Book

Summary: Astarion comes across an interesting book and decides to share the knowledge with you. Quite literally.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Breeding kink. P in V. Vampire bite. Blood drinking. Creampie. Overestimulation. Cumplay.

Word count: 1.7k

It wasn't unusual for you to find yourself on your back, knees bent and legs spread apart as Astarion's hand worked diligently in between them.

“You know… I came across this book in Rivington."

Two fingers rubbed slow yet measured circles between your slick folds. His dexterity truly shined through in these moments, as he lured you closer and closer to the edge of your sanity.

“A book?”

“A most interesting book.”

His lips pressed lingering kisses across the exposed side of your neck, and you struggled to keep your eyes fixed on his hand.

He adored it when you watched him deliver unprecedented pleasure, and the sight was positively maddening with your wetness coating both his fingers as lewd sounds echoed in your ears.

The cluster of pillows strategically placed behind you aided you to take in the view more clearly, and you couldn't help but moan softly.

Suddenly, you jolted at the feeling of one fang raking across your sensitive skin. “What of it?”

“Do you really want to know, darling?”

His purring voice alone could edge you so effectively that you had to grip the bedsheets under you, balling your fists and silently praying to the gods above to help you stay grounded.

“Yes…” you moaned, eyes nearly fluttering shut.

Astarion quickly bfound your pulse point and planted an open-mouthed kiss.

Just bite me…

That would surely be your undoing, but he merely chuckled and you felt him smile.

“It spoke of dhampirs - half-vampires.”

Gods…

The implication that dangled from his silky words wasn't particularly subtle and you found yourself clenching around nothing.

“It is not an easy feat, but with the right amount of dedication and… perseverance,” he punctuated each word with a roll of his fingers, drawing soft whimpers from you. “... I'm quite certain we can explore it.”

You clenched again, and your legs faltered, almost dropping from the chill that ran down your spine.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “No, no, my sweet. Keep your focus and your legs up high for me.”

Astarion thrived on your pleasure and basked in your praises.

He was good.

He knew he was good.

And he wanted you to show him.

Stroking his ego was a sure way to get his complete devotion.

The throbbing between your legs intensified tenfold and you could see it swollen and peeking through your folds as he dragged his drenched fingers all the way up to your lower abdomen.

“What do you say?” He purred in your ear, massaging you tenderly.

Another agonising clench.

You parted your lips in search of a reply, but the words died in your mouth at the sight of his fingers spreading your wetness across your skin.

“Well? Will you let me breed you?”

His crude words had you gripping the fabric in your hands tighter, and you wondered how much longer until it finally tore.

“Astarion…”

Slowly but surely, you felt something prickling at the skin on the back of your hand.

It was slightly cool and you needn't need to look to know his cock was leaking precum.

Just for you.

The liquid began dribbling down your skin as he began pressing soft kisses along your jawline.

Silently, he grabbed your hand until your fingers instinctively wrapped around his hardening cock.

And then he hissed.

“Tighter,” he urged, placing his hand atop yours to squeeze down hard. “You're tighter than this…” he finished with a sigh.

This time, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut as you rolled your hips in desperation.

He fucked your hand slowly, occasionally bringing your thumb to swipe across his tip, earning delicious and urgent moans from him.

Your breathing quickened and you felt the mattress shift under you as he carefully slid his cock from your grip, positioning himself on top of you.

“Eyes on me.”

You took a deep and shaky breath and your gaze dropped to witness an elegant finger disappear inside you.

A swift gasp escaped your throat and you couldn't stop yourself from clenching around him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in an approving smile. “So eager…”

You were mesmerised by how he so easily slid a second one, the wet sounds nearly doing it for you.

He shifted until his cool lips were on yours, nipping at the lower one with the razor-like fang, easily drawing blood and gently suckling on the bruised flesh.

Your back arched when he removed both fingers from you before pressing his cock at your entrance.

By this point, you were too soaked to offer any resistance as he slowly sank into you.

You broke the kiss first, greedily looking in between your bodies just so you could watch his cock slide in and out, bulging veins glistening with your wetness.

“Enjoying the view, darling?”

You bit down on your lip, tasting your own blood as you nodded through half-hooded eyes.

Countless sweet rolls of his hips pushed you further and further along the inevitable precipice, and the familiar coiling and throbbing had your mouth drop open, unable to rein in your spilling whimpers.

He dipped his head to glide his tongue across your lower lip, both his arms caging you in and allowing him to angle his hips so he could sink fully into you.

You were visibly pulsing, your folds parted slightly, and his gaze soon followed yours.

A guttural grunt rumbled in his throat. “Let go, darling… and let me feel you tightening around me.”

You gripped his arms, bracing yourself for the impending wave of overwhelming bliss that took over your entire body, and through gasps and pants and moans, you plunged down the spiral of bliss.

A distant groan from Astarion was heard as your vision blurred, powerful contractions rippling through your lower half.

He was mumbling something, but you couldn't make out a single word, far too lost in your high to focus on anything else.

You felt his lips on your neck and you threw your head back, offering it fully to him.

As the waves of your contractions finally subsided, you came back to your senses, trying hard to even out your laboured breathing.

He was still buried deep inside you.

