#astarion smutfic

[ancuninfiles]

Euphorbia

GIF by @ishaslife

3.4k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Reader - 18+

Work summary: Three days of relentless arousal toward the opposite sex were the result of confusing purslane with euphorbia—an error unbecoming of even a novice druid, as well as a self-taught one like yourself. Naturally, with your luck, those three days couldn’t be spent quietly in seclusion. Instead, you were abducted by a Mindflayer ship and infected with one of their parasites.

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You were panting, squirming, and nearly whining—it surprised you that he hadn’t killed you yet with the fuss you made. You couldn't help it, though, and you felt horrible for subjecting a stranger to such behaviour, whether he was murderous or not.

“You're quite the feral thing, aren't you? Perhaps I should just put you out of your misery—hm?” He quipped, and you felt a light brushing of what felt like his lips on your throat.

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Tags: shameless smut, aphrodisiacs, sex pollen vibes, outdoor sex, cunnilingus, P in V sex, praise kink, blink and you'll miss it degradation, astarion has a big dick, mildly dubious consent, fingering, creampie, vampire bites, no beta

MASTERLIST (Other works)

Read on AO3 for full tag list (recommended)

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Three days of relentless arousal toward the opposite sex were the result of confusing purslane with euphorbia—an error unbecoming of even a novice druid, as well as a self-taught one like yourself. Naturally, with your luck, those three days couldn’t be spent quietly in seclusion. Instead, you were abducted by a Mindflayer ship and infected with one of their parasites.

Fortunately, the nautiloid primarily housed women among the living, except for a cambion who was easy enough to avoid.

Now that the ship had crashed, you could only pray to the gods that you didn't encounter a man, for fear of embarrassing yourself in these unfamiliar Faerünian lands. From the dead fishermen and barrels on the beach, you suspected there was a settlement nearby, but you decided to stay away for a few days to be safe. After all, you knew how to live off the land and could all but hope that you wouldn't turn into a Mindflayer.

It was unfortunate that the cleric had been knocked out cold on the beach; otherwise, you would have asked her for help. The gods had not been kind to you in the past two days.

So, you fought the intellect devourers on your own, an easy feat in which you were left with only one scratch; perhaps your luck was beginning to change.

You waltzed through the nautiloid, looting what you could and staying vigilant to avoid any more unwanted encounters. Exiting the crashed ship, you headed up a dirt hill, watching the ground and trying not to trip as you went.

“Ah, at last, another soul.”

The voice, likely a man's judging by the tenor, stopped you in your tracks. A primal heat lanced through you as you hesitantly raised your eyes to meet his—though you weren't sure if it was solely the euphorbia or perhaps trepidation. 

Oh no, this wasn’t just any man; it was a beautiful man with perfectly groomed hair and an alluring, herbaceous scent. His jawline was sharp and his eyes, piercing—all ingredients in a dangerously intoxicating and irresistible recipe.

“Hurry, I've got one of those brain things cornered,” he said, requesting your assistance. “You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others?”

As desire surged through your lower abdomen, you knew you had to leave—now. You spun on your heel and, without a word, started walking away from the gorgeous elven man, using every bit of willpower within you.

In your mind, you pictured what his length might look like, and how it would feel if he released inside you—depraved thoughts that you ought to keep to yourself. You had to get far away from this man, as quickly as possible.

“I was hoping for a kind soul, but, not to worry,” was all you heard before he grabbed your waist, and you toppled to the ground with him at your back as he held a dagger to your throat. His groin was surreptitiously pressed against your bottom, and he held your body firmly against his, hooking an arm under and around both your upper limbs and ribcage—effectively immobilizing you

Surely, this was the worst-case scenario. Though, if he killed you, it would at least relieve the shameful yearning in your nethers—a yearning that was becoming stronger the tighter he grasped.

You clenched your teeth as you panted, attempting to stifle any salacious sounds that might come unbidden. However, you couldn't help but squirm under his grasp, causing his arresting grip to tighten and, consequently, your hole to quiver. Whether it was to escape or to attain friction where you needed it most, you didn't know, as you were irrevocably enthralled by the plant medicine coursing through your veins.

“Shh—not a word, not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours,” he purred, the low timbre of his voice oscillating through your core.

“Please—let me go. I'm not myself, and you don't want to be around me when I’m like this,” you protested, your nipples hardening as your breasts rested above his forearm.

“Don’t lie—I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod,” he argued, his breath brushing on your ear causing you to crane your head back in the dirt and onto his shoulder.

You were panting, squirming, and nearly whining—it surprised you that he hadn’t killed you yet with the fuss you made. You couldn't help it, though, and you felt horrible for subjecting a stranger to such behaviour, whether he was murderous or not.

“You're quite the feral thing, aren't you? Perhaps I should just put you out of your misery—hm?” He quipped, and you felt a light brushing of what felt like his lips on your throat before a sudden painful violet aura encapsulated you both, halting all actions and demanding attention.

Visions of dark alleyways and the Baldurian nightlife flooded your mind. These were the memories of the elven man who held you to his chest—memories of hiding in the shadows.

The aura died down, leaving you confused as you tried to catch your breath in the stranger's arms.

“What was that?” He asked.

“I think it was the parasite, it—connected us,” you guessed, panting as your hips shot back against his groin unbidden. To your surprise, he was hard. 

Fuck, when did that happen?

“Hm.” He pressed his pelvis into your bottom experimentally, “I saw your naughty little thoughts, my dear,” he whispered directly in your ear.

You tried to stifle a moan but you were unsuccessful, as your will was whittling away, bit by bit. 

He dropped his blade to place his hand on the inside of your upper thigh, where he gripped sensually. You tipped your head forward as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes began to water—you were vehemently craving this man's merciful touch.

“Shh— I've got you. I only need your name and your permission. Let us help each other find release—hm?” He crooned, as he moved his hand from your thigh to your waistband where he teased his fingers under it.

Gods, this was a horrible idea, dangerous even—but he smelt so fresh and his sonorous voice felt as if it were caressing you inside and out. Your will was faltering, and if you died on this endeavour, you thought you might at least die while having fun.

“My name's—hm—Tav,” you spoke, a needy whine breaking your sentence. 

“Astarion, pleasure to meet you.” He pushed his hard, clothed cock between your bottom cheeks, eliciting a moan from you. “Now, darling, tell me what you want, and it shall be yours.”

Your mind was racing, the only thing you could think of was how big his member felt as he pressed it to your backside, and how you wanted to be completely taken by him here and now—nothing else mattered.

“I want to be ravished, here—on the cliffside,” you admitted, uninhibitedly, a sweat forming on your brow.

Astarion clicked his tongue. “You poor, sweet thing. You want to be filled by a stranger so desperately. Not to worry, I can help you—if you're a very good girl.”

He released his grip at last, and you couldn't help but whine in dissent. His grasp was soothing, after all.

“Tut tut—how else are we going to get undressed?” He chastised before standing to lift his shirt above his head, his muscles rippling with the movement.

His scent became stronger as he folded his shirt and placed it on a patch of grass. He put his thumbs under his waistband and started pulling down his strays.

You watched him raptly as you began tugging down your own, along with your underwear as you sat on the ground. His glistening hardness sprang free and it was most definitely going to be the largest you'd taken before. Perhaps the gods were going to spare you, after all. 

He cavalierly folded his pants and placed them with his shirt before removing his shoes. He knelt to you and slid his hand down your shin before removing one shoe and then the other.

