#f!durge x Astarion

[astarionmademewriteit]

The Lovers

Spawn!Astarion x Durge f!Tav x Halsin (Minor role)

Cycles between Astarion and Tav POV

Rating: Mature themes (No smut)

Wordcount: 9.4k (Long one-shot)

Tags: Many many Act 3 spoilers, violent images, torture, self-loathing, depression, refusing to eat, eluding to SA, codependency, hurt/comfort, angst, blood drinking, injuries, brief mentions of sex (if you squint). If I missed a tag, let me know.

Summary: What started as a great day at the Circus of the Last Days ends with Astarion gaining insight from a fortune teller into his future as the ascendant vampire and Tav as Bhaal’s chosen. Astarion decides to face Cazador alone and keeps it a secret from Tav–slipping into the night and leaving only a small note. Halsin is there, promising to watch over Tav. However, Tav suffers in his absence (sometimes lashing out at Halsin), but Astarion knows it is better than the alternative–their collective demise and the loss of love.

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✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

The Circus of the Last Days was teeming with excitement and laughter, children with face paint ran rampant through the grounds, weaving through the stalls where merchants yelled at passersby looking to make a pretty copper. Other stalls tried to sell the promise of financial abundance with the spin of a wheel, but it was all too easy for me to see they were rigged to steal money from the pockets of the idiotic. Their tactful manipulation is reminiscent of the days I spent as Cazador’s puppet, luring people in with the luxury of pleasure beyond their wildest imaginations.

It was not a bad business strategy, to be sure. But stealing straight from the pockets of the unaware was a quicker solution to our financial needs. I look towards Tav, watching the way her eyes scanned the crowd with quiet excitement. A smile plays on my lips. After all the danger we have faced, the chaotic nature of our adventures has not dimmed the light in her eyes–the happiness that paints her aura in such beautiful vibrant colors.

I wish the same could be said for myself. I can practically feel the looming shadow of the Szarr palace on the horizon, its threatening presence taunting me at every turn–reminding me of the centuries of pain, torment, and abuse Cazador subjected me to. My fists tighten, and I try to steady my breathing lest I spiral into a dark and violent rage–revenge feeding the anger that once laid dormant in the pit of my stomach. I can almost feel the sting of his blade carving his infernal contract into my back, blood slipping from my back in blooming rivulets where steel meets flesh. I grind my teeth at the memory.

“Astarion, look!” Tav squeals with childish glee snapping me out of my tortured reverie. Murderous as she was, her innocent nature overrode her violent tendencies in this moment. Her bloodlust replaced by the overwhelming need to momentarily forget our places in the world–the parts we were meant to play. I follow her gaze and spot a fortune teller’s tent nestled between two stalls selling enchanted jewelry and exotic furs, their claims of authenticity are laughable. To the untrained eye, one would easily fall for such fraudulent claims, but I knew better. Honestly, how this group would survive without my expertise was beyond me.

Tav closes the distance between us and looks up at me with rounded eyes and a pouty lip, “We should try it!” My mouth twitches, threatening to split my face in two. 

“Darling,” I warn playfully, “Need I remind you that half these booths are wasteful ventures that we should avoid? We might as well throw our money in the garbage. Besides,” I drag a knuckle down her jawline to the base of her throat, “I’m the only one who should be draining you dry.” My words have their desired effect, her skin flushing–the smell of her blood carried on the warm breeze wafts to my nostrils. The elation I feel from her scent alone makes my mouth water.

A sharp raspy voice cuts through our moment, “You. Vampire.” I snap my head towards the fortune teller’s tent, a wrinkled decrepit woman leers at me with glassy eyes. Her long robes draped to the ground and her back is hunched painfully behind her, diminishing her height by at least a foot.

“In the flesh,” I bow sarcastically in her direction. Uncertainty washes through my entire body  and I feel Tav stiffen at my side.

“We have much to discuss regarding your future,” She murmurs, her voice grates my ears in the most unpleasant ways.

I sneer, “I doubt you have anything worthwhile to spew, hag,” I growl coldly. I wasn’t about to fall for her thieving tricks. Our gold would be better spent elsewhere.

She wheezes out a laugh, “You will pay a heftier price without my help.” It’s as if she has read my mind. Probably just another party trick meant to lure people into spending money they do not have. However, something tugs at the back of my mind–warning me that she is true to her word.

Halsin moves to my side and places a burly hand on my shoulder, the weight only adding to my own doubts, “Hear the woman out, my heart,” he whispers, “I sense no deception from her.” Tav is nodding her head in agreement, her eyes wide with apprehension and anxiety, and I groan at their collective consensus. It was almost annoying having two people intent on drowning me with their unconditional care. Almost.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, I finally give in, “Fine, my dears,” I huff unenthusiastically, “But I expect to be showered in apologies when I come back empty-handed,” I roll my eyes.

 Halsin chuckles behind me, “Don't worry, my Star. Everything will be alright.”

“We'll be here, waiting for you,” Tav says on my other side, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the arm and a light kiss on the cheek.

I gulp and swallow my pride before entering the witch's tent. Incense wafts through the air, sending tendrils of smoke curling to the sky. Various charms hang from the walls and the shelves are littered with trinkets, tomes, and dead creatures in jars of liquid. It is all very pedestrian.

“Spawn,” the hag’s grotesque voice rings through the air snapping me out of my reverie, “Save your judgements for the future,” she gestures at an empty chair across from her, divided by a small table with a crystal ball centered in the middle. Her consistent peek into my thoughts was unnerving but not unexplainable considering the wall of potions seated behind her against the back of the tent. She most likely used a mind-reading potion. It felt more invasive than a stake in the ribs, to be fair.

I cautiously take a seat across from the hag, impatience brimming on my tongue, “Let’s just get this little performance over with.” I roll my eyes and take a relaxed pose, watching the hag expectantly.

“I can assure you, dear Astarion, that this is no performance,” she pins me down with her glassy stare, “Devils whisper in my ear, speaking of your demise. I rather think you should hear me out.”

Her words sway me slightly, the promise of a devil should not be heeded lightly, nor the promise of one’s demise. I huff exasperatingly, “Fine, spin me your tale of the future.”

She smiles lightly before fishing in the pockets of her robe, pulling out an ambiguous vial of clear liquid and reaching across the table, offering the strange elixir with an open palm, “Drink and we may begin.”

I eye the vial cautiously, a putrid smell wafts through the air, promising bitterness on the tongue. I snatch the vial from her hand and drink before I can change my mind. I am doing this for Tav and Halsin if nothing else. The bitter liquid slides down my throat with ease, souring my stomach immediately. Warmth immediately washes over me, rivaling the warmth I feel when drinking from the necks of my partners. 

My head begins to swim as magic rolls through my body in thick undulating waves, threatening to pull me under. I steady myself, gripping the side of the table in front of me for support as I ride out the arcane sensation. 

“Peer into the crystal ball, Astarion,” the witch commands, “I have much to reveal.”

I focus my eyes on the object in front of me, the crystal ball that was once clear suddenly swims with visions too quick for me to latch on to. The dizzying effects of the elixir begin to subside ever so slightly, and the images in the crystal ball begin to slow, flashing images of Cazador carving scars into my back with agonizing precision. I wince at the memories, feeling the sharp pain of torture carving into my back.

“Your former master, Cazador, has made an infernal pact with a devil it seems,” the hag rasps pragmatically.

“Yes, yes,” I huff through gritted teeth, ignoring the searing pain of my scars, “I already know he plans to complete the Rite of Profane Ascension. Tell me something I don’t know.” I ball my hands into fists, wishing to forget the torture Cazador put me through that night and willing away other, darker thoughts of being sequestered in a tomb–a year of darkness and pathetic attempts of escape.