Had he come with you?

The answer came when his fangs began prodding the skin along your pulse point, as if barely containing himself.

He had yet to reach his peak.

“Can you give me another one?”

Your eyes widened and you struggled to form coherent words. “I… I don't… know.”

He brought one hand to grip your knee, pushing your leg against your torso, and spreading you further apart for him.

The pace he had set was contained and slow, a constant reminder that he yearned for his own release.

His tongue darted out to swipe across your flushed skin, and you turned your head, granting him easier access.

“Use your words.”

You swallowed, gasping from how oversensitive you suddenly felt from the constant friction in between your legs.

“Please…” you could only bring yourself to plead.

His fangs taunted the fragile barrier of your skin, but not with enough pressure to draw blood.

“Use. Your. Words.” He rasped impatiently, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips.

You brought your hands to his chest, feeling the taut muscles tense under your touch.

“Bite me…”

The sharp sting had you grip him hard, his hardened nipples digging into the palms of your hands.

As soon as he got to control the flow of your blood, he quickly matched the rolls of his hips with each mouthful of warm liquid he downed.

Your senses were full of him.

Filled with him.

Dragging on hand to settle on his throat, you moaned as you felt him under your palm, eagerly swallowing your blood.

It didn't take long before his skin began to heat up against yours, and you could almost swear you felt his cock hardening even more inside you.

His pace didn't falter. If anything, he was simply indulging in the newfound vigour that only your blood coursing through his body could provide.

Wanting to further tease him, you circled his nipple with the pad of your thumb, earning an approving grunt.

The crescendo of pleasure began to throb deep within you with each passing moment, and you felt him take one of your hands in his, dragging it down to settle where his body connected with yours.

He slid out just enough for your fingers to trace along the bulging and pulsing veins that slithered around his cock.

He quickly withdrew from your neck with a low, rumbling groan, his handsome face hovering yours, droplets of blood dripping from his lips onto yours, which you quickly swiped clean with your tongue, tasting the metallic aftertaste.

You kept teasing his nipple, feeding your own pleasure from how responsive he was.

Astarion was about to come undone, and you realised that having your blood dripping down his chin and neck, was enough to catapult you steadily yet rapidly into the heights of your own pleasure.

Your eyes watched his face twist beautifully as he reached his peak, mouth dropping agape in a raging growl that made you shudder.

Under the touch of your fingers, you felt the underside of his cock spasm rhythmically as he emptied himself inside you.

It was too much.

You felt some of his cum overflowing and staining your fingers, and you immediately dragged them to the pulsing swell between your folds, coating it in the warm liquid and gasping as the violent wave of bliss had you contracting around him.

Astarion buried his face in the crook of your neck as he cursed and whimpered and pleaded for you to have mercy on him.

You truly wished you could grant him such relief, but you were far too gone to be of any comfort as both of you rode out your peak.

With a final grunt from him and a moan from you, he slumped against you, cock still buried deep.

You pressed a hand to the back of his head, slipping your fingers along his damp and soft curls, cradling him in your embrace.

“Just so we're clear,” you began in between pants. “What are the chances of this actually happening?”

He didn't reply right away, instead pressing his lips to the bite marks on your neck, cleaning up the mess.

“Not that high, I reckon?” You managed to chuckle, raking your fingers along his scalp.

“Not high at all.”

Just as you had suspected.

“But we're so used to turning the impossible into possible, that I can't see why this should be any different.”

Oh.

A/N: I'm... sorry.... hahaha

Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader

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frantic-fiction · 9 months ago

Text

Lose Yourself 18+

Pic: @casualya (side note....hot 🥵)

Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x f!Tav

Summary: During a feeding Astarion gets worked up and a bit too excited. He's embarrassed, but it turns out Tav finds it incredibly hot.

Warmings: Smut MDNI, Premature ejaculation, dry humping, fingering, PnV Sex, overstimulation, comfort sex, blood

Word Count: 2.2k

Astarion's grip tightens against your jaw, tilting your head slightly more to give him better access to your neck. The initial chill of his bite has settled to a delicious icy throb. A moan rips from your kiss-swollen lips, relishing the feeling of your blood flowing into his greedy mouth. You scratch your nails against Astarion’s scalp, combing through his tousled curls. A smile streches you lips when a shiver runs down his spine, and the hand grabbing your thigh tightens.

The majority of Astarion’s body weight is blanketing you. His hips slotted between your parted legs, mindlessly grinding against the inside of your thigh, too consumed by your blood to be fully in control. You rub his back, shoulders, neck, any skin you can get you wandering hands on and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. This has him purring into your neck and rutting faster against your body, chasing more pleasure.

This night, you had made sure to stock up on extra health potions and lesser restoration scrolls so Astarion could have his fill without worry of any repercussions on your health come morning.

And gods, you will be sure to make this a ritual from now on because seeing Astarion so lost in your body’s comfort, so relaxed and focused solely on his pleasure. It has your heart pounding and arousal pooling between your thighs.

Feeling the telltale signs that it’s time for Astarion to stop, you grab tightly at his shoulder giving him a little shake. “Star,” you slur.