You came up to your elbows as you simultaneously watched and felt him snake his hands up your thighs in tandem, experimentally squeezing your hips before beginning to fuss with the tie on your shirt.

He made eye contact with you as he finished unlacing your top with one dexterous hand and gripping your ribcage with the other. He pulled your unlaced shirt apart, thoughtfully, as it rested on the ground around your elbows. Before he could finish the job, he dove into your breast with his mouth, sensually nipping and sucking on your pebble while he held your other breast, toying with your nipple with his thumb.

You wanted to throw your head back in pleasure, but you couldn't take your eyes off of Astarion. The way his tongue flicked on your mound was sending waves of fire through your body, and you thought you might cum from just the sight of his reverence.

His mouth disconnected from you with a pop, a string of saliva connecting him to you. “Apologies—your body is so beautiful, I just couldn't help but have a taste,” he purred as he thumbed your now wet pebble.

Your thoughts were muddy with desire, which made speaking difficult. All you could manage was a whiney “Thank you,” as he helped you take the rest of your shirt off.

How lucky you were that the man you encountered seemed to be a gentleman. He could have easily been a brute, and in your state, you're not sure if you'd be able to resist either way. 

Astarion descended to your core with his face, licking a thick and soothing stripe through your folds and causing you to arch your back. As soon as his tongue made contact with your clit, it sent an electric pulse through your womb.

“Delicious,” he exclaimed, and you watched him intently as he grabbed your thighs and began sucking on your clit, groaning into it like a man starved of his favourite meal.

His pace on your bud was consistent, he must have been practiced because he was bringing you to your peak already—either that, or the euphorbia was working its cruel forbidden magic.

You clenched around nothing; your body felt too empty—it yearned to be filled. Fingers, cock, toys, anything to soothe the burning need that now caused you to keen in pleasure.

Astarion laughed a low rumble in his chest at your cry, continuing his work on your nub with his sinful tongue.

“Please—Astarion,” you supplicated, unable to fully express your need as his laps quickened.

He rose, replacing his tongue with two digits that rubbed taut circles—the pace matching that of his tongue. “Please, what?” He asked, a roguish grin painted on his face.

You groaned through gritted teeth at his toying, as your brows knitted together. You wished he could just read your mind as he did before, as your words were caught in your throat.

Tensing, you were close, and as if he could sense it, he slowed his pace, not allowing you to reach your end.

“Please, what?” He rasped.

The nerve.

Your vision was becoming foggy, and you felt like you might faint if you didn’t reach fulfillment soon. You tried one last time to speak, managing, “Inside,” through gasps of air, though you could only hope that he was satisfied with your plea.

He did not respond, but you could feel his fingers as they parted your lips below. This was an action that would typically embarrass you—hells, all of this was—but your logic felt irrelevant. 

All that mattered was the way his tongue felt when he continued and the way his two fingers felt as they plunged into your hole. He pumped languidly with curved digits, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot and causing you to sob with ecstasy.

The combination of his fingers fucking you and his tongue passionately playing with your bud was creating a feeling similar to falling within your body. Surges of rhapsody lanced through you as you approached your peak. Astarion growled beastially from his depths into your quim, and it was enough to push you over the edge as you quivered around his merciful fingers.

He continued his worship as you rode out your orgasm and tried to catch your breath. You couldn't help but be filled with gratitude for this man—he could have easily used your body for his own pleasure, but instead, he put yours first.

However, as soon as the fire faded, another was lit and you were aching for release once more. He removed his fingers and face from your channel and you pouted, but he grinned devilishly at your frustration.

Soon enough, he climbed atop you and between your legs. Astarion clicked his tongue. “You poor girl—if only we had at least a blanket for you to lie on,” he crooned before leaning down to kiss you. At first, his lips were closed, but then he added more passion, attempting to part your lips with his. You submitted, allowing each other to delve into one another's maws with fervour.

He groaned into your mouth as you felt his tip tease your entrance—you certainly did not care about the dirt on your back now. He kissed down your jaw to your neck as he inserted his length just enough to make you plead for more.

“Would you mind if I bit you, darling? I only need a taste—I swear,” he asked as his lips brushed your throat, his words, laced with desperation.

His words confused you—you felt too befuddled to comprehend the entire consequence of accepting his request. Additionally, if allowing him to bite you meant that you'd be speared on his hardness at last—well—you'd do anything he asked of you.

You were able to hum your assent, and his hips thrust into you, filling you fully. You weren't sure if you could even fit him entirely as he stretched you more than anyone ever had. 

Though his entry was painless, his bite was not. It took you by surprise, and you scolded yourself internally for not thinking through what he said. You knew that some people had interesting kinks, but to bite hard enough to draw blood was. . .

Not a kink, but a diet.

Astarion, the man who was fucking you oh so heavenly into the earth, was a vampire. Not only that, but also he was now draining you of your lifeblood.

But, fuck, it felt so good; the way he was slowly rutting into you as you adjusted to his size. Even the pain of his bite faded into a throbbing numbness as he brought his hand to the back of your head and pulled it towards him. 

For some reason, your vulnerability and feebleness compared to his dominance and power only served to stir your desire more. You would let yourself be completely consumed, utterly devoured just because it felt right. 

As if it wasn't enough stimulation already, Astarion’s cock was seemingly growing within you the more he imbibed. His thrusts were slow and purposeful as if he were trying not to hurt you. He would pull out nearly all the way, only to stuff you moments later repetitively. 

Rolling his hips, the stroke of his thrusts lessened, as he converted to fully sheathing himself, twirling his pelvis teasingly, and then pulling out mere centimetres before repeating these careful movements again and again. It was as if he was trying to balance his focus evenly on both his meal and his veneration.

However, the corners of your vision were becoming spotty and black, signifying your demise. You could all but choke out a moan while your arms lay limply beside you. This was it— you, a willing victim, were going to be exsanguinated by a vampire.

I'd probably turn into a mind flayer, anyway, you thought.

Whether it be by a miracle or pure chance, Astarion seized his bite, catching his breath as he stilled inside you. Moaning, he pressed the flat of his tongue against your neck as he caught his breath and tidied your wounds.

“Sorry—It seems I was over-eager,” he apologized with sincerity, still craning his head into your shoulder where he placed a few chaste kisses.

Your hands and feet tingled, accompanied by an overall weakness and lightheadedness—a feeling similar to the high of certain smokable herbs in your druidic practice. Your familiarity with these physical symptoms brought you comfort; you knew you were okay, his apology as reassurance. 

How could you feel unsafe beneath a creature who could have easily killed you, or worse, but instead, he has continuously provided sacred relief. This was no mere monster using your body, this was a man seeking his own version of mercy through you—through your ambrosia.

He lifted his torso from yours, yet he maintained your lower entanglement, gripping your bottom and hoisting your pelvis to fuck at the right angle. His body was glistening and his hair was damp with sweat. With knitted brows and crimson dripping from the side of his maw, he watched your body undulate as he speared you repeatedly—a shakey groan tearing through him.

Suddenly, Astarion sucked on his index and middle finger, coating them in his saliva before placing them on your swollen nub and rubbing taut circles while he rutted—causing you to keen once more with an arched back. 

A low and throaty chuckle seeped from him as he smirked at your response to his reverence. “Sweet girl—you want to be so full of my seed, don't you?”