The image of my scars reflected in the crystal ball dissipate and are replaced by images of my former targets–people I willingly lured to Cazador in the hopes that he would not punish me again, but instead finding new forms of punishment through using my body in ways that I would never have consented to if I hadn’t been chained to his power. Something is different about the victims that stare at me through the curved glass, their eyes are blood-red now, familiar scars mark their bodies, and they suffer behind gilded bars under the Szarr palace.

“Your targets still breathe, newly changed, serving as a blood sacrifice. Seven thousand souls writhe beneath the floors, facing their inevitable death.”

“T-they’re alive? But–how?” I manage to sputter, utterly bewildered by the information and the painful reality that has just been set before me. They have suffered decades–no, centuries–beneath the palace. I thought they were dead. They should be dead. But–why? Then the truth hits me like a ton of bricks. Their souls will be exchanged for his ascension. Not just seven spawn, but seven thousand souls. It takes all my strength to keep from collapsing onto the floor in anguish. This cannot be happening. Cazador has played me for such a fool. Anger wells in my chest and I have to restrain myself from throwing the crystal ball across the room.

“Control yourself, spawn” the hag eyes me cautiously, “the truth of your future has yet to be revealed.”

I suddenly feel as if I want to empty all the contents of my stomach onto the floor as the bitter taste of the elixir dances across my tongue. What more could there possibly be? Was I even prepared to face it?

Before I have time to decide, the images shift yet again. A vague shape takes form, and the person in the crystal ball stares back at me with a familiar gaze. It takes me a moment to realize that I am looking at myself, but it only feels like a stranger staring back at me. Tav enters the frame and stands next to me, a worried expression painted across her features. My eyes look crazed and hungry for something more. I look at the hag for clarity, but she urges me to keep watching.

The images shift again, and I am standing over Cazador’s bruised body. He cowers below me as I grip a dagger in my hand. Suddenly, I am barking orders directed at Tav, pleading with her to connect our tadpoles so that I can copy the scars from my back into Cazador’s flesh.

Relief washes over me as I realize that everything I have been fighting for would be worth it if my future promised my own ascension in my former master’s place. His body, the bodies of my brothers and sisters, and the targets I lured to the palace disintegrate into ashy piles as power flows through my body, centered in the middle of the bloody Black Mass. Revenge never looked so sweet.

“Do not forget yourself, Astarion,” the hag breaks me from my concentrated stare, “You will lose your soul too.”

I take a moment before answering, “That is not an unreasonable transaction, especially if it means I become powerful enough to protect myself and the ones I care about. Nobody would harm me ever again,” I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, the tension from earlier melting away as I sit with this new reality.

The witch eyes me wearily before continuing, “You seem so concerned with protecting Tav from danger, but who will protect her from you?” She waves her hand over the crystal ball, willing the previous images of the ritual away and replacing them with images of Tav. Her vermillion eyes are illuminated, watching me with practiced reverence. Puncture wounds scar her neck, and her movements are sharper and more precise. So, she would allow me to turn her if it meant spending eternity with me. A small smirk plays on my lips.

“I hardly see how her becoming a vampire is any consolation,” I bark with renewed arrogance.

“Not a vampire,” the hag replies sharply, “a spawn. Forever a slave–bending to your will.”

I brush off her remark, “I would never treat her as Cazador treated me. Do not act like you know the first thing about me.” 

An amused grin pulls at the corners of her crusted lips, “Your soul says that now, but do not forget that you sacrifice that and so much more by choosing this path.”

I roll my eyes and focus on the crystal ball once again. Reflecting back at me are the same eyes I’ve come to adore, but now they look pained and resentful as they stare back at me. I falter momentarily, and if my heart were still alive, it would die all over again.

“W-well,” I stammer, back-pedaling slightly, “I’m sure the power dynamic would be…unsavory. But I’m confident Tav would still find it in her heart to love me,” I whisper, trying to convince myself rather than the hag. I continue to watch as darkness shrouds the eyes of my beloved and I begin to feel less sure of myself with every passing second. 

“A vampire’s greatest threat is another vampire,” the hag recites, mirroring the words I uttered not long ago, “The love you have cultivated will be nothing more than ash in your mouth,” she warns.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat but remain silent. “You will set Tav down a dark path of her own should you choose to ascend,” her words do not falter at this admission, and I know she speaks the truth.

As if to solidify her words, the images shift yet again. Now Tav stands before the bloodied walls of Bhaal’s underground temple, Orin dead at her feet. She is faced with an avatar of her father, and she kneels before him accepting her fate as his chosen. The promise of carnage and violence flits through her eyes as she transforms into a grotesque slayer, her features warped by the bloodied maw of the beast, all emotion siphoned from her eyes as murderous intent envelopes her completely. 

All words on my tongue fall away as I stare at all she has become–everything she has valiantly resisted now a distant memory…an empty promise that echoes of slaughter. “She..” I choke out the words, “She accepts her fate as Bhaal’s chosen if I ascend?” I peered up at the hag, wishing I could wipe the smugness from her wrinkled face. 

“Truly a terrifying couple,” she rasps, “reviled by all… and resented by one another.” 

I look down in shock as the images twist grotesquely into a new picture. My powers wash through Tav’s body, forcing her to act against her will. I force myself to watch, even though I wish very badly to tear my eyes from the horrible images. Tav grips a dagger, hanging still in the air as if frozen in time, inches away from piercing my heart... So, I will drive her to murderous rage, so much so that she would willingly kill me. The love that once hung between us is now non-existent as hate fills her eyes.

So, this is what's to come… Unimaginable power at the expense of my soul… Tav’s soul… and the budding love that lies between us. The promise of death and murder the last thread tying us together.

I stare dumbfounded as the new revelation washes over me, more powerful than Cazador’s power imbuing me with his will. 

“This cannot be…” I whisper, my hands trembling at my sides. My body racks with pain as I continue to watch. The bloody future unfolds before me as our bodies lay lifeless beside one another. Our inevitable demise ends at the hands of one another, effectively destroying the trust and mutual care we have built together… between each other. The images fade to black, leaving a deep-seated wound in my heart.

“This,” the hag gestures towards the now empty crystal ball, “is to be your fate, if you so choose.”

I sit frozen, too stunned to speak. Tears threaten to flood my eyes and anger washes through my body with agonizing intensity. “Why,” I ask through gritted teeth, “Why show me all this?” My words now sting with acid, “Why, help me?” I stand suddenly, knocking the table off kilter. 

The hag grabs the crystal ball before it has a chance to shatter on the floor. A part of me wishes it had, as if that would undo the future it laid before me. She eyes me sternly before reaching into her robes once again and retrieving a card. She hands it to me, and I reach out and snatch it from her hands, letting anger control my limbs.

The card is decorated with a kaleidoscope of colors and gold foil, its design is ostentatious and obtrusive. I flip it over to find an image of two bodies romantically entwined and the phrase “The Lovers” embellished along the bottom. I look at the hag, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Because…” she says after a moment of contemplation, “I wish someone had extended the same courtesy to me when I was younger.”

I simply stared at her, half wondering what she had experienced to end up in a place like this. I lower the card on the table and turn to leave. I hover just before the exit and turn my head, “This… is a gift you know. I will never forget it.” I drop a satchel of gold on a nearby table before exiting the tent without another word, steeling myself to face Tav.

Should I tell her? I think it would be unwise, but guilt wracks my body as I see the look of pure love that adorns her face when she catches sight of me. Her features are now covered in face paint, and I cannot hide my own amusement. But it feels shallow, the weight of my future encumbers me and every step I take towards Tav…every second I look into her beautiful eyes is just another reminder of what she could become–of what I would enable. 

I slip into my charming facade, choosing to hide the looming threat that hangs over my shoulders like a wraith clings to the shadows. 

“Astarion!” Tav squeals excitedly, “What did she tell you?” Her body shivers with anticipation, and she hops enthusiastically on her heels as she waits patiently for my reply.