Astarion sighs through his nose, taking one last sip before unlatching from your neck. He’s still lost in the haze of his feeding, eyes glossy and unfocused, trying desperately to meet your gaze. Tiny trickles of blood fall down his chin and onto your chest, where he messily laps the droplets with his tongue. Astarion’s hips are still pistoning against you, and little breathless gasps of pleasure escape his mouth. You swear you’ve never seen a more gorgeous sight. Then Astarion tenses, and with a choked sob of your name falls from his mouth, and he comes spilling onto your stomach.

The room stills.

Only the sounds of rapid breaths fill the room. Astarion’s eyes are wide open, and his mouth is agape, looking down at the mess on your stomach. You’re frozen, glued to the beads of sweat trailing down Astarion’s chest, moving down the planes of his stomach.

“Shit,” he backs away. An embarrassed flush–only evident due to the recent blood consumption– floods his face moving all the way to the points of his ears.

“Fuck,” you whimper needily, clenching against the rush of heat that simmers in your stomach.

Then Astarion lets you go, and you finally notice Astarion’s distress.

“I-that…shit,” Astarion stumbles over his words and hands you a cloth to clean yourself with. “I’m so–”

You pounce, and he catches you in his arms, looking startled. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence?” You growl, claiming his mouth in a chaste kiss, chasing the metallic taste off his lips. “That was so fucking hot.”

He clicks his tongue and lets go of you again. Backing away, Astarion starts picking up his scattered clothes. “Yes, I’m sure watching me cream myself like a boy being touched for the first time was just so attractive.” Astarion huffs and rolls his eyes. “Spare me,”

Feeling annoyed, you huff, knowing you need a different approach. Moving closer, you grab the clothes from Astarion’s hand, throw them to the side, and cup his jaw. You draw him into another kiss and trail a hand up the smooth skin of his chest, stopping to circle your thumb around his nipple. Astarion signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your naked sides, pausing to squeeze your hips.

“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. “Seeing you lose control, drunk on my blood, on my body,”

Astarion shudders when you scratch your nails lightly down his chest before taking his hand in yours. Smiling wickedly, you peck his lips and pull away, ensuring he can see eyes.

“Hells, Star,” Pulling him, you guide his fingers to your dripping heat. “I’ve never been so turned on.”

This has the desired effect. Astarion’s nimble fingers instinctually begin exploring, and you bite back a moan. He pulls away quickly to examine his slick, covered digits. When Astarion meets your gaze, all embarrassment seems to vanish, and he’s pushing you back down onto the bed. He rests his forearms on either side of you, cradling your head. Astarion trails a thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your hands snake around his neck.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to having Astarion look at you like he is now. Like you hung the moon and crafted each star so he would never be alone at night. It overwhelms you with such love that all you can do is pull him down and capture his lips. The kiss has no urgency, just two lovers enjoying the soft embrace. It holds the warmth of a crackling campfire, its embers building to something that leaves you needing more.

Astarion coaxes your mouth open, and when you grant him access, he leads your tongue in a practiced dance. Feeling the tease of his razor-sharp fang, you moan, cupping the back of his head. You match the growing pace, hooking one leg over Astarion's hip to pull him flush against your body.

A groan rumbles through Astarion’s chest, and he gives a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later. One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Astarion’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from the elf. Astarion wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck.

“I don’t think I tell you enough, just how beautiful you are, darling.” He mumbles against your collarbone before sucking a bit of skin into his mouth and playfully teasing it between his teeth.

You chuckle, swing your other leg, and link them behind his back. “You tell me at least once a day, handsome,”

“You’re such a sap.” You tease and roll your hips up against Astarion’s cock, already swelling once again.

“See, not nearly enough.” He pulls away from the freshly marked skin.

“You, my love, are so breathtaking, exquisite, beautiful,” Astarion emphasizes each adjective with wet, open-mouth kisses down to your chest before beginning to suck another mark just above your heart.

He grunts, grinding back against you. “Only for you, my love.”

Astarion’s hand moves between your bodies to your neglected pussy. His deft fingers enter you with a wet squelch, and you instinctively buck into his palm. A whimper leaves your lips, and you dig your nails into the skin of Astarion’s shoulder. He set a pace that is both agonizing and toe-curling perfect.

“See what you’ve reduced me to, darling,” Astarion whispers sinfully, voice low and filled with temptation, his thumb finds your clit. He applies light pressure rubbing tight circles.

You throw your head, arching your back, clamping your thighs tighter around his waist. “Fuck, Star.”

Astarion picks up his pace just a notch; his mouth finds your neck again. “It’s all your fault.” He says before biting your ear.

You cry out his name, fisting the bedsheet, feeling the familiar coil building. You are so lost in your pleasure you barely notice Astarion is now rubbing his cock with his spare hand looking down at you with lidded eyes.

“M close Star.” You cry, bucking your hips against his palm. “Fuck.. don’t stop.”

“I am now merely a sappy, love-sick fool who just can’t control myself when it comes to you.”

Astarion is now pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping-wet cunt in a way that has your orgasm building quickly.

“That’s it, darling,” He groans, kissing you softly. “Let go for me,”

Electricity pulses through you, seizing every muscle, every nerve, and every cell of your body with blinding pleasure. You’re moaning and babbling nonsense and pulling him into a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue. Astarion continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm. Finally, when the heat simmers down, he pulls his fingers from your body, leaving you whining from the loss.