Your cheeks were wet due to crying from the overwhelming drug-induced pleasure combined with Astarion's sheer skill as he worked you toward your climax.

“Uhuh,” you whined, desperate for release.

“I thought so,” he clicked his tongue, “You're doing so well—just stay still.”

You had not noticed before but you had been squirming a bit, which likely confused him, making him unsure of your needs.

How could someone make check-ins sound so—sexy?

You tried your best to relax your body, though your lower muscles tensed as he spat on your hole while he fucked into it.

“That's a good girl—cum for me.”

His words were enough to send your orgasm ripping through you like a violent quake as he rubbed your clit vehemently. You fluttered on his girth, and you felt so terribly full with him inside you. 

Astarion hummed deeply at the feeling of your climax, biting his lip to seemingly stifle an undignified moan. “Very good—now for your reward,” he praised.

Removing his hand from your folds, he cleaned your juices from his digits with closed eyes, as if savouring the flavour. His pace picked up as he removed his fingers from his mouth and effortlessly grabbed your lower cheeks for leverage. 

The daylight shone on his toned chest, refracting golden hues off of his porcelain skin, as the sun seemed significantly lower than it was when you began your tryst.

His muscles flexed as he pumped into you rapidly—wet, salacious sounds emanating off of your divine entanglement.

Your eyes met his, his brows canted up as his mouth fell agape—desperation painting his expression as his pace became ragged and uncontrolled.

At last, he spilled inside you, sheathing himself fully as he coated your womb with his essence. Huffing, his shoulders melted down as he watched your combined juices leak around him while he rocked shallowly into your swollen folds. 

His touch on your hips was cool and soothing, and you began to regain lucidity after your last orgasm—though you knew it would only be temporary.

“Your blood—it was—amazing,” he exclaimed through breaths. “I feel—happy—and curiously aroused.”

Oh, no—the euphorbia.

With your remaining clarity, you spoke, “You might be feeling—the effects of a drug I accidentally took,” you say, a huff of air breaking your sentence, “euphorbia.”

“Well,” he said before snapping his hips into you. “We might be here all night, then, won't we?” He rasped with a roguish grin and blown-out pupils before lifting you to sit on his length while he sat on his heels. “Let's hope nobody chooses this path this evening.”

You wrapped your arms around him, whining your agreement as he took you once again, though you were far past caring about being caught.

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Notes: Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for your continued support as I take on this new, enriching hobby of writing smut LOL. I've learned a lot since my first work, and I continue to learn as I receive constructive feedback and continuously do my own research.

Secondly, I just wanted to add that under no circumstance should anyone take advantage of you, specifically sexually. This is fiction, and it's sexy because it's not real.

Also, during this work, I compare the feeling of blood loss to "smokable herbs", as a way to make "Tav" feel at ease with the symptoms. If you are experiencing the same symptoms as her after losing a bunch of blood, please dial 9-1-1 (or whatever the emergency number is in your country) IMMEDIATELY. You are probably going to die if it's that bad unless you get medical help.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! I tried to emphasize the respect that Astarion holds for Tav while he has sex with her; as I tried to keep everything as enthusiastic as possible, considering the involvement of aphrodisiacs.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Not me working on the smutfic where Astarion does the Basic Instinct leg cross.

[surprise-based-teddy-bear]

Oof. Wrote a lil fic for BG3 and hurt myself in the feels. Ow ow ow.

Needs some polish still, but ought to be out later this week.

[shewhowas39]

my Astarion smutfics

helloooo! since a few new peeps have come across my recent smutfic (and sine i accidentally deleted my masterlist like a dope) i figured i'd write up a little post with my smutfics. pretty much all my fics are established realtionship, idiots-in-love type fics, because smut with feelings is my fave. so if that's your vibe, here ya go.

these first three feature Astarion and June (my dark urge), and are set in the same universe/timeline as my main fic, Juniper & Starlight. but they can all be raad as standalones.

Give Me a Minute to Hold My Girl - a fluffy/smutty/bit of emotional hurt/comfort fic in which Astarion and June bang on Gortash's desk. (quickie, piv sex, smut with feelings, soft dom Astarion, a bit of petty Astarion)

Hard to Concentrate - a fluffy/smutty fic in which Astarion wants attention while June is trying to concentrate on a spell. time to see how long it takes to distract her! (dirty talk, oral sex, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Astarion being a little shit)

Nonsense - a silly/smutty fic in which the whole gang partakes in some pipeweed in order to de-stress, but Astarion discovers it may have unexpected (horny) effects on the undead. (sex pollen, piv sex, needy Astarion, June gets absolutely railed)

(and fwiw chapters 19, 21, and 27 of the main fic are also quite smutty, if you wanna skip the slow burn. i'm not judging.)

and then my very first bg3 fic was a standalone, not attached to J&S, featuring a nameless, afab Tav

Welcome Home - a fluffy/sweet/smutty fic in which Tav surprises Astarion with a Manficicent Mansion spell on the one year anniversary of Cazador's death, and they smash in their new magic house. (soft dom Astarion, light bdsm elements, blow job, oral sex, piv sex, multiple orgasms, smut with feelings)

[grapesplease]

compelled duel

snippet of a astarion x altair smutfic (compelled duel + blood as a vampire aphrodisiac)

writing below the cut!

“Fuck!”

He winces in pain as Astarion’s fangs clamp onto his hand. His teeth dig into the meat between his thumb and pointer finger, and Altair can't pull his hand back, or he’ll tear his hand open. Astarion’s eyes glaze over for a second, fingers not clawing at his arms, his blood acting like a calming drug.

“You needy little vampire!” Altair growls out, shoving his hand firmly against his mouth. His blood is smeared all over Astarion’s lips, spilling onto the dirt beneath him. Only a few more minutes, he just needs to keep him docile with his blood for a few more minutes.

“This is the only time I’m letting you drink this much, Astarion. Just stay down and take it.”

Astarion flickers back to life, hands breaking free from his hold, but Altair is quick to catch his wrists, holding them over his head.

His expression is positively feral. Altair can already feel his head spinning from the blood loss.

“Come on, drink, you idiot. Get high or horny or whatever it is when you taste my blood, calm down so I can let you go already.”

[prismatic-starstuff]

uhhhhhhh that last post honestly addresses something I've been grappling with so— I'm grateful to OP for saying it

the BG3 fandom has been. honestly a bit frightening lately. like— I wrote two smutfics about Astarion before the game's full release and I've seen some very aggressive takes from people that have made me strongly consider deleting them and scrubbing any remotely sexual post I've ever made about him, because— it's honestly kind of intimidating. and I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling this way.

handle him with respect and care, of course; I agree with that! there are a lot of very sensitive and important themes wrapped up in Astarion's story and that's an honest fact; I'm not in any way downplaying that.

but to act as though anyone making or consuming NSFW content about Astarion is a generally bad person, or is doing something harmful towards real people who have been through certain things, or does not care about or respect the character... that's wrong. it is. and spreading that kind of hostility and aggression will accomplish nothing other than causing tension in the fan space.

idk. there's no point behind this post, I guess it's just an opinion on some things I've seen lately. maybe I'm hurting because I've been wanting to write (not even smut, just fluffy drabbles) and thinking about this kind of reception has deterred me.

[carrionmeat]

relay (astarion/reader)

ao3

words: 4.1k

Summary:

(I don't want to hurt myself even more) //

Astarion has spent an eternity as Cazador's servant. For half that time, he's been somewhat aware of another vampire lord, a friend of Cazador's-- he's seen glimpses of them in the palace's halls, in the grandiose parties thrown in the ballroom, and now here in the guest bedroom.