“Nothing of note, really,” I wave her off nonchalantly, “Just the usual propaganda a lonely wench spouts hoping to siphon money from her visitors.”

“Oh,” Tav looks down, disappointed, “Like what?”

“Finding love,” I say, lifting her chin with the tip of my finger. Her eyes find mine and light up at the prospect, “Accruing unimaginable wealth and happiness if I follow my dreams. That sort of thing,” the lie falls easily from my lips and I scold myself internally for resorting to shallow lies, especially where Tav is concerned. We have built a bond based on trust and consent. I have already tainted that bond by withholding the truth, depriving her of her right to know what the future holds.

I try to push down the guilt that rips through me, more painful than any injury I have sustained on our road to Baldur’s Gate thus far–and there were times I was close to death. But this pain is incomparable. Self-loathing starts to creep its way through my very bones, threatening to shatter my carefully rehearsed mask.

“Uh, darling” I say carefully, “I’m suddenly not feeling well. Perhaps we should head back to camp.”

Tav eyes me warily. I’m almost certain she knows that I am hiding something–her attunement to my many masks have sharpened over the months and I silently curse myself for being so predictable at this moment. 

If she suspects anything, she makes no mention of it but agrees that we should head back to camp. Halsin promises to fashion some sort of tincture to soothe whatever ails me and I acquiesce, trying to widen the berth between me and their suspicion. 

Back at camp I withdraw into my tent, pacing the small enclosure reminiscing on the words spoken by the witch. I was filled with dread and wracked with guilt. Tav's unconditional loyalty towards me would be nothing but a tool of manipulation I would use to seek power that I now realize should never belong to me, no matter how intensely I craved it as a means of protection. 

I could be up front with Tav, but I knew she would urge me to face Cazador with her by my side–always the hero. The promise of power would be too much to turn down, like a shiny hook baiting a fish. Tav’s loyalty and unbreakable need to please me would prove an easy avenue for manipulation–something that would surely end with our inevitable demise. I couldn’t put myself in a position to force her hand, and I absolutely could not put Tav in a position to accept her own dark fate. Her love was the first good thing to happen to me in the centuries since I became a vampire, and it could be undone so easily. I could not let that happen, even if it meant facing Cazador alone.

It was the only way.

“Astarion,” Tav’s sweet voice filters through the tent, breaking me from my thoughts. She pulls back the flap of my tent after a moment and looks at me with caution in her eyes.

“Yes, my dear?” I slip back into my easy facade, knowing full well what needs to be done.

She closes the distance between us, careful not to touch me without permission. Always the astute observer. I smile softly at her, trying to repress the memories of her deadened eyes as they looked at me with resentment. That was not her. It would not be us.

“H-how are you feeling?” She shifts nervously, fully aware that something weighs heavy on my mind.

“Honestly? I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. Arriving in Baldur’s Gate has stirred some… unpleasant memories.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just an omission of the entire truth.

“I understand,” She whispers carefully, “I’ll always be here when you need me. You won’t face this alone.” Determination fills her eyes and I know she wholeheartedly believes the words she speaks. I do too. 

“Thank you, my love,” I whisper after a moment, my words painted with sincere gratitude. I don’t expect her to forgive me for what I’m about to do. But it is the only way I can protect her. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She gives me the strength to do the right thing.

Tav turns to leave but stops short and looks over her shoulder, “You can feed on me tonight, if you like.” My breath hitches in my throat. My attempt at selflessness falls short as she offers herself so freely to me. I knew it would be selfish of me to accept, knowing that I would vanish from camp while she unknowingly slept. But it could also be my best chance at surviving the encounter with Cazador. Would she forgive me if I made it out alive?

“I-I’ll…okay my dear,” my mask falters momentarily, “I’ll see you tonight. Thank you.” I bow my head with gratitude as she exits the tent.

As I wait for the sun to set, I fill my time with mindless reading around the campfire, searching through various texts that might provide useful information for the fight to come. I sift through a particularly dull tome when something falls from between the pages, fluttering to the ground like a feather being shed from a bird.

For a moment I look at the object, completely bewildered by what lay at my feet. I reach down and pick up the card. The words “The Lovers” are inscribed across the bottom edge. The witch’s tarot card stares back at me as if to taunt me. “What in the nine hells,” I whisper to myself.

“What’s the matter, my heart?” Halsin’s booming voice echoes behind me, and I spin on my heels, quickly tucking the card in my pocket.

“Oh Halsin! My dear, you startled me,” I laugh nervously, “Actually, there’s something I need to confess. I trust you will understand and assist me in this one thing.” Although our relationship is newer, I trusted Halsin with my life, and Tav’s life. I know he will watch over her while I am away–however long that might be. Hopefully not forever.

“Of course,” Halsin’s face softens, “I shall lend you an ear.”

I pull Halsin to my tent discreetly, eyeing Tav across camp as she accompanies Gale while he cooks.

I quickly relay all that the witch showed me, Halsin’s face falling with concern when I deliver the horrid news. A small weight was lifted from my shoulders at the confession.

“That is concerning,” Halsin whispers, “How are you feeling?” he reaches out and caresses my cheek tenderly.

I laugh sarcastically, “Not well, as you might imagine. That is why I need you to watch over Tav while I slip out of camp and face Cazador alone.” The weight of my words causes Halsin to still.

“Astarion,” his voice shaky, “You’re certain this is the only way? What if–” his sentence dies on his lips, too difficult to utter the very words that haunt me as well.

“I have to try,” I whisper after a moment, “Even if it means I won't make it back,” speaking the words aloud suddenly makes them feel real. It was a possibility I would die and Cazador succeeded in completing the ritual. But I was out of options.

“Tav will be devastated,” Halsin’s concerned tone washes over me, only adding to my fears.

“Yes, well,” I laugh nervously, “It is better than the alternative. I am sure you would agree.” I pause before continuing, knowing the next part will be difficult for him to swallow, “She cannot know where I’ve gone–this is important, Halsin. She will follow me, and all of this will be for naught. It’s… for her own good.”

After quiet contemplation Halsin agrees, “ She will not see it that way, Astarion, but I promise to do as you say, my Star. But you must make it back to us. A world without you would be unjust,” his voice breaks. I slip him a folded note and instruct him to give it to Tav once she notices my absence.

I smile and pull him in close, placing a soft kiss on his lips. His arms wrap around me protectively–an unsaid goodbye passes between us. I pull away before I can change my mind.

“Thank you, Halsin. I will not forget what you have done for us,” I nod before exiting the tent. There was nothing left to say.

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✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

I search among our companions for Astarion. He has been particularly aloof this evening and I could not ignore the concern as it flooded through my veins. I knew that arriving on the doorstep of Baldur’s Gate would be difficult for him, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that he was avoiding me. If he wanted his space, I would respectfully take a step back while he sorted through his feelings, but I couldn't help but worry that he was spiraling into a dark void that would be impossible to pull him from. At what point do I step in? I tread a fragile line–one that could potentially cross over into territory that I wished to avoid at all costs if I wanted to carefully respect his boundaries.

Even still, something awful churned in my stomach–a sense of foreboding tugged at the recesses of my mind. I’ve learned to trust my intuitive nature. My life training in the Temple of Bhaal sharpened my instincts into a fine point that rivaled the very daggers we equipped ourselves with. However, even years of honing my mind will not assist in revealing what darkness lingers on the horizon, until it has fallen upon me. It’s blinding disruption, a promise that haunts me. If only it would reveal itself before it’s too late.

I look up to the sky, its domed shape spattered with twinkling stars, heckling me with false hope. If any gods could hear my silent prayers, they showed no sign of acknowledgement. Praying was a trivial pursuit, but it felt right in this moment, even if they went unanswered. I know not what lies ahead, but I knew it was not good. 