Astarion is quick to put your whines at ease. “Will you give me one more, my love, please?” Astarion practically begs, kissing you with the desperation of a starving man.

The tip of his swollen cock slides through your folds and teases your sensitive entrance. You barely have time to choke out a yes, please, before Astarion is plunging into you with a grunt. Instinctually, you clench around his length, loving the feel of the fullness Astarion always gives you.

“Shit..so tight,” Astarion groans and begins to thrust frantically into your heat. “Always so perfect.”

“Astarion.”

All decency, coordination, and softness was tossed away. Both of you were too sensitive, too desperate for the other, to care for anything but mindless pleasure. It was messy, feral, and perfect. Astarion devoured your mouth, groaning against your tongue. His hands couldn’t seem to stay in one place, constantly caressing, grabbing, and massaging any part of you he could hold.

You spread your legs wide and angled your hips, bucking against each one of Astarion’s deep thrusts. One of your hands cups Astarion’s jaw, keeping him close, and the nails of your other rake down his back, causing a violent shiver to run through Astarion’s body.

“M-more..ugh, please.” You gasp out between Astarion’s feverish kisses.

He nods in return and grunts into your open mouth. “Shit..ugh,”

With a strength you hope never to get used to, Astarion effortlessly switches your positions. Your hands are on his chest, knees framing his slim waist. He’s on his back, smirking smugly up at you. You giggle dumbly, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement. That giggle turns into a wanton moan as Astarion thrusts up into you, hitting a deeper spot inside of you.

“Yes... Star.” Using the hold he has on your hips, he moves your body to pick up the brutal pace from before. “Gods,”

You bounce on your knees in time with his thrusts, and the room is filled with the slick sound of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of ecstasy. The pleasure is almost too much, and you feel the pressure bubbling again. You try to say as much, but a wave of pleasure has you gasping mindlessly, head lolling to the side.

Astarion wants to feel you come undone around him. Lose yourself so he can lose himself with you. So you oblige his request and snake a hand between your legs just above where Astarion is fucking you and begin to rub your clit in time with his quick thrusts.

“Love, fuck..ngh,” he chokes on a moan. His thrusts are faltering and getting sloppier.

“T-touch yourself for me... I’m close.” He trails off grunting, but you don’t need words to know what he wants.

It’s all too much, the angle of Astarion’s hips hitting the sweet spot inside you over and over, the delicious grip of his hand on your body, the tenderness of your clit as you add more pressure. You’re so close and trying hard to keep looking at Astarion’s beautiful flushed face and wanting him to be your last image before you fall into black-out bliss. But it’s getting harder to keep your eyes focused. Your numb legs buckle, and you stumble forward; your orgasm is almost painful. It tears through your body, ripping pleasure from your trembling muscles and fried nerves. You bite into the flesh of Astarion’s pectoral to stifle your sobs of ecstasy.

“Fuck, darling, good girl.” Astarion praises, grinding your hips against his. “Shit... I’ve got you.” And with a few shallow, pitiful rolls of his body, Astarion is cumming with a deep guttural groan filling you with ropes of his warm come.

He drops boneless, and you pant against his chest, heart still pounding against your ribs. You both are like jelly melting into a puddle on the bedsheets. You feel the drag of Astarion’s fingertips drawing nonsense patterns on your back. Humming softly, you pepper kisses over his still heart.

“Shouldn’t be embarrassed ’round me,” you mumble, yawning against his skin, too tired to raise your head. The feeling of Astarion’s fingers felt like a sleep spell. “I love you. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Astarion stiffens under you, hand stilling against your back, clearly taken back. It takes him a bit to respond, but you don’t rush him. Just continue to kiss his chest and melt further at the feeling of his hands on your skin. Content just being here with Astarion.

He clears his throat before saying thickly, “And I love you, darling.” Astarion moves slightly and pulls out of your tender cunt. In doing so, a gush of your combined juices spills down your thighs.

“Gross, now I feel sticky.” You puff, grimacing at the feeling.

“How about I draw us a bath?” You nod silently and he sits you both up. However you refuse to get off his lap, clinging to him like a sloth to a tree.

“Carry me?”

He kisses the crown of your head. “Always.” Astarion scoops you up and carries you along to the bath.

Heya, I quite like how this turned out. I love writing 'rougher' smut, but sometimes the tender stuff just hits ya know? Let me know what you thought. I hope Astarion didn't seem ooc.

If you want to be added to the taglist DM me, please!

Taglist: @heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive @skittleabyss @asterordinary @lariatbunny @whispering-depths @butchboi-chihuahua-slumlord @darkest-part-of-the-forest @queenofcarrotflowers-s @sessils @d20bunny @cherifrog @ophelia-ophelian

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 astarion #reader insert #astarion imagine #astarion ancunin #frantic fiction #bg3 #astarion smut #bg3 smut #fanfic #smut #astarion fluff #fluff

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tetzoro · 1 year ago

Text

DEVILISH DESSERT — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. astarion !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : your cramps have hit you especially hard this month and astarion has an idea that could be mutually beneficial

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader, period sex, oral (f!receiving), mentions of blood, unprotected sex but astarion pulls out, multiple orgasms, blood sucking, praise, pet names (darling, my sweet, pet), — WC : 2.2k

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“believe me, pet, it would be a win-win.” astarion drawls, his hands following the flow of his speech. “you lay down and let me take care of you while i get my fill.”

the thought had crossed your mind before —fleetingly. the last time he fed from your neck the idea planted itself in your mind in a haze joined by many other ones, swirling together as your body tried to make sense of what was happening.