At first, he begs them for their story of freedom.

a/n: Tav is gender-neutral & their name is never mentioned -- im making a pt.2 smutfic where it starts when astarion gets on his knees 🙏

//

Disgusting. The whole thing ticked under your skin, and there was nothing more you’d like than to leave. 

Smoothing down the silken fabrics of your intricate attire, the gentle orchestra of the bards grated your ears. The Szarr Palace’s ballroom that trapped you was grand. Grand enough to impress you the first time you attended one of his silly parties. He threw one every moon cycle. Just on the cusp of the full moon, just as the wicked creatures of the night got antsy for blood. 

You put your thumb to your lips. Sharp, your eyes traced dancing aristocrats and politicians alike. 

It was getting tiresome. Cazador and his appearances, him and his insistence on being the one to pull Baldur Gate’s strings. Sometimes the fact that he lagged behind newer, younger nobodies was amusing enough for you to forget your annoyance. 

That Gortash fellow, to name one. How quickly he rose from nothing. A handsome and charismatic young man– though his visage was much akin to a wet dog, Gortash was still more appealing than Cazador. 

“I’d like to think,” Speak of the devil. You hadn’t even noticed him slink up to you, though you were sure the manner he did it was in the grandeur sort. “That you aren’t going to squirrel away as you always do, hm?” 

Taking the chilled wine glass in your hand and putting it to your lips– not yet drinking, just musing over the thought– you turned your head to look at him— Cazador, with his slicked-back hair and unattractively sharp features. You studied him. For a moment, nothing more. 

He was in a good mood. Something just went his way. You knew he had dirt on one of the Flaming Fist officers, so perhaps he just cornered them into a favor. He was in a good mood– and it’d be wise to keep it that way. You raised a brow in a perfectly manicured expression, and a light smile played on your painted lips. 

“Of course not, my lord,” An endearing term that only stemmed from how long you’ve known each other. Little over a century. Not that you were counting the years until you could move to the other side of the Sword Coast or anything. “I am simply finding it hard to restrain myself right now. With how these nobles move and flourish, I cannot think of anything but the blood running under their thin skin.” 

“Oh?” Cazador’s attention flitted from your face. Back to the ballroom’s floor, back to his esteemed guests. “I suppose I understand your plight. But I have already marked the most beautiful in the room. Unfortunately, my dear, you’ll have to feed off scraps tonight.” 

Tilting the glass pressed to your lips, you let the wine give you a respite from the conversation. 

“... Yes, I’m sure,” Even though you were able to control your hunger and your desires, playing into his idea of you– the illusion that you were no more than an immature vampire who managed to become pure by a stroke of luck– made your fingers twitch to rip your hair out by the very roots. “I’ll wait until I go back home for the night to feed. But I…” 

Cazador was in a good mood. Still, you didn’t want to talk to him or any nobles eyeing your unlikely duo standing in front of an impeccably furnished window. You make a show of tapping a finger to your chin. Deep in thought– just for his viewing pleasure. 

“Oh my. I mustn’t ruin your wonderful ball, Lord Szarr. What a blight that would be. If I could keep my spawn on as tight of a leash as yours, I’d have been able to bring one with me as my blood bag for the night,” Tilting your wine glass as you talked, you watched the dark liquid swirl. “Pity, pity. I have never been as proficient as working the mind as you.” 

He exhaled. A huff, an amused noise that let you know he was proud of himself. Cazador lost his focus on you entirely. Now, his gaze flitted across the ballroom. Through its patrons and guests, he searched for a head of white hair. “It’s a talent I’ve finely honed, yes.” 

“I never tire of your demonstrations,” You said lowly, and too, your eyes searched. Where was his little star? Not far from him, surely. Never far from him. “I am good with business. Not so much intrapersonal nonsense that goes on between. But… I believe if I were able to have one of my spawns as obedient as yours, I’d be able to fully enjoy your next splendid ball. I won’t squirrel away, as you so affectionately said.” 

“You just need to break them,” Cazador’s voice dropped. Both to protect yourselves from prying ears, but he was also speaking quicker– more excitedly. Psychological intrigue was his favorite self-indulgence. “We have the gift of immortality, and it pains me that you’ve yet to explore the weak human psyche. Perhaps that’ll change tonight.” 

“I do hope it will,” Hiding your smile behind the chilled glass, you felt Cazador’s demeanor lighten. Following his eyes led you right to him. The jewel of his servants, dressed in a uniform overcoat with the same frilly white dress shirt you’ve seen him don for the past century. “A deal, then?” 

Cazador didn’t even seem to hear you. He was much too entranced by his plaything. He tilted his chin up slightly, an affirmative gesture. “I’m listening.” 

“You faithfully entrust your favorite spawn to me for the night,” You watched as Astarion animatedly excused himself from the conversation he was entertaining (his first mistake, or was it a deliberate act of defiance?), “I some take notes, and by the next ball I’ll be fully… social, with a servant in tow. It works, doesn't it? You won’t ever have to worry about getting to be ‘too much’ at one of your events– because of my hunger, that is.” 

Which, believe it or not, did happen fifty or so years ago. It was a mild scandal– how eagerly you dug your nails into the arms of a ‘suitor’ and dragged them to ‘Cazador’s bedroom’! No, it was just a persistent noble who was pissing you off. It was a miracle they left the party alive. 

“Child,” Cazador demeaned when Astarion drew closer. Out from the crowd of lively bodies, closer to your long-dead chill. He held himself in a very particular posture when he addressed him like this: his head raised, eyes slanted down at him. The spawn fell into a matching demeanor: his chin lowered, and he raised his red eyes at him. “What have you been up to?” 

Astarion didn’t avert his stare. Already more notable than the other servants, than the others who scurried in Cazador’s overwhelming presence. Instead, he spoke evenly– practiced, weighted. “I’ve been tending to your guests.” 

“Very good, boy,” Cazador said, and you now just noted the silver tray of finger foods precariously balanced on Astarion’s hand. His bare hand. Which, in its casted shadows, was starting to redden. How interesting. 

Cazador analyzed his ward’s face, then tore away. For the first time since Astarion was mentioned, he glanced at you. “You’ll be under our dear noble’s jurisdiction for the rest of the night. Do not misbehave.” 

With the last hiss, Cazador leaned in– his lips at Astarion’s pointed ear. Low, cold. The spawn’s jaw tightened. A muscle in his cheek twitched. His throat moved with a thick, nervous swallow. For a moment, he stared at the side of Cazador’s face (you couldn’t imagine him so close. Cazador smelled like a ruminated mummy) before forcing his attention away in an unsurmountable show of willpower. He fixed his eyes on you instead. 

What an interesting look. Astarion had long, dark eyelashes, framing his watery eyes very femininely. How piercing the color; in the dim, gothic lighting, the shade of red his eyes bore dark. It reminded you of a set of ruby gemstones you had. Not to mention the smoldering emotion– fiery resentment barely kept back by a thin, feigned veil.  

Astarion seemed to be many things. ‘Tamed’ was not one of them. 

“If you insist.” He mumbled, and Cazador finally retreated. 

Looking between the two of you, the vampire lord had a rather cruel tilt to his politician’s smile. “Don’t have too much fun, my dear. Try to leave him… sensible, by the time you return him to me, yes? It’s easy to get carried away. He makes the prettiest noises.” 