“Quite the sight,” Astarion whispers from behind me, mirroring the hollow words he once spoke in the first few nights of our meeting. I spin around to find his vermillion eyes watching me with a careful expression, “You, I mean.” He whispers, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over me as his presence pulls me away from the impending dread that inhabits my body.

He opens his arms invitingly, ushering me into his cool embrace. I gladly comply, welcoming the feel of his body against mine. His arms wrap around my waist and pull me in tight, threatening to never let go.

“I missed you,” I whispered in his ear.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, darling,” he laughs quietly.

“I know. But every moment that I am away from you is more agonizing than the last.” His body stiffens at my truthful words and panic begins to settle in the pit of my stomach. I hope I haven't crossed a line. “Sorry,” I amend quickly, “I just enjoy your company.”

He pulls away, but keeps his arms firmly wrapped around my waist, his smile is soft, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You know I enjoy your company as well, darling. I fear I wouldn’t survive without it.” There was some underlying meaning to his words, but before I could inquire further, he pulled me in for a kiss.

I lace my fingers through his ivory curls–his touch melting away all the tension that burdened me only a moment before. His kiss steadily grows hungrier, his tongue slipping between my lips as he sought out my own. He sighs against me as our tongues slide against one another.

All too soon he pulls away, planting small kisses along my jaw and down my throat. The reverence laced in his kisses leave small confessions against my flesh.

“I’m going to turn in early tonight, my dear,” he whispers against my skin in between small kisses.

“Alright,” I whisper shakily, “Are you forgoing dinner tonight?”

His lips halt against my throat and he inhales deeply before pulling away and looking into my eyes with a worried expression, as if internally warring with himself.

“I–no,” he whispers after a moment, tearing his gaze away from me with a guilty expression. My deep-seated curiosity takes hold as I watch a wash of emotions cross his face, “I would like that very much.”

“O-okay,” I whisper suspiciously. 

Before I can ask what burdens him, he pulls me to my tent and patiently waits for me to lie comfortably on my bedroll. What ensues feels less intimate than usual, and more of a formality. I let my questions die on my lips, chalking up his rigidity to the earlier confession he laid at my feet when I had visited him in his tent. I only wished he were comfortable and happy. He laps eagerly at the blood he pulls from my veins, taking his fill.

Once he was finished, he placed reassuring kisses along the puncture wounds that marked my  throat as his. The camp had fallen quiet outside my tent, my companions choosing to rest their weary eyes on this early evening. 

“Do you mind if I linger, until you find rest,” Astarion asks, a glimpse of vulnerability flashes across his sharp features.

“I would love nothing more,” I whisper, relieved. I quickly change into my bedclothes, Astarion’s eyes lingering on my form as I slip into something more comfortable. 

I slide into my bedroll and Astarion pulls me in close, nuzzling his head into the crook of my shoulder. I wrap my arms tightly around him, lazily running my fingers through his silver curls with one hand and tracing words into the cold flesh of his back with the other, careful not to touch his sensitive scars.

“I could stay like this forever,” I admit into his well-manicured curls, his scent comforting me beyond reprieve. 

Astarion lets out a tortured groan and holds me tighter, “Me too,” he finally confesses, “Me too, my love.”

His embrace eventually lulls me into a deep, dreamless slumber. His proximity stirred a deep sense of comfort within me that only reveals itself when he is near. 

I did not feel as he carefully slipped into the night.

Beams of sunlight filter through the tent, bathing me in its gilded illumination. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, rolling over reaching out for Astarion. My hand lands on the empty bedroll. I frown, wishing he had stayed through the night.

Something savory wafts through the air and I can hear the sizzle of meat in a pan over the fire. Even as the inviting aroma assaults my senses, something stirs in the morning air. The camp is unusually quiet. By now, I should hear the excited lilt of Karlach’s voice–she was always a morning person. I should hear Gale delighting in telling stories of Waterdeep. I should hear Lae’zel sharpening her weapons, or Shadowheart reprimanding someone for being too reckless during battle. At the very least I should hear Astarion, his voice dripping with disdain at the breakfast we gorge ourselves on each morning, or the playful complaints of our current accommodations–sleeping in the dirt like commoners when there was a perfectly accommodating establishment in the Lower City. 

Instead, silence creeps through my tent threatening to swallow me whole. Something stirs in the air, reminiscent of the dread I felt last night before Astarion approached me. 

I quickly gather myself before exiting the tent, not even concerned with changing into day clothes. Immediately I see Halsin across camp, whispering to a huddle of companions. Their hushed tones not quite reaching my ears.

“What’s going on,” I immediately felt panic rise in my throat.

All the companions fall silent as they whip their heads towards me. I immediately note Astarion is not among them. But that wasn’t unusual. Their behavior, however, was.

The companions stared at me momentarily before falling into their usual routine ignoring the suspicious glare I sent their way like daggers in their backs.

“Good morning, Tav. You must be famished! Come grab yourself a plate. You look like you need sustenance,” Gale rambles. I watched him carefully but headed towards the fire anyway, the remnants from Astarion’s feeding last night left me feeling light-headed still.

I sit silently as I eat. The companions were careful in my presence, offering me kind words as if to distract me from something. Their diversion was obvious. I leave my food half-finished behind as I stomp towards Halsin. He watches me approach, his face unreadable but his eyes guarded.

“What the hell is going on, Halsin?” I demand, “Why is everyone acting so strangely?” I cock my hip to the side and cross my arms over my chest waiting for an explanation. 

“Nothing slips through the cracks with you, my heart,” he laughs. It doesn’t reach his eyes and I know he is hiding something. 

“Quit stalling, Halsin,” I snap. My temper was burning on a short fuse this morning, and even though I felt bad for snapping at Halsin, who has done nothing but show kindness and patience towards me, he was obviously keeping something from me.

“Perhaps, we should go to your tent and talk,” he places a large hand on the small of my back, but I whip away from him.

“No. We will talk here. Tell me, what is going on?” The camp falls quiet and alerts me that everyone, aside from me, knows what is happening.

Halsin falters, and I look around the camp searching for something out of place. What has made them so worried?

“Tav,” Halsin whispers with careful explication, “Astarion is gone.”

His words envelope me, and I stare in disbelief as they swirl around in my head. “Gone? What does that mean?”

He sighs and refuses to meet my gaze, “He left.”

Darkness threatens to overtake my vision as his words settle in the pit of my stomach like a stone falling to the bottom of a lake.

I spin on my heels and tear through Astarion’s tent. The emptiness that stares back at me feels like a slap in the face. I feel my breath quicken, threatening to send me into overdrive until I’m hyperventilating.

I storm out of his tent, “Where?” I whisper, my fists involuntarily balling at my sides as I try to control the bubbling anger that threatens to spill over into unbridled rage. All I can see is red.

Halsin walks towards me cautiously, the whole company trailing behind him with worried expressions painted across their faces, “My heart–”

“WHERE?” I yell, all patience evaporates from my body.

Halsin quietly pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and hands it to me slowly. I snatch it and unfold it, scared of what I might read.

I stared at his elegant handwriting, unable to soak in the words that stared back at me. This tells me nothing other than Astarion was gone. He had intentionally left. But for what purpose?

I fold the note and head to my tent, quickly changing into clothes more suitable for travel. I need to take a walk.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

I spent the first couple of nights quietly scouting out the Szarr palace, watching as guards came and went. I hadn’t seen any of my brothers and sisters since I arrived at my discreet hiding place. I knew the city like the back of my hand, having spent years watching the city grow even when my purpose had stayed the same. 

“Your only purpose is to lure back pretty things for your Master, boy,” Cazador’s words ricochet through my skull, “By any means necessary. Let them use you, gain their trust with your pretty words and face.”

I try to shake the words from my mind, but arriving on his doorstep only heightened the centuries of memories and torment. Long nights chained in the kennels with nothing but dead rats to sate my appetite flit through my mind. The painful bite of the whip as it bit into my flesh. My screams echoing through the palace, feeding the egos of my captors. 