“but,” the argument you were about to make dies in your throat. but, what? astarion was asking you to let him indulge, a chance to satiate his hunger while also pleasuring his lover. his eyes plead with yours, giving away how eager he really is. “sure, why not.”

“that’s the spirit.” he claps his hands together before reaching out for your hand. “i promise i’ll take good care of you, my little treat.”

“what did i say about using that nickname?” you mumble as he takes your hand, quickly bringing it up against his lips for a quick peck, hiding the small smirk that was blossoming.

flashes of the last time he called you that floods your mind – the way it slipped off the tip of his tongue and lured you to his bed. the first night you let him feed off of your neck, taking the blood he needed while his cock was buried in your heat.

“what’s that? can’t hear you darling.” he teases, knowing exactly what was running through your mind right now. he finishes guiding you to his tent and he closes the curtain. “no matter, it’s just you and me now.”

suddenly, you feel a bit nervous under his stare. the reality of your moment coming into the forefront of your brain. you knew he has an affinity for blood, but what if it tasted bad — what if you tasted bad?

his lithe fingers gently cradle your face, adoration soaking his features. his dark red eyes trail all over your features, taking in every little piece of your face.

“gods, you’re beautiful.” he breathes out, slowly leaning in to kiss you. you meet him halfway, lips colliding against one another as his hand starts to trail down the curve of your waist. he pulls apart for a second, placing a quick peck before he speaks again. “i can’t wait to taste you, i know you’ll be as sweet as always.”

his words pour over you as warm reassurance, your body melting against him as he kisses you again. the small flame that had formed before was quickly simmering into a wildfire, lying just beneath the surface and ready to consume both of you in a spark of passion.

but for now, he takes his time with you. his lips trail down your neck, fangs barred as they lightly drag along your jugular. you hold back a gulp, ashamed at how much it makes you yearn for him even more.

he doesn’t bite, not when he’s so eager for what lies below. you lay all the way down the bedroll as he makes his descent, murmurs of praise slipping off his tongue and onto your skin.

he makes quick work of the pants you had on, tearing them down your thighs as his bloodlust starts to kick in. in seconds, his head is buried in between your thighs, nose pressed against your clit as he deeply inhales.

“darling-“ he breathes out, absolutely in awe of how delicious you’re going to taste. “this is…” he trails off, unsure if words could describe how much this means to him.

“never seen you so speechless before.” you tease, trying not to squirm under his gaze, his eyes locked onto the blood woven slick pooling at your entrance.

“what can i say?” he presses a kiss just above your clit, eyes darting up to yours. “this is a gift, and i plan on showing you just how appreciative i am for it. for you.”

you open your mouth to retort but his tongue catches your throbbing nub first, sending a jolt throughout your body. after that first taste, he’s gone. completely lost in you and the frenzy begins.

he tosses your leg over his shoulder, angling himself to get deeper. his tongue delves back into you and you feel him everywhere. it’s enough to arch your back, your fingers clawing in his hair. he grunts approvingly into your messy cunt, licking up every little speck of blood he can get his mouth on.

each precise stroke of his tongue has you unraveling in his hold, undoubtedly gushing more of your bloody essence on his eagerly awaiting mouth. he was practically moaning now, the vibrations shooting throughout your body. he breaks for air for a moment, licking his lips and looking up to you.

“no one could ever taste as sweet as you, darling.” a soft nibble to your inner thigh, his darkened, blown out eyes still locked onto you.

he goes back down on you, slowly pushing in his fingers to draw more out of you, wanting you to flood his vision with the small slice of heaven you’re granting him right now.

it’s all too much and you’d be lying if you said his enthusiasm wasn’t the driving force towards your release. you’d never been with a man so desperate for your taste, especially when you were in this state.

your back starts to arch off the bedroll, reeling in the pleasure that’s about to snap. the coil shatters into a thousand pieces as you dig your fingers into his curls once again. you don’t know if you were loud or not, you don’t know anything as a white veil had taken up your vision, pleasure coursing through your veins as your blood pounds within your ears.

the tent is silent, save for both of your heavy breathing. through half lidded eyes, you see him greedily lick around his lips, ensuring he didn’t waste a drop of the gift you’ve given him.

it takes a few moments for you to come back down to reality, your head swimming in the pleasure astarion hurtled you in. you watch as he places one last kiss against your cunt, slowly backing up on his haunches.

without breaking eye contact, he slips his still coated fingers in his mouth, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head as he savors the taste of you. a beat goes by and you think it’s over and time to head back to your own tent.

but he’s always been a selfish man.

“you know, i don’t think i’ve quite gotten my fill of you yet.” his voice sings in your ear. “i think i want a little more.”