“Of course,” Impeccable, you took a step away from Cazador. A quick survey of the ballroom revealed a handful of eyes on you, but you didn’t particularly care; you would outlive every one of these ant-like aristocrats. Sooner or later, you’ll hear the crunch of their skulls under someone’s heel. With that wistful thought, you beckoned the little star to follow you. “Come, Astarion.” 

You knew Cazador’s palace very well. Many times have the two of you spent bickering over his decoration choices– with his ghoulish appearance, eerie mansion, and actual bats roosting in some parts of the structure, you told him everything was a bit on the nose. He digressed. So when you passed by the table of drinks on the way out, you swapped your empty glass with a bottle of finely aged Ashblossom Wine and popped the cap with a curved nail. 

Astarion was silent while you moved through the winding halls. Lessar servants moved out of the way and bowed their heads to you. Mortals who vied for the curse of vampirism– their eyes were piercing, following not you, but the spawn at your tail. Greedy and envious stares. Whether or not this bothered him, you didn’t check. You only heard him handing off the silver platter to the first body you came across. 

At the top of the lavish staircase, you made a right and waltzed down the hall. At the twelfth gold-accented mahogany door, you stopped. 

“You sure seem to know your way around,” Astarion said, and his voice was much smoother than in the ballroom. Not relaxed. No, there was still a twinge of unease that dripped from his words still.  

“Mhm.” Was the response you dignified him with, and you pushed open the door by its gilded handle. 

The room was as luxurious as the rest of Cazador’s palace. A velvety red carpet, a king-sized bed with a frame of hard maple, fine dressers, and wardrobes with shiny trinkets and amenities. Other pieces of expensive furniture were laid out appeasingly. You strode to the dresser, watching the door close in the lifeless reflection. Lifting the bottle of Ashblossom Wine, you waved over your shoulder. “Take a seat, Astarion.” 

He sat noiselessly. You took a swig of the spiced drink and savored its liquid smooth— one of your more profitable flavors, and certainly one of your first picks. Letting your hand fall limp at your side, you leaned against the dresser and turned to face him, free hand moving to loosen your stuffy clothing, “Ugh. I’m not–” 

Your eyes dropped. Astarion’s broad-shouldered form was knelt on the ground, his back straight and his knees pressing into the downy rug. He refused to bow his head, even in such a subservient posture. Reflecting on your surprise, you raised your eyebrows at him. 

“... I meant in a chair, Astarion.” You put a hand to your face in exasperation, the other loosely on the weighted bottle. “Nine hells. I am not Cazador. Make that distinction now.” 

His eyes, a much brighter red in the room’s enchanted light, caught a clear note of surprise. Then, his lips parted. 

“I knew that,” Astarion fumbled to regain himself, and you had never seen someone rise to their feet so quickly. “Haven’t you seen the newest clerical article in Baldur’s Mouth? Sitting on your ankles does wonders for your joint health.” 

“I’m sure,” You dismissed, turning your head to the side. “Like you need to worry about things like that.” 

“Longevity is not without its drawbacks,” He went to a chair, but notably the one closest to him– and he had a slight hesitancy in how he moved. Astarion wanted to stare but kept averting his effeminate eyes. “Got to keep young and spry, after all. Not all of us have the privilege of bathing in virgin’s blood every other day.” 

“He told you about that?” The wine bottle almost slipped from your clawed hand from the sudden revelation. This spawn was good on his feet. You embarrassed him, and he dropped some intimate fact about you like it was nothing! Wiping the surprised look off your face, you relaxed your posture. “Tell me, what else do you know about me?” 

“That was a lucky guess– you just seemed the type. And he doesn’t talk about you,” Astarion mimicked your relaxed posture. He crossed his legs, leaned back, and propped his face on his knuckles. Still, the stress from his shoulders did not leech. “Not really. You’re the vintner, aren’t you?” 

In a mock toast, you tilted your bottle towards him. “Has my name on it, too.” 

“Ah.” 

Something in his eyes caught in the light. A twitch of his lips accompanied. Curious? Was he curious? Yet he bit down whatever words prattled on his tongue, stopping them just before they could tumble out and ruin the evening. 

“Catch,” You tossed the bottle to him. He startled terribly, but smoothly caught it out of the air. He inspected it– glancing between the label and you. “You can have the rest. Finest wine in Faerûn, guaranteed.” 

“I’ve heard,” Astarion said, and he studied your demeanor. Was he trying to decide if he could trust you or not? He was going to drink either way. You knew for a fact that Cazador didn’t treat his property to luxuries like alcohol. Not unless he was pouring it over their open cuts, anyway. “Are you going to keep me in suspense about what we’re doing this fine evening, or can you just tell me? I’ve never liked surprises much. You’d have to get a different spawn for that, I’m afraid.” 

“What the tongue,” You mused and briefly wondered how snarky he was when there wasn’t such a power dynamic. “I don’t have anything planned. I was just getting dreadfully bored of your master’s lackluster party.” 

His face relaxed from its slight grimace, and he leaned in. “Aren’t they just the dullest thing?” 

Here it was. The key to getting Astarion to drop his guard was just criticizing Cazador! Perfect. You gestured with your hand, still leaning most of your weight on the fancy dresser. “He thinks them high fashion, too. It’s embarrassing. I’ll have you know, Cazador’s never invited to any of the Four Grand Duke’s parties.”

For the first time tonight, Astarion grinned. His little fangs glinted in the dim light. “Really? Do tell me more.” 

“Oh,” You got tired of leaning against the dresser and finally went over to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Not even Duke Eltan can bear his face. No noble enjoys entertaining Cazador. Whatever service they think he could do for them, I can do the same. So I catch all of their invites.” 

He raised the bottle to his lips and tilted his head, taking a swig of the drink like it was cheap beer. “I hardly blame them. Your company isn’t nearly as bile-inducing.” 

With the way he swiped his tongue over his lips and how he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, you could only understand the age-old reach of hunger. Vampiric, primal. He was trying to hide the urge but was doing a poor job of it. Besides– you could hear his faint heartbeat quicken. From stress or something else was indiscernible.

“Honeyed words will not flatter me so easily,” You said amusedly. Cazador did keep him on a tight leash. Maybe being treated like an equal by someone of his master’s status was something Astarion craved. Whatever was happening, he was enjoying it, judging by his still-crossed legs. “Relax. I’m not going to send you to your Master covered in little marks.” 

The tension in his body did not lessen. He moved and shifted in his seat like it did, but you had a keen eye and he was young. Astarion’s voice was thick with his sardonics. “Oh, what a relief to hear. I won’t get sent to the kennels just because you wanted to have a little fun.” 

Your eyes flashed. In delight, maybe– because he finally dropped the performer’s curtain to how he felt. The string tying his emotional baggage started to fray. 

“Vindictive, are you?” You murmured and met his fearful eyes. “I told you a minute ago. I am not him.” 

“Well, I’ve never met a vampire lord who played nice,” He bit. “I’m still waiting for you to drop your pleasantries act. Hells, you’re even sitting on the bed right now! There is one reason and one reason only that my master’s ‘friends’ drag me to the guest rooms. Which by all means for someone like you I’m more than happy to provide, but can you blame me for getting a little antsy?” 

So he was trying to goad you into just taking him? In a roundabout way. In another lifetime, perhaps, you would’ve done just that. For now… the prospect was entirely uninteresting. You grabbed one of the lush pillows and propped it behind your lower back.