Your screams sound the sweetest.

I knew that returning to this godsforsaken place would be a painful reminder of what once was, but it was more difficult to face alone than I had previously planned. I caught myself on several occasions turning my head, thinking Tav was standing next to me–a habit that I had become more than accustomed to.

I try to shake my thoughts from Tav. I cannot imagine how angry she must be with me. If I dwell on it too long, I will abandon all control and run back to her with pleas of forgiveness falling from my lips.

I checked my inventory one last time, having stockpiled supplies, potions, and weapons. I was ready. I slip in, undetected, having done this thousands of times before–but never with murder on my mind.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

The nights were cold and agonizing. I could not sleep. My mind retraced our last day together. Something in Astarion’s demeanor had shifted after he visited the fortune teller. What had the witch said to him? I was almost certain that was the pivotal moment when things changed. 

The day had gone by in a blur. I stormed from camp and walked through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, searching for a glimpse of my silver-haired vampire. My urges thrummed in my chest and diabolical whispers filled my ears–my anger igniting their hunger.

I interrogated as many people as I could–barkeeps, guards, and merchants. Some required a knife to the throat to cooperate. I was perpetually having to cool my blood and ignore thoughts of maiming during their interrogation. I scared even myself at times. However, no one had captured a glimpse of Astarion. I shouldn’t be surprised; he had perfected the art of slipping undetected through the city streets for centuries.

By the time I returned to camp empty-handed the first night, I was exhausted. Gale tried to push a plate of food in my hands, but I was too high-strung to eat. Halsin was persistent in checking on me as I lay in my tent while I tried to push down the tears that threatened to spill. I was on the precipice of shattering completely.

Then the anger started to settle in. I numbly traced the puncture wounds that marred my neck. The only evidence that Astarion still existed. I was angry at him for leaving. For drinking from my neck and lying with me in my tent before slipping into the night–never to be seen.

I was angry that he left without a clue as to where he was going. I could not help but wonder if he was going to face Cazador. But it didn’t make sense. He was adamant that he needed my help to face his old master. What would push him to go back? I was not sure I wanted to find out.

The yawning breadth of despair sits like a cavern where my heart once beat with elation in his presence. I was not sure how much longer I could entertain thoughts of him pulled back under Cazador’s control. Images of Astarion’s limp body under the Szarr palace plagued my thoughts. What if he had been captured? What if Cazador had sacrificed him and completed the ritual? But why would Astarion willingly stroll back into his own torment? I knew the answer. He wouldn’t. But the witch–she knew something.

After a restless night pacing through camp, I headed out on my own to the Circus of the Last Days, refusing the company of my companions. The witch would divulge what she knew. She was the only lead I had. I would force it from her if I had to.

My heart sank when I saw her tent was absent. The merchants that had sat on either side of her said she had packed her things and left just the day before. I grip the hilt of my dagger, anger surging through my veins as whispers of murder rang in my ears. I knew I was treading a dangerous path. My anger had become untethered, and my murderous nature boiled just below the surface, yearning to break free.

After long hours of wandering the streets, staking out the Szarr palace, and harassing people in the street, I return yet again empty-handed back to camp.

“My heart,” Halsin pulls me into a hug, brushing the hair from my face, “I know you are worried about him. I am too. But you must take care of yourself. You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You are out all day long. Let me care for you.”

The past two days I had been drowning in my own guilt over the way I had snapped at Halsin. But my anger and determination to find Astarion overpowered any rational thought. 

“The thought of living normally… Taking care of myself… feels wrong when he is out there somewhere,” Halsin gently runs his fingers through my tangled hair, trying his best to comfort me. “Why?” I choke, “Why would he leave? I don’t understand.” A tear slips from my eyes, and I can no longer hold back my despair. I cried into Halsin’s shoulder. My sobs echoed through the camp. I didn’t care who witnessed it. 

Halsin continues to comfort me. He helps me slip into my night clothes and brushes my hair, ushering me to put something in my stomach. I nibbled on a small piece of Waterdhavian cheese, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. I realize that all the luxuries of life–all the magic that one could find in the small mundane things, such as the taste of food or the vibrant colors of the city, did not matter if Astarion was not there to experience it with me.

Halsin brewed me some tea, promising that it would help me sleep. He offers to stay with me, but I regrettably turn him away, electing to be alone with my thoughts. With my despair.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

It was surprisingly easy to clear the main floor of Cazador’s palace. I took special pleasure in killing Godey, one of my main tormentors aside from Cazador. His screams echoed against the kennel walls, his empty threats silenced once and for all. 

I stood in the middle of the kennels trying to regain my composure. The ghosts that once taunted me in this room had been suddenly silenced. Their whispers effectively cut short. I remove the key to the chapel from the pile of bones that had once been Godey and make my way back to the main floor, cutting through all who stood in my path.

The humans that served Cazador in the hopes that they might one day become his spawn whimper pathetically as I slice through them without a second thought. The nocturnal horde that Cazador had amassed was no match for the centuries of rage that I had unleashed. I wore their blood like a badge of honor. A trophy of my revenge. 

But there was only one person whose blood I cared about at this moment–Cazador’s.

I pass through his study until I find the hidden lift that would descend me into hell. I steeled myself, knowing I would come face-to-face with the people whose trust I betrayed. It was one thing to prepare myself to face their inevitable wrath and suffering, but it was entirely different to witness with my own eyes.

Their vermillion glares pierced me from the other side of their gilded cages. I recognized their faces. They did not deserve this. It was all my fault.

Tav’s voice creeps into my mind unbidden, “You had no choice. This isn’t your fault. It’s his.” 

I pull the tarot card from my pocket and stare at the letters, deciphering its hidden meaning. The reminder that Tav was back at camp, hoping that I would return to her arms only strengthened my resolve. This card was meant to serve as a reminder. It reminded me of why I was doing this. It wasn’t for me. It was for us.

“I’m going to kill Cazador and free you all,” my voice was full of resolve. My previous targets stared back at me, unmoving. I don’t expect them to trust me. Not until it was done.

The smell of blood and death reverberated through the air, weighing heavy on my thoughts. I felt its influence on my mind as I traversed deeper into the underground chapel. My thoughts no longer felt like my own. The thrum of power hurtled through the air like static electricity, further warping my mind into something else–something I deeply wanted to avoid.

Finally, I reach the large ornate door leading to the ritual site. I could feel the power hitting me in undulating waves, the smell of death threatening to send me into a violent frenzy.

I take a deep breath, touching the pocket that stowed the tarot card. I let thoughts of Tav give me the strength and bravery that I desperately needed. I finally push open the doors.

“Is it true? Has our prodigal son returned?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

Last night was one of the most difficult. I had not been parted from Astarion this long since our first meeting. Memories of his cool hand tracing lines in my skin, the taste of his lips, the intimate moments we shared with only the moon as a witness addled my mind. Halsin’s tea sat untouched in the corner of my tent. 

I was scared to sleep–scared of the dreams that would play like a reel in my mind. I wasn’t ready to face those quite yet. A part of me still held out hope that he would return, begging to be held in my arms like the last night we spent together. His cool skin comforted me in ways that no one else could supply. I knew I was chasing false hopes.

How could I surge forward, eager to save the world when mine had just been decimated. Selfish thoughts flitted through my mind, wishing all of Faerun could suffer like I was. The thoughts scared me. They were foreign to me–at least the new me. I felt the thorny tendrils of my past life gripping me tightly, seeping through my veins like the poison of a viper. The lonely Bhaalspawn I once was lingering behind the threshold, threatening to break the fragile barrier that I had worked so hard to build.

Astarion made me realize that all she had needed was love–a tender touch. Something to care for. But that had been ripped from my grasp, and the shattered girl I once was slowly began to reveal herself once again.