“you might have to wait a bit.” the words flow out of you as you prop yourself up on your elbows, getting a better look at him. his eyes were still blown out — crazed. whenever he has that frenzied look in his eyes, his hunger is still strong and his sights are set on you.

“or, maybe not.” he tilts his head to the side. “let’s have sex so i can make a proper mess of you.”

“what? i-i’m not sure.” you frown slightly. the cramps had subsided, sure. but who’s to say that wouldn’t bring them back?

“think about it.” he drawls, taking off his shirt, showcasing his body. “coming a few times will be very beneficial. it’ll clear everything right out.”

“well.” you pause. realistically, there could be a truth in that. but who knew if your body would listen to logic anyway. and yet, “well i suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”

“exactly, darling.” he smiles before a softer look falls onto you. “but if it does, you’ll let me know.”

it wasn’t a question. the underlying care he held for you was slipping through the cracks of the tantalizing facade he loved to put up. you nod your head in confirmation. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to test this theory out, especially watching him slowly untie his breeches. lithe fingers that were just inside of you untwisting the knots woven in the string.

his cock springs out from being stuffed away, begging for some sort of relief judging by the amount of precum that was pooling on its head.

he hastily lines himself up to your slick entrance, rubbing his tip around it before it kisses your swollen clit. you gasp out as your body tingles with electricity. after a baited breath, he starts to slide in agonizingly slow, carefully watching your face as he does so.

but you look away, the eye contact feeling a bit much — even after everything. he was just too pretty, his expressions too raw. every moment you held his gaze, the fire inside of you threatens to take over.

“you need to look at me, my sweet.” his cold fingers grasp your chin lightly, tilting your head so you had no choice but to look at him.

before, when you had first slept with astarion, things hadn’t been so intimate. of course, it was all very rushed. it was the end of a gruesome battle and tensions were high, not to mention alcohol was swirling around in both of your systems.

but this was different. so much time had passed since then — or at least, that’s what it felt like. it’s all been so intense since you first met the pale elf that you hardly believe it’s only been less than a few months.

and in that time, you two had gotten so close, really close. slowly prying each other's heart open with gentle, reassuring hands. something that had forged itself out of forced trust, blooming into a beautiful and vulnerable partnership.

“i’m here.” you whisper, finally looking at him. his eyes soften and you realize at some point you started to caress his cheek. your finger smooths over his soft, smooth skin before his lips meet the palm of your hand, pressing a kiss onto it.

“and thank the gods for that.” he whispers back with a pleased look. his hips were flush with yours, moving in slow and short movements so he didn’t overwhelm you. but every second he filled you up, you could feel the pain subsiding in your lower abdomen.

you let out a soft whine, clenching around him as he starts to go a little faster. his eyes trail from yours and down your neck, looking at the twin marks he left the last time he had you in his embrace.

“astarion-.” you gasp out, savoring the way he continues to roll his hips into you, molding your cunt perfectly to take him and him alone.

“yes, my love?” he whispers, pressing a delicate kiss against your neck, taking every ounce of his self control to not sink his teeth into you. but he was making you feel so much better, one bite couldn’t hurt, right? you tilt your neck to the side to show it off for him. he hesitates. “are you sure?”

“please.” a simple request he wouldn’t leave unfulfilled as his fangs dig into your neck, the same spot he drank from before. he sucks lightly, your mind clouding and filling with nothing but stinging pleasure.

his starts to thrust again — faster this time as he gets lost in the overwhelming sweetness of your blood. it fuels through his body, giving him the strength he normally needs to help keep you safe. but instead, he’s only using it to drive into you harder.

he pulls back from your neck with a gasp like he’s been shocked, blood dripping down the sides of his mouth. his attention shifts, watching his cock disappearing into your cunt, feeling you already start to gush around him, blood starting to soak around his length.

“so sweet.” the words barely leave his lips, but enough for you to hear it. his fingers move down to swirl against your clit, trying to give you the same pleasure you were giving him. “make a mess for me, my sweet.”

words escape you as moans take its place, his name a mantra you can’t stop yourself from repeating. the sting from the bite he gave you was rushing through your veins now, every sense of your nerves being heightened to places it’s never been — overwhelming pleasure coursing through your whole body.

you clench around his cock, squeezing him so tightly he can’t control his hips anymore, rutting against you as the pleasure finally consumes you both.

astarion’s eyes flutter shut as you cum around him, coating his cock in your bloody essence. once you stop fluttering around him, he quickly pulls out and cums all over your lower abdomen.

your head lolls back, coming down from the high he just gave you, aftershocks running down your body. astarion lightly trails his hands along you, a surge of energy overcoming him as he breathes in your scent once again.

“there, now that that’s settled,” he pauses, immediately sliding down and tucking his head back in between your thighs. he licks his lips quickly, his tongue darting across as his feast lays before him. “i’d like to resume my meal.”

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littlejuicebox · 10 months ago

Text

You'll stay still, won't you, little love?