“I can assure you I’m very real, though ‘nice’ isn’t a term I’m too familiar with,” While you talked, he took another drink. The bottle should be nearly empty by now. The poor little spawn didn’t have a fraction of your tolerance and seemed to be letting himself get carried away. “I was simply getting bored. Besides, Cazador talks about you more than you know. I wanted to know what I’ve been missing this past century.” 

“Like I’m some show pony.” Astarion bitterly mumbled. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, preening in a way you weren’t sure he realized.

You smiled. “Something like that.” 

“Well, he talks about you too,” He said quickly, tacking the sentiment onto his prior thought. “Too much. I’d be careful. He’s threatened by you. It’s a miracle I’m even in this room.” 

While not surprising, the very thought of Cazador quaking in his boots on what he planned to do about you was hilarious. You barked a laugh, your hand fluttering to your chest. “Oh, oh my. Well, little spawn, thank you for the heads up.” 

“I’m being serious!” The bottle of wine lolled from his hands, and he put it on the floor next to him before it slipped and shattered. “I don’t even know how you can fraternize with him so carelessly.” 

“Someone sounds worried,” You teased. “I’ll be just fine.” 

“Tell me how you did it,” Astarion leaned forward. At the edge of his seat, his eyes desperately searching for something in your face. “Tell me how you did it before it’s too late. How did you– how did you drink the blood of your master? How did you become a lord?” 

Ah. What a surprising letdown. He was getting so frantic, so caught up, just because he wanted to be free? You climbed out of serfdom over a century ago, but it was recent and painful enough for you to sympathize with the man. 

“And what’ll you do with this knowledge?” You sighed, though your softening demeanor was making it difficult to play hard to get. “What’ll you do for this knowledge?” 

“It’s not like what worked for you will work for me,” His stammer was a poor attempt at downplaying it. “Besides, we’ve exchanged less than stellar comments about my– about him. I thought I was safe in assuming you didn’t like him. The enemy of my enemy is a friend and all that.” 

“That’s true. I intended on telling you anyway, I just wanted to mess with you.” Reaching into the innermost pocket of your intricate outfit, you pulled out a flask. Astarion seemed surprised. “What? This is literally my job. Anyways, you’re going to insist I’m lying– but I admit I had to get help.” 

“From who?” Astarion disregarded your show of alcoholism, instead greedily pressing for more information. “Who would be stupid enough to stand up to a vampire lord?”

“I was under my captor for three centuries,” You punctuated it by holding up three fingers, “Three centuries. I shouldn’t have made it out. No, not really. But nearer to the last… twenty or so years, I stumbled into a little group.” 

“I can’t last that long,” Astarion’s voice dropped to a low murmur. Realization set in, and it reflected in his watery eyes. “Oh, shit. I can’t last that long. Tell me about this group.” 

“No one special,” Another gulp from your flask. It wasn’t strong enough, but it burned when it went down your throat. “But they were a new look on life. A new way to live. I was a little braindead back then, from the near-eternity, so after I realized there was something different out there for me– we schemed.” 

“So you managed to get some of your former master’s blood with this group,” Astarion tapped his fingers on the chair’s armrest. “And you escaped, then it was all kumbayah?”

You snapped at him, “Be patient. As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing you a favor.” 

Though restless and shaky, Astarion pursed his lips shut. 

“Anyway, I’ve long fallen out of contact with them. The ‘leader’ of the group, ironically a lycan bloodhunter, was the one who got a vial. We left the city. I left that part of Faerûn entirely. I went with them, at first, but they were just as bad,” You paused. “Not as bad, but a little below that. Out of the frying pan into the fire, as they say. I left them too. They’re still alive, I assume. They all are. All powerful enough to live forever. Just… out there. But I don’t look the same as I did all that time ago. I don’t carry the same name. I am not the same person. If you’re lucky, you won’t be either by the time you escape.” 

Astarion grimaced. “You’re telling me that if I am ever to get out from Cazador’s thumb, I need some kind of external help? And even then, I’ll live in fear for the rest of my life?”

“Yep,” You didn’t look at him. Instead, your eyes blurred, and you stared off into non-discrepant space. “Victims are hardly as lucky as media portrays, you know.” 

“That’s bullshit,” He simmered and stood up. Astarion’s anger wasn’t turned at you, surprisingly. Instead, he paced throughout the room. “I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of this!”

“Well neither did I, spawn,” You spat. The cold flask in your hands weighed empty. “Neither did I.” 

Astarion paced. His footsteps against the floor were the only things breaking the tense silence. He was only so upset because briefly, you had been something more precious than anything else in the palace. You had represented his freedom. But the magician’s cape atop your bird cage had been ripped away; you were free, but forever burdened by the open sores of your past. 

His illusion of a perfect escape shattered, and it made him volatile. 

“I wish you luck,” Your words were starting to slur. Just a little messy, your tongue was thick in your mouth. Astarion’s rabid pacing was more in tune with a stumble now too. “Because you will break free. It’s in your nature. It’s just a matter of time.”

“I have endured so much,” He seethed, and again his hand was in his hair with curved nails digging into his scalp. “And it’s a matter of time? Time!? I have to live with him for– you were there for three centuries?” 

“I should be dead,” You stood. Astarion’s head whipped towards you, and he clumsily took a step back when you strode for the door. “But I’m not. I lived. You’ll live, too. Even if you don’t want to.” 

“Like that’s comforting.” 

You threw the door open and stuck your head out. There, much further down the hall, was one of Cazador’s little footmen. Waving, you raised your voice. “Hey, you. Bring me as many bottles of wine as you can carry. Quickly.” 

They froze before scampering off. Then, you looked to Astarion. From the long-casted shadows of the door, he looked so small. The broad-shouldered charismatic sire was reduced to a mess of equal parts fury, indignation, desperation, and fear. 

“Let’s drink until we forget all about this conversation,” You offered. Your voice was quiet– the shushing of a wounded animal. “And until Cazador kicks me out in the morning.”

The proposition didn’t do much to soothe him. Astarion’s breath shuddered, and his voice trembled. A stowaway to the shadows, he hugged himself. “Deal.”

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

my writing ~

hello I just wanted to share my writing today, i think lots of people followed me probably from art they saw but I write too! here are some things i've written you might like to check out:

my Ao3 account everything is there! including things I'm not mentioning here ~ if you read something you like, feel free to comment! I loves them

Baldur's Gate 3

Red - Wyll x Astarion

- A oneshot based on a fun prompt in which Wyll jumps to the wrong conclusion, much to Astarion's delight

- 860 words

- short and sweet (and cute!)

Control - My Tav x Halsin - A four chapter short interlude between Acts 2 and 3 in which a struggling Tav (my Ranger drow Dayan) needing some kind of catharsis he can't name, goes down by the river (lol) to blow off some steam, but is found by a concerned druid, who might have just what the healer ordered to help his anxiety-ridden mind. - 16k words - A little characterization, a lot of smut. Fea. bottom submissive Halsin and Entangle-based shibari! One of my favorite things I've written. (I've also rewritten some sections, give it another look if you read it awhile ago.) Considered very hot by some. uwu

Between Want and Need - Astarion x Halsin

- One-shot of some hurt/comfort between Astarion and Halsin, a slow realization, some fun party banter and a sweet sentimental ending.