The camp was active, but I was too depressed to leave my bed. I knew that if I continued to tear apart the city looking for evidence that Astarion still existed would turn up nothing. He had vanished, just as quickly as he had come. 

My eyelids are heavy with exhaustion. My limbs ache from lack of sleep and food. My eyes close against my will, and I fall into a dark slumber filled with dreams of Astarion.

A commotion in camp wakes me from my sleep, images of Baldur’s Gate flooded with blood and viscera rescind from behind my eyes as I try to take hold of my surroundings.

Outside, I hear urgent voices. Shadowheart is yelling out a list of potions and ingredients for healing, “Astarion, stay with us.”

All the lingering effects of sleep drain from my body when I hear his name. I scramble out of my tent, tripping over my own feet. I look up to find Astarion collapsed on the outskirts of our camp, bloodied and bruised.

A strangled cry escapes my lips as I run towards him. No. no. Don’t die.

I’m hovering over Astarion, clasping his hand in mine. His labored breathing is shallow and painful.

“Astarion,” I cry, choking on my own sobs.

His eyes open slowly, and he squeezes my hand weakly, “D-darling. I-I’m terribly sorry,” he sputters before his eyes fall closed again and his arm goes limp.

“Shadowheart,” I cry, panic rising in my throat.

“Let me work,” she murmurs, casting restoration and healing spells, her hands working methodically.

Halsin wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me away. I fight against him, thrashing violently, “No,” I scream.

“Let her work, Tav, she can heal him,” I hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“LET. ME. GO.” I scream, maneuvering out of his grip and falling to my knees beside Astarion. Halsin paces behind me, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to stay calm for my sake. But I can tell he is just as concerned.

“Astarion, please,” I whimper, running a hand through his hair, ignoring the blood that paints his curls red and pink, “Stay with me. Don’t… Don’t leave me again.” 

Shadowheart works throughout the day, patching up any visible wounds and casting spell after spell. Finally, as the sun begins to slip from the sky, she announces that he will be fine. But he has fallen into a deep rest so that his body has time to heal.

I don’t leave his side for three days, counting his breaths and wiping the sweat that dampens his brow. I whisper encouraging words to him when others aren’t around, coaxing him to wake up. All of my anger was abandoned and forgotten. Halsin stayed with us as much as he could, only leaving to eat and sleep.

The third night, Halsin exits the tent to catch up on sleep. The bags under his eyes grow heavier with each passing day. He forces tea into my hands, practically begging me to sleep. I promise that I will try. I give him a soft kiss and whisper apologies for my decorum these past few days. I felt like an awful partner. Halsin waves off my concerns, showing nothing but understanding and kindness. He knew what Astarion meant to me.

I curl up next to Astarion, careful not to touch his wounds. It looked like he had suffered quite a bit. I saw the healing scars of knife wounds. Some looked like he had been stabbed while others were large gashes that marred his body. Even still, large bite marks and burns were scabbing over, only just staring to heal. My thoughts turn over in my head, wondering where he had gone. I felt deep down I already knew the answer.

I gulp down Halsin’s tea and close my eyes, listening to Astarion’s rhythmic breathing until I finally fall asleep. 

I’m not sure how long I was out before I felt him stirring next to me. I hear a grunt as cool arms snake around my waist and pull me close. My eyes spring open and I am met with the most beautiful sight I could pray for.

Astarion’s vermillion eyes stare back at me, something haunting lingers behind them.

“Astarion,” I jump. A mixture of surprise and excitement touches my voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling me back to his body, “I-I’m so sorry, darling.” 

I watch him as sadness and relief surface in his features. “I have so much to tell you.”

I nuzzle my head into his chest, tears spilling from my eyes, “You need to rest, Astarion,” I say choking back my sobs, “Reserve your energy, please,” I beg, “You can explain later.” I mesh my body with his, not wanting to ever be parted from him again.

He chuckles lightly beside me, his quiet laughter rumbling in his chest. He painfully leans forward to plant a kiss on my head.

“This cannot wait, darling,” he murmurs through painful breaths.

I lift my head to meet his loving gaze.

“Tav–I. I’ve had a lot of time to think. But the only thoughts that occupy my mind are thoughts of you,” he pauses to catch his breath, “You have taken hold of my heart–my soul. There is nothing–nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I–I love you,” he breathes, “and I do not want a future if it does not include you.”

He slowly and painfully pulls a card from the pockets of his bloodied discarded trousers. “You gave me the strength to save myself. I will never forget it.”

I take the card from him and study its blood splattered image. The words The Lovers stare back at me, promising a future that I yearned for more than anything.

“I love you too Astarion,” I breathe after a moment, cradling myself against his body once again, “Don’t ever leave me like that again,” I whisper into his skin, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I promise,” he whispers before falling back into a deep sleep. His breathing slows to a steady rhythm.

And for a moment, I swear I could hear the soft beating of his heart.

[chaoticcollectivestrawberry]

They changed the kiss animations, so there went my evening!

Former animation

New animation (excuse the blood; there were bandits to kill)

The way they look at each other makes me giddy.

[dragonsfictavern]

Reminiscent Nightmares

Astarion Ancunin x Durge!Reader

a/n: I am consumed with soft wordless sex. Total physical communication showcasing a couples intimate knowledge of each other. I love I love I love.

summary: After a nightmare of past pains you’ve inflicted, Astarion is right there to comfort you. While you feel as though you can’t talk about it, Astarion will be there for you in other ways until you can. He will always be there for you.

warning: MDNI +18 make outs, groping, soft p in v sex, clitoral stimulation. Nice and simple.

word count: 2K

Your brows furrow, shaking your head, even as you lay in a deep sleep. Squirming around in your bed a whimper escapes you as visions— no memories, whirl through your mind in a torturous loop. Pools of blood come in waves, crashing against the walls and flooding the vision of your dream. Endless faces pass the view of your eye, being presented with them all before they fall off to the side and another takes its place.

Kill after kill you’re reminded of every single one. Your mind not allowing you to forget about a second of the pain you inflicted on others. An unending stream of the damage you caused and the torture you brought upon others. All of it now coming back to you.

By the time you’ve gone through them all, you’re whimpering, tears streaming down your cheeks even though you remain asleep. Just when you think it’s over, when all is done, when you’ll finally be able to gain some release… one more head slowly floats through the river of blood.

The head slowly comes to a stop and the face that greets you is none other than Astarion’s.

You scream and a second later Astarion is shaking you awake. Your eyes shoot open and scatter around as you try and take in your surroundings, your breath is heavy with panic, and you can’t stop squirming as you feel your skin crawl. The idea of Astarion being gone, and worse by your hand, haunts your every waking thought.

When Astarion gently cups your jaw, bringing your gaze to his, you cry out at the sight of him, more tears streaming down your cheek. Astarion shakes his head, quietly shushing you in hopes to calm you down. Your tears seem unable to stop as your eyes move over his every beautiful feature. Your hands reach up, taking his face in your hold. Thumbs rubbing over smooth cheeks. You feel him. He is here. He is unharmed.

Your eyes catch onto your hands and you know that he is safe. He is safe in your embrace. You aren’t like that anymore. You don’t do those things anymore. Neither of you do. Ever since everything ended and you’ve both settled into your new lives in Baldur’s Gate. You would never hurt him, not then nor now. While there were some close calls you have full control. You’re positive.

Nothing will ever harm him. Not you or anyone. You two will spend your days protecting each other from whatever threat may come your way. You’re a team. You continue rotating through those thoughts, filling your mind with them as you inhale and exhale deeply, meeting Astarion’s worried gaze once more. His free arm moves around your waist and he brings you impossibly closer. The feeling of his body against yours furthers your comfort.

With time you eventually calm down, your breath slowing down and the panic dissipating. When fully relaxed against his body, Astarion’s eyes furrow in a silent question. You blink back, not wanting to even think about it right now. Not wanting to think about anything. So you lightly shake your head at him and his features drop just as quickly as his question, understanding you immediately.