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: Sometime in the beginning of Act 3; you and Astarion are exploring intimacy/sex

Rating/Warnings: M+ / 18+ only please/ Smut with little to no plot / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers / PiV / CW / fingering / teasing and overstim if you squint / not beta read or edited too much

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: I'm a degenerate, idk what else to tell you guys. I’m shocked this came out of my brain, but here we are. Enjoy or be totally flabbergasted or avoid it entirely I don’t know about you all but I simultaneously want to do all three. 💀

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You suspected Astarion enjoyed exploring intimacy with you, perhaps more than he thought he would. The first few weeks after his confession at Moonrise Towers resulted in a rather chaste arrangement between the two of you. Days were filled with stolen pecks and occasional hand holding between missions; nights were spent mostly cuddling half-naked or sometimes simply making out.

When a situation became particularly heated, he would always break away, panting. The flush on his face and the thrumming of his undead heart told you he enjoyed these moments, and his erection pressing into you always became quite the distraction.

Gods, how badly you wanted more. But you had to force yourself to pull back and allow him to take the lead, never pushing further than he was willing to give.

For a few weeks, a bit of grinding and caressing above the waist was as far as Astarion would advance. But shortly after leaving the Shadowlands, something within the silver-haired elf changed. He’d become quite intent on exploring your body almost every night, putting his masterful fingers and tongue to work, almost desperate to watch you come undone.

“You don’t have to, Astarion,” You pant one evening, after a few weeks of nearly daily interactions quite similar to this one. The rogue was working his nimble fingers inside the edge of your small clothes, aiming to delve into your already soaking folds. The bulge of his cock, barely covered by his own underwear, pressed against your rear as he slowly rocked his hips into you.

“I know, my love,” He murmurs, removing his mouth from where it had been tenderly suckling your neck. The vampire licks along the fresh love bite, eliciting a little whimper of pleasure from you. And then he smirks as his fingers find the already engorged bundle of nerves between your legs, causing you to instinctively buck toward him with a whine, “But I want to. I quite like the pretty little sounds you make for me, you know.”

He continues his ministrations for a few moments, reveling in your desperate keens. Nothing else stroked Astarion’s ego quite like this.

“Darling, I’d like to try something different tonight, if you don’t mind.” He purrs as his fingers change their rhythm from the languid circles over your clit to gentle, teasing strokes between your folds. The rogue’s hand dips just enough to tease your entrance with two digits before he retracts again, leaving you mewling in frustration.

You need more. He knows it. And he aimed to give you more tonight, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to toy with you for a moment or two.

“What is it, Astarion?” You ask breathlessly, as he pauses his movements entirely. You whine again and then turn your head to look at the rogue, where he is smirking down at you, clearly enjoying the desperation he’s elicited from his lover. You are caught between his cock and his hand, slowly rolling your hips back and forth, practically begging the silver-haired elf to fuck you with his fingers.

“I want you to come on my cock tonight.” He responds, arching his eyebrow just slightly, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “If that’s what you want, my sweet.”

Your eyes widen in shock, and you swear you feel yourself grow more slick at the mere suggestion. You lick your lips, attempting to moderate your own excitement, trying to avoid making him feel obligated in any way. Astarion’s fingers have resumed their teasing movements, and the newly found wetness causes the vampire to chuckle in delight.

“Judging by the slickness of your perfect little cunt, that certainly is what you want. Am I correct, love?” He purrs into your ear, fangs grazing against your lobe as he rolls his growing erection toward your ass once again.

“Y-yes,” You gasp, and as soon as you do, Astarion rips your underwear from your body before tossing the ruined undergarment across the tent.

“Then you will get what you want on one condition, darling.” He continues, and you feel the engorged head of his cock stroking between your folds from behind. The sensation makes you shiver in delight; you desire nothing more than to have him buried inside you.

“What is it?” You ask, instinctively rolling your hips back against him again, moaning when his length rubs against your clit.

Astarion grabs your hip firmly, digging his nails into the side of your ass and ceasing your movements entirely. You whine and then he’s practically laughing in your ear, you can feel how entertained he is by your predicament. He places a tender kiss on your neck before he purrs, “You aren’t allowed to move one bit, sweet girl, or else I will pull out and leave you with nothing.”

You groan in dismay at this stipulation, “Astarion! I don’t- I don’t know if I can hold still.”

“Oh but my love, the choices are simple,” He continues, his voice playfully condescending as his other hand wanders up to lightly tease a nipple, ripping another little moan from you, “You can either be filled by my cock or by my fingers. So which will it be?”

You whine as the male elf uses one hand to stimulate your breast and the other to barely plunge into your sex again.

“Your cock!” You cry, unable to contain yourself any further, “I want your cock.”

Astarion chuckles, quite content with this response. He slides his erection between your folds again, using your arousal to lubricate his length, “And you’ll stay still, won’t you, little love?”

“Yes, I won’t move,” You agree, and this earns you a delighted groan from the vampire. He reveled in the power dynamics of your coupling, and your willingness to surrender control in the bedroom.

“Good girl,” He coos, and then he’s pressing himself into the entrance of your sex. You moan as the head of his rock-hard cock stretches your cunt; there is a bit of resistance at first; it’s been several weeks since more than two fingers have been inside you, after all.

He takes you inch by inch, slowly dragging himself along your velvet walls. Before long, Astarion’s length has filled you completely, and you’re basking in the sensation of being stretched by your lover.