- 6k words

- Entirely written as an excuse for me to make a gaming joke about a concept that didn't even originate from the genre of the game the characters are from, and I even change the name of it in the fic to be less funny. I am a genius. But very sweet, honestly.

--------

Final Fantasy 14

Desert Heat - original WoL x ffxiv OC

- My very first fic ever! A queer Miqo'te x Miqo'te heatfic that's about 40% plot and 60% smut, with a myriad of kinks. Trans femme character! Bisexual catboys! Which is kinda redundant to say! I'm insanely proud of this it took me over 3 months to write.

- 57k - it is an actual novelette lol

- The chapters are a little long bc I didn't really know how long a chapter should be at the time, they end when it feels 'right'. But there are nsfw images included for illustrative purposes in each chapter! If you like mating cycle/heat fics, threesomes, dp and cat people you may like this. Talks about events in game.

A Body in Need - original WoL x Fanow (just...Fanow) - Spoilers for Shadowbringers expac. This is another heatfic, with Viera (rabbits) this time lol. One lone male bun against an entire village of Viera women in heat. What's a boy to do...? - 7.5k words - A shameless smutfic all about nearly an entire village of hot Viera bunny girls ganging up on the one guy in their midst during their heat cycle. Pretty dang hot I do think!

The Price of Regret - several FFXIV NPCs

- One of the fics I'm most proud of which of course means its the least read lol. But! I think you can read it without knowing a thing about FFXIV, most unknowns can be figured out through context clues. So if the synopsis at the link appeals, give it a try!

- 44k words

That's it! hopefully more writing to come after this, I've been on an awful writing block lately but I hope to start writing the full Dayan x Halsin bg3 playthrough soon.

[sabine79]

I wrote another 2nd person POV Astarion smutfic. I’m not sorry, but I am blushing.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Tightrope and Lace

Astarion has a proposition: you’d look lovely in rope. And you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to dress for the occasion. Rated extremely Explicit.

Like a lotta questionable decisions in your life, this one also starts with four words.

“I have a proposition, darling.”

Okay, so that’s five words. But Astarion uses “darling” the same way the man deigns to breathe, so it don’t count.

It’s an hour after sundown. The last traces of pink light smear low on the horizon, behind the lit towers and buildings of the city. Warmth still clings to the stones of y’all’s townhouse, and your hair is still damp from your bath.

Astarion pads up behind you, and his cool fingers trace softly down the back of your neck. A shiver races along after them. Which he know’ll happen.

“Uh huh?” you say all non-committal, because the last time he said that to you it involved a phial of arsonists oil, the city watch, and the stray cat incident.

Y’all are still in your sleepwear. Well, he is. Soft, loose trousers and his bare chest against your back. You actually had to throw on a mumu (they call it a shift) after bathing, and that bitch is see-through in direct light, but y’all ain’t expecting visitors and it’s chilly enough you don’t want to walk around bare today.

(Fuck the heat.)

That mumu is thin enough you feel the first stirring of his intent against your ass.

“Uh huh,” you say, much more interested.

He nuzzles in, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. Down the side of your neck to drag his teeth over the fain scars you now carry there.

Feeding and fucking ain’t always synonymous with him—sometimes a man is just plain old hungry. It often is, though, and his cock is definitely starting to pay attention.

“Come back to bed,” he says.

“I’m hungry.”

He hums. Nibbles at you again and his hands move to your front. One lifts to cup a breast, while the other trails down, down to slip between your legs.

“So am I,” he says and he had to’ve practiced that line.

Except you’re up and washed for a reason. The night market is opening, and y’all are getting low on provisions. You want soup, goddamnit, and y’all are somehow out of both onions and fucking salt. Plus, if you get there soon, you can grab yourself a chicken before they all get snatched up (thank you Gale for teaching you how to defeather and dress them little dumplings).

(Ooh, chicken and dumplings sounds great.)

So you, very reluctantly, push his hands away. Turn in the circle of his arms—you don’t get a chance to talk before he leans in for a kiss. He’s gentle, this evening. You fall into it a little, until his teeth find your lower lip.

This’ll get out of control (y’all have fucked on this counter more than once already). And you need provisions.

So you break off. He tries to follow, and groans when you don’t let him.

“So selfish, leaving me here like this,” the man whines.

And the idea blooms in your mind. Your breath catches and a tendril of warmth shoots between your legs. Astarion, with his fucking vampire hearing honed in on your cardiac uptick, raises an eyebrow and a sly smile slides across his face.

“What if, um,” you say. “What if you weren’t the only one left wanting?”

“Oh?”

Your cheeks are warm. You bite your lip (and catch how he stares).

“What if we got the rope?”

The rest on AO3 cause I don't wanna get thrown into horny jail.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Right. Gonna work on an Astarion pov smutfic. Bon apetite.

😇💖

[shewhowas39]

title: Nonsense rating: E / 18+ pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC summary: set in late act 3: the gang is stressed, and Halsin suggests they partake in some pipeweed t help them relax, but it may have unexpected (horny) effects on the undead. (or, the sex pollen fic where June gets railed by her horny, needy vampire boyfriend.) content warnings: sex pollen, recreational drug use (pipeweed), piv sex, vampire bites

A/N: this is the smutfic i wrote to celebrate 100 kudos on Juniper & Starlight. you don't need to read the longfic to read this one. just know that June is the dark urge and is in an established relatinship with Astarion. enjoy!

***

PREVIEW

He can’t take it anymore.

He needs her.

Right now.

“Everyone out!”

Conversation around the room stops as several pairs of confused and curious eyes turn toward him. 

“Is something wrong, Astarion?” Wyll asks. 

“The only thing wrong is that you are all still here,” he says, sliding an arm beneath June’s knees to lift her into a princess carry as he stands. “I’d strongly suggest you leave now.”

“Astarion!” June gasps, arms wrapping around his neck for support. 

“You joking, Fangs?” Karlach asks.

Shadowheart’s eyes drop down to the bulge in his trousers before making a disgusted noise and turning away. “He’s not. Let’s go.”

“By Mystra’s eyelids, you two!” Gale croaks, his face turning very red as he stands up and shuffles to the door. Several of the others make noises of outrage and protest while June gives them an apologetic look. 

Astarion does not care. He’d take her on the floor in front of everyone right now if that was his only option. But he doubts June would be quite so amenable to an audience. It really is terribly annoying that this floor of the Elfsong is so open, affording them all very little privacy. Normally, he’d try to plan around this situation - sneaking off to another inn, waiting until everyone else was out, and so on. But there’s no time for that now. 

If he isn’t inside of her in the next five minutes, Astarion thinks he might die.

Five minutes might be pushing it, actually.

[shewhowas39]

wip whenever

thanks for the tag @khywren!!!

i'm working on a prompt for the @thekindredcollective's Fall in Faerun event. which is also going to serve as that smutfic i've been promising for reaching 200 kudos on Juniper & Starlight!

anyway, it's Liars' Night in Waterdeep....

***

“Fangs! There you are!” Karlach shouts when she sees him. The towering tiefling’s single horn is poking out through a massive, curly, blond wig. Black makeup is smeared across her eyes and down her cheeks, as if she’s been crying, and she’s wearing a loose shirt that hangs off of one shoulder with a pair of leather pants. “You light your pumpkin?”

“I did,” he replies. “What exactly is your costume?” 

He knows the answer. He just can’t quite believe it. 

Karlach’s face splits into a grin. “I’m June!” she says.