Instead he uses his hold in your jaw to gently guide your lips to his, continuing to provide you with closeness and comfort. You inhale sharply through your nose as your lips collide. A small moan escapes you as you lean into his touch, lips simply connecting for a moment. But you both easily fall into a gentle rhythm as your lips caress each other lovingly.

Astarion’s hand slides into your hair and he uses it to pull you in closer, groaning as his mouth devours yours. Both of you quickly become swept up in the easy dance of your mouth’s movements. You whimper, everything Astarion being the only thing you can focus on. The only thing you can think about.

When he slowly brings you back down on the bed, hand on the back of your head for extra cushion, you moan again, flicking your tongue along the seam of his lips. Astarion rolls on top of you, legs cradling your hips as he opens his mouth to you. You both grin as you take turns teasing each other with your tongues. His actions meant to distract and comfort and you weren’t ashamed to say they were working.

Astarion slowly works to undress you both, taking his time, savoring the taste of your tongue on his. Only separating when you have to and then his lips are crashing back down on yours. You moan, softly pulling him down once he’s finished, your body shuddering to feel his cold skin brush along the heat of yours. The contrast sending sparks up your spine.

Your body arches into his as you feel his hand slowly making its way down your form. The sensation of his mouth and hands continuing to drive all worrying thoughts out of your head. Astarion takes his time with you, wanting to feel every groove and curve that makes up your body. His hand slips between you both once he reaches your hips.

A hiss escapes him and you feel his breath ghost across your face. Your brows furrow and you whimper, hips jolting up, knowing his next movements precisely. A moment later you feel the crown of his cock parting your folds. Your eyes snap open only to meet Astarion already looking down at you. A soft expression on his face as he gages your reactions, always making sure you’re ok. You do the same, reaching a hand to touch his cheek. You bring his forehead to rest against yours, taking a moment to connect with him emotionally.

You gasp as he teases the hole of your sex and your heart skips a beat at the slight quirk of his mouth. Which only grows wider once he hears the way your pulse instinctively reacts to him. Your moans rip through the silence as Astarion pushes inside of you with ease. Your eyelids drop as you let out a whine, the feeling of him entering you has your body filling with warmth.

Astarion easily moves straight into a languid pace, his length gliding through your wet heat as he works you open, stuffing you full of him. Your hands slide into his hair, foreheads remaining connected as he thrusts inside you. Both of you maintaining eye contact. The intensity of emotion in his gaze takes your breath away. He wants to be here for you. To look after you. And though you may not be ready to talk, he is right here to comfort you.

Your nose nuzzles against his in a silence appreciation, your chest blooming with even more love and devotion for this man. Astarion grunts, a low rumble in his chest at your sign of affection, before picking up his pace only slightly. You sigh at the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, head falling back slightly as hips roll into yours. Soon your body falls into rhythm with his, pushing back against every pump into your core.

A soft cry leaves you as he hits your G-spot. Arms tightening around him, you’re desperate to feel him close. Astarion’s hands squeeze at your waist while his cock leisurely pumps its way inside you. He nips at your jaw gently, wanting your attention back on him. Your breath stutters as your hips meet once again in a quiet smack. Tilting your head up you meet his gaze and his lips are immediately connecting with yours, causing you to groan.

Heat swirls at the bottom of your belly as you feel your orgasm begin to grow. Your hands softly play with Astarion’s curls as you kiss. Your lips moving in tandem with the steady rhythm of his pulsing length. The feeling sends your heart racing and your skin tingling. An easy passion falls over you both like a thick cloud, blocking away the rest of the world and all that remains of you and Astarion.

You whimper against his lips, mind growing hazy as you’re lulled by his soft lips and the occasional nip of his fangs. Your nerves are on fire, your entire body prickling over as you savor each time he fills you. With the building pressure within you, you know you’re getting closer and closer to your climax. Astarion groans, feeling the way your muscles tense underneath him, feeling how your body radiates heat those moves through him and drives him with a need he’s only ever truly felt with you.

His hands caress your thighs, soothing out the slight twitching occurring as you find yourself just on the edge. Then a hand is moving to the apex of your thighs, his diligent fingers quickly finding your clit. Your jaw drops slightly and he uses this to his advantage, tongue slipping into your mouth to brush along yours. Your body jolts into his touch and you melt against the slow circles applied to your bundle of nerves.

It only takes a few more soothing strokes before your walls are fluttering around his cock and you’re falling off the edge, your release coating his cock. You moan loudly and Astarion swallows it all down, mouth latching down on your tongue and sucking lightly. Your body shudders in response, making the slight shaking of your body all the more worse as your orgasm moves through you in gripping shockwaves.

You clench down on Astarion, not even aware of your actions as your release consumes you. Astarion grunts, his stomach clenching and with a few stuttering thrusts, he sinks down inside you before spilling himself. Your eyes roll back into your head and you gently grind against him, milking him for every last drop.

Both of you rock into each other slowly, helping each other ride out your highs. Your kisses grow lazy, mouths smacking together, unable to stay away for longer than a few moments. Your eyes flutter as you desperately try and stay awake. Astarion watches you, his own eyes half-lidded, a storm of powerful emotions brewing in the depths of his red gaze. Yet you don’t back away from it, instead lulled into its embrace.

Astarion rolls you both onto your sides once you’ve both calmed down. He keeps you connected as he draws you tight against his chest. You breathe deeply, your body relaxed, contentment now coursing through you as you lay in Astarion’s arms. Both of you protected. Both of you safe. You slowly begin to fall asleep, grateful for your love and the way he flawlessly has come to understand you.

A moment later you feel a hand rest on the back of your head and your body jolts a bit, the touch waking you up more. Astarion shushes you gently, leaning in to press calming kisses across your brow. You hum and snuggle back in closer to him, accepting every kind of comfort he’s been giving you since your dream rousted you two up. It was only when he started to kiss your forehead did you realize you still remain partially tense. But with his lips on your skin your body completely melts into his and you fall into a dreamless sleep without issue.

Astarion stays by your side, not wanting to get up or move away from you. Watching over you as you rest and hoping the night passes by without anything else waking you. He knows you will talk to him once the morning comes. Share your concerns and let him be there for you in that way as well. He will always be there for you so long as you wish him and doesn’t mind having to prove so. Looking down at you and thinking this all through, he can’t help but lean in and nuzzle into your hair. He closes his eyes, for even if he won’t really sleep, he’ll bask in the act if it means lying with you.

[aristenfromwarsaw]

My first gifs I have ever made and I love them ❤️. I wanna show Astarion's kiss from different perspectives ❤️.

[pursuitseternal]

“𝓛𝓪 𝓥𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲”🌹💙

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢��� 𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 - Romance of the Rose

By @dafna-winchester ✨❤️ [thank you so much for this masterpiece, a legend in fantasy art, muah]

Lord Astarion x Merelind (Durge)

Based on the original art “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”

While Merelind doesn’t have her own fic, I use her for my headcanon Tav/Durge/Consort for reader insert fics…

Enjoy the following:

“Bites in the Night Series:” Spawn x Reader

“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” A!A x Reader

“The Rogue You Were:” A!A x Reader

[baldursgrave69]

Nose Kisses

This is pure, self-indulgent fluff, I could NOT stop thinking about this scenario.

Summary: Astarion has become used to Agnes' little gesture's of affection. When she leaves camp without giving him a little kiss on his nose, he starts to wonder whether he has done something wrong.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 584

Tags: fluff, pure adorable fluff

While writing this I was listening to: Bloom by The Paper Kites

Find me on Ao3 here

The first time she did it, Astarion froze. It was a simple gesture, just a little kiss on the nose in passing. She probably did it without thinking, but it made Astarion’s cheeks feel warm. It was such a kind, loving, simple action that it caught the vampire off guard. Each time she did it, it gave him that warm feeling again. It became a routine of theirs, every time she would pass by him or leave the area he was in, she’d place a simple kiss on the tip of his nose. Karlach teased him about it, but he didn’t care. It made him feel loved unlike anything else.