His breath is ragged behind you as he struggles to remain in control, almost entirely overcome with the desire to simply have his way with you. But that’s not the game tonight, he reminds himself.

In one swift motion he’s rolled you both so that you are straddled over him, your back pressed to his chest. He uses his knees to spread your legs wide, fully opening you up for his seasoned hands to explore. His long fingers drag over your stomach and then travel down between your legs, where they easily find that sensitive nub.

“How does it feel to be sitting atop my cock, darling?” Astarion asks as he slowly, teasingly strokes his slender fingers up and down on your drenched folds. You are seeping arousal at this point, coating him with his well-deserved reward. His cock throbs at the thought.

“Wonderful,” You respond, honestly but breathlessly as you struggle to keep yourself from rolling your hips at all. Your legs are positively shaking with the effort to exert such control, and the little tremors running along your spine are urging the vampire on.

Astarion guides your own hand up to your breasts, where he urges you to tease your own nipple. He palms the flesh of the other breast in one hand as he continues to drag his nimble fingers around your throbbing bud.

You are instinctively clenching around him now, your body desperate to milk every ounce of seed from the vampire. Astarion himself is shaking with the amount of restraint it’s taking him to not lift his hips and fuck up into your warmth.

You cannot restrain yourself any longer, your hips buck and you’re instantly rewarded with the delicious sensation of Astarion’s length running against your walls. But then a sharp, stinging smack singes the side of your ass, and a shocked gasp escapes your lips.

“What did I say, darling? Be a good girl and hold still. Try that again and I will pull out.” The rogue warns while speeding up his efforts on your clit.

You sharply pinch your own nipple, trying desperately to keep yourself from moving any more. But gods, how badly you want to. You’re so close. Your walls are clenching tighter and tighter, and the sensation is causing Astarion to grunt in response. He’s trying just as desperately to hold back as you quiver around him, tempting him to do the exact opposite.

His hips buck just once before he regains control and stills himself, but gods the walls of your tight pussy wrapped around him felt divine. The sharp thrust made you moan loudly in delight, and your entire body was shivering from the self-control you were using to hold still. He felt you standing on the precipice of pleasure, so close to the edge. You just needed a little push to fall into a world of ecstasy, and that, he could provide.

“Let go, little love. Come for me,” He whispers hoarsely, and the command sends you tumbling over the edge. You feel the wave crashing over you, rippling through your sex and up to your spine. You clasp your hand over your mouth as you whine, signaling your release.

You are mid-orgasm when Astarion roughly grabs both sides of your hips and hisses, “Fuck it.”

And then he’s thrusting upwards, repeatedly burying himself inside you, intent on fucking you through the second half of your orgasm. You cry out in pleasure as the vampire moans into the side of your neck, continuing to piston himself into you as he chases his own release.

Once again, his fingers find their way to your over-sensitive clit and he’s working at it frantically, in the practiced motion he knows to be your favorite. You keen and try to clamp your legs shut; the sensation is almost too much. But Astarion growls and forces your legs open with his knees as he quickly brings you to the edge of another orgasm.

Your lover is panting with exertion as he holds back his own release. Through gritted teeth he urges you on, using the hand not playing with your clit to grab your hip and slam you down to meet his thrusts.

“One more, darling. You can do one more, can’t you? Let go, I’ve got you.” He coaxes, his voice near breathless but filled with gravel.

“Oh, fuck!” Is all you can respond as the second orgasm rips through you, stronger than the first. You’re seeing stars as your pussy throbs around Astarion’s shaft, rewarding his efforts with a deliciously tight grip and another gush of your delectable juices. The high-pitched, uninhibited whine that escapes you while you’re drowning in ecstasy is music to the rogue’s ears.

As your greedy cunt clenches around him again during that second wave of pleasure, Astarion emits a strangled moan of his own.

He buries his face in your neck as he soon struggles to buck forward, shakily dragging his sensitive, swollen length in and out of your walls just a few more times before he buries himself balls-deep. Thick ropes of his spend shoot up into your warmth as he groans, consumed by his own euphoria behind you. His cock continues to pulse for a few moments longer, urged on by the relentless spasming of your sex around him.

Both of you are heaving and shaking slightly once he finally relaxes his legs. You’re still laying atop him as he slowly roams his hands over your body, idly stroking your curves in soft, soothing motions.

“I thought you said we couldn’t move,” You finally say, voice completely hoarse from the cries of ecstasy you uttered moments ago.

“I said you couldn’t move, darling. I didn’t say anything about me.” The vampire responds with a self-satisfied smirk as he playfully nips at your earlobe, “Are you truly complaining that I did all the work?”

“No,” You respond, finally pulling yourself off of the vampire, releasing the slick combination of your respective arousals as it drips between the two of you. “But at some point I’d like it to be me making all that effort to bring pleasure to you.”

He pulls you down beside him with a little hum. You pull the blanket over the two of you. No other words are exchanged as you drift to sleep, thoroughly exhausted by the events of the day and this satisfying but unexpected evening. Astarion watches you sleep, and for the first time he allows himself to acknowledge that he might also like to let you have a bit of control in the bedroom… perhaps next time.

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