“Gods below.”

“Just wait. It gets better.” She looks over her shoulder. “Oy! Shadowheart! Come show Astarion your costume.”

A moment later, the half-elf appears at Karlach’s elbow, smirking evilly at the vampire.

“Gods below,” he repeats with a groan. 

Shadowheart’s white-blond hair has been curled and pinned up to look shorter than it actually is. She’s wearing a half-laced white shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows and tucked into black trousers. But the part that really completes the look is the smear of lipstick in a deep, bloody shade that is smeared across her mouth.

“Hello, darling,” Shadowheart says in a mocking tone. 

“I hate you both.”

“You love us and you know it,” Karlach says. “But what are you meant to be? A librarian?”

“A professor, actually.” Astarion raises his voice. “And a much sexier one than any you might find here in Waterdeep.”

“Watch yourself, Astarion!” Gale - who is dressed as a clown - calls from across the room, where he’s talking to Minthara, who doesn’t seem to be in any costume at all. 

“I thought the point of the night was to dress as something we’re not,” Astarion says. “But both of you seem to be dressed as yourselves.”

“I have sworn an oath of vengeance,” Minthara states. “I am dressed as one who has sworn an oath of devotion.”

Meanwhile, Gale merely casts an illusion of tears running down his clown face at Astarion’s insult. 

***

no pressure tagging @dalgursbate (who helped me brainstorm for this fic, so thank you!) @dungeonsdragonsandlawyers @amoremagnificentbastard @andauril @selunesdreams

[atsadi-shenanigans]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by @nerdallwriteyallwritey! Thank you!

Guess I'll post the opening of the smutfic? Don't know when I'll post it (haven't finished drafting it), but here it is.

Night has fallen. Apprentice spellworkers dart through the streets to light the lanterns as the pale wash of sunset fades into purple, and then black. Astarion stands near the window overlooking the front street and the small, rather overgrown garden his love has been somewhat tending to. She’s late. She’s actually two days late, but he’s inclined to blame the wizard for that. No, she should have been here thirty minutes ago, right as the last curve of the sun sank behind the distant buildings and released the creatures of the night to their nefarious doings. To which he would happily add his own misdeeds. Except that she’s late. Something happened. They were waylaid by pirates. A kraken rose from the deep to smash Waterdeep and pulled that wizard tower down on top of them, and her body is so human and so, so mortal. He needs to go. Needs to check— Magic stirs below. The scent of cinnamon and licorice he always associates with Gale’s spells. A glimmer of purple flickers in the space right before their front gate—she painted it teal and seemed quite pleased with herself—before a shimmering, purple cloud unfurls taller and taller and… His breath sighs out of him. She emerges. Eleanor. His former leader, his friend, his love. She’s back. She’s home. He lets the curtain fall back into place.

Woop! I've gotta set the scene and the time and the motivations for all the characters before I can write the smut, obviously. We can't just have wanton fucking. (Someday I'll manage to write simple, wanton fucking, but today is not that day.)

Tagging: @lyzelky @mutualcombat @olivedrop @sasseffects and @amoremagnificentbastard

[shewhowas39]

smutfic sneak peek

y'all voted for sex pollen for my smutfic to celebrate 100 kudos on Juniper & Starlight. so that's what i'm doing, and it has BEGUN.

basic premise: everyone needs to relax, so Halsin encourages the party to partake in some pipeweed. but it might have unexpected effects on undead...

here's a sneak peek! cw: recreational drug use + dirty thoughts

***

After the pipe is passed around another time or two, the atmosphere does shift. It’s like a heavy weight has been lifted off of everyone’s shoulders, or like dark clouds overhead have parted, letting in a sliver of relaxing, warm sunlight. Shoulders slump and rigid spines relax, and the tension in the room slowly dissipates. 

Astarion’s eyes roam the room, observing his companions. Wyll is listening with a relaxed smile as Gale animatedly monologues about magical theory. Jaheira and Minsc are reminiscing about old times. Lae’zel has already fallen asleep in her chair. Shadowheart is attempting to tell a joke, but she keeps having to stop and backtrack when she forgets details or gets words wrong, even needing to start over once. It seems to have no impact on Karlach, though, who cackles loudly, throwing her head back and clutching her chest like Shadowheart is the funniest person she has ever met. And June…

June is leaning against his shoulder, her gaze lingering on Gale as she occasionally chimes in, adding her thoughts to his musings about the arcane. 

Gods, she’s smart. Not in a flashy or arrogant way. Not the sort of intelligence that drives her to show off or make others feel inferior. She’s subtle about it. But once she gets going on a topic she’s interested in, there seem to be no limits to her knowledge. Astarion had underestimated her at first - with her cute, twangy accent and those doe eyes - thinking she would be simple or uneducated. He’d been a fool.

He reaches up and toys with one of her curls. Her hair is so silky. She must have conditioned it last night. He has a flash of June in the bath, lathering her hair. Her soft, naked skin, wet and soapy. Her cheeks flushed from the heat of the water.

“Don’t you think so, Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

June is watching him. She laughs and smiles at him. Her lips are so pink. So pillowy. They would feel so nice on his. Or on his neck. Or sucking on the tip of his ear. Or sucking on his–

She’s saying something. Astarion forces the lewd thoughts away and tries to listen.

“...access to spell scrolls?”

He has no idea what she’s talking about, but she seems to expect him to agree, so he nods. “Yes, of course,” he says. 

June raises an eyebrow. Maybe that wasn’t the right answer? But she turns back to Gale and Wyll to continue their talk. 

Astarion tries to listen - he really does - but he keeps getting distracted. By the way June moves her hands when she talks (and how good those hands feel when she touches his skin). By the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes (and how good that chest would look unclothed, preferably with his mouth on her breasts). By the way she shifts, crossing one of her long legs over the other (and how much he likes having those legs wrapped around him). 

By the hells, he can feel his trousers going tighter as his mind spirals through a series of delightfully sinful images. 

Not wanting to embarrass himself by letting others see his arousal and thinking perhaps that touching her will help to alleviate some of this fixation, he wraps an arm around June and pulls her onto his lap. She giggles and wraps an arm around his shoulder as he rests his hands on her thighs. She shifts, adjusting her position and–

Oh shit. Astarion realizes he has made a mistake. 

[atsadi-shenanigans]

All I Want for Solstice

Chapter one of my holiday smutfic! Posted on AO3 because I'm not sure how much tumblr allows and this one's explicit.

Eleanor is trying to spread holiday cheer. Astarion is trying to spread Eleanor's legs. Loosely tied to Feeding Alligators, but not totally canon to it, since I haven't finished the game.

Rated E for explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, fingering, orgasm denial, blow jobs, Astarion being a shit, Eleanor also being a shit.

He’s been teasing you all night. It starts innocently enough (as he’s wont to do, these days). A kiss to your cheek that lingers a moment longer than usual. You’d been judging yourself in front of the mirror, frowning at your outfit. Baldur’s Gate did not, it turns out, get snow often. But now and then it did very much Snow. The morning had seen that storm roll in. It cleared out by sundown, and you and Astarion woke to crystalline white outside your windows, glowing gold in the city’s lamplight. You’d been planning tonight for three days, and you did not intend to back out due to the weather.

You don’t seen him, of course. Didn’t even know the man was in the room until his cool hands drape over your front.

“You look delectable,” he says right into your ear, his breath curling against your neck.

Read the rest on AO3.