“You’re a big softie at heart, aren’t you fangs?” Karlach teased watching Astarion smiled to himself, Agnes had just left to find camp supplies and planted a soft kiss to his nose. Astarion’s grin immediately turned to a scowl as he looked over at Karlach. “Oh come on soldier, it’s adorable,” she laughed, clapping a hand to his back.

The vampire found himself looking forward to those little kisses from Agnes throughout the day. She had been so patient with him, showing him how much she cared through those little acts of affection. She never pushed him, never asked for more. She was perfectly content to kiss him in passing and just be in his presence. It was overwhelming for Astarion, at times. How much she cared for him, for who he was not who he pretended to be.

“Star, We’re heading to talk to Jaheira, I’ll be back,” Agnes said, walking up to Astarion with Halsin trailing behind her. He was sat by his tent with a book in hand. He smiled up at her, patiently waiting for her to kiss the tip of his nose. She placed a hand on his cheek, shot him a smile and turned on her heel. The vampire had closed his eyes, leaning forward to prime his nose for her lips. Once her hand left his cheek, he opened his eyes to realize she had walked away. Astarion froze for a moment, his hand coming up to touch his nose. What was this? Had he done something? Was she upset with him?

Astarion’s mind began to race, playing back every interaction with Agnes that day. They hadn’t spent much time together, she insisted he take a break for the day while she ran around Last Light trading and gathering supplies for their journey to Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps she was upset with him for… something. Astarion set down his book, standing up and pacing about his tent. His mind was so occupied with replaying every interaction that he didn’t realize Agnes approaching him.

“Love,” she said, her hand on her hips as she watched Astarion pacing. He turned to her, startled by her voice. He crossed his arms, frowning in her direction. “Yes?” He snapped, tapping his foot. “I forgot something,” she said with a grin, closing the gap between them. “What?” He asked in confusion. Agnes placed her hands on the grumpy vampire’s face and stood up on her toes. She placed a light kiss to the tip of his nose, pressing his cheeks together. Astarion froze, looking down at Agnes. “You… forgot?” He said, something he hadn’t considered. As Agnes went to pull away, Astarion pulled her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear before releasing her from his grasp. Agnes chuckled, bopping his nose with her finger before heading back out.

[andauril]

I just received this absolutely GORGEOUS commission of my girl Silaestra and Astarion from the wonderful @dafna-winchester and I'm losing my mind.

I love this so much, I'm kicking and screaming and crying tears of joy!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Words aren't enough to express just how much I adore this piece!

[ambimoon]

👀Commission for @meeshrox of their fic All It Cost Me. Full version on my BlueSky

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (16) - I Could Show You Tonight

GUYS. IT'S FINALLY TIME!!! 🖤🖤 I will not yap too hard- I'll add an author's note at the end of the chapter in AO3, but I'm going to let the beautiful commission from dovah-vakarian on bsky (above and below) speak for itself!!! Absolutely NAILED the Twilight meadow vibes I was going for- so THANK YOU ❤❤ I've got some sweet little screenshots below too- thank you all for being here! This is a big one and I'm really excited for you all to read it ❤ Excerpt under the cut along with songs for this chapter!

SPECIAL THANKS: To @pinkberrytea and @verbenaa who both took time out of their busy lives to help beta read and vibe check this chapter!! I love them both so much- they've been the best, with such lovely advice, and I honestly don't know if I'd get this chapter out without them. Thank you both so so much 💕 If you haven't, check out their amazing fics- they're both excellent, talented, wonderful writers and amazing people 🫂

WARNINGS UPDATED

✧˖ Release Schedule: Check Masterlist! ˖✧

Summary: As the tiefling party draws to a close, Ofelia finds herself drawn towards the vampire that's been avoiding her all day. Caught between the impulse to give in and the warning that not everything is as it seems, his charms win out and coax her to him. Wine-stained kisses, witty banter, tender touches, and deeply seated feelings leave Astarion dizzy as his plan unfolds before him- all he has to do is reach out and take what's his.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Durge

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore. Canon-typical romance scenes and smut. (tags updated in AO3)

Word Count: 8,367

AO3

✧˖Tag List: @khywren @allymcfee @pinkberrytea @beewilko

Song Recs:

“I’ve been waiting since the moment we met.” He dips to press his nose against where her jaw hinges to her skull and she almost faints at the rush of arousal that flashes through her when he growls in her ear. His mouth ghosts over her neck and a shiver runs down her spine as his cool breath fans out against her skin. “To have you… to taste you. No one else.” She bites down hard on her cheek to suppress a disappointed whimper when he pulls back, leaving her craving his lips with only inches between them.

“Astarion…” The words die on her tongue. Her sudden emotions are sobering, the high and anger she’d been floating on simmering into raw longing. God… she really is so tired of fighting. Tired of it all… She just wants to give in, reach out and kiss- so starved for touch that it’s almost debilitating… craving something, anything, anyone for so long.

Someone to love. Someone to care.

She blinks, eyes dropping to his lips as she feels her resolve crumble into nothing. His gaze mimics hers, drifting down to her mouth, their bodies swaying closer as she closes her eyes.

“Then taste me.” If it hurts later, then at least she can say she wasn’t a coward.

[anda-arts]

“Oh, darling, I never doubted it in the slightest. Your heartbeat already gave that away.” He sounded quite smug when he said that; that smile was still on his face, pretty and too perfect. “There is a spark between us. A connection. We could explore it together, if you want …” “As flattered as I am …” And he was, maddeningly, right what her heart was concerned. To deny that he had a certain effect on her would be pointless now. “… if this is because I helped you kill the hunter, then I’ll have to decline.” “You are a sweetheart, my dear, but I assure you that the hunter is more of an excuse than anything.” Oddly, she believed it. This was far from the first time that he’d used honeyed words and pretty smiles for her. And while Silaestra doubted that his intentions began and ended with wanting to bed her … He’d stepped closer to her. So close that she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted to. Close enough for her to smell his cologne, the blend of bergamot, rosemary and finely aged brandy. Her throat felt dry. Her heart was racing. There was no way he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on her. “Then what are you waiting for?”, she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Instead of an answer, he leaned in and kissed her.

(from my fanfic "Mosaic of Broken Chains", Chapter 6).

Support me on Ko-Fi or Patreon

Commission Info

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

[ancuninfiles]

Lithium Pt. 4

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

9.3k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Astarion nearly walks in on Ronnie during a very private moment. Mortified, Ronnie throws her toy under a pillow, pulling up her pants and… letting him into her apartment, as he's found a better way to restrain her this time.

Oh... and Ronnie makes Astarion watch Twilight: New Moon

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, cunnilingus, shibari, bondage, TW domestic violence (not with Astarion and Ronnie), roleplay, dirty-talk

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

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

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes: CONTENT WARNING for this chapter, but Astarion will always be a softie :3 I promise.

9.3k words. Like Comfort™, This one has been sitting in my files—over 90% done—for a long time. I guess sometimes I just agonize over how to finish a chapter... it's like... my motif or something LOL.

I really got my Gonzo on with the beginning of this chapter. I was ✧*̥˚𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘵˚*̥✧...

Anyways, to the few people who like to read fucked up shit like this, enjoy <3.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

꧁꧂

The dildo: an object shaped like an erect penis used for sexual stimulation—according to the Oxford Dictionary. 

—Boring, basically useless phallus. Does nothing. 

   —Good for nothing. 

      —Takes thirty minutes to get me off; If I do at all.

   —Fucking sucks. 

—Waste of my Godsdamned time.

...

Jen had taken Ronnie to a sex shop when she first got together with Alfira, suggesting it would "spice things up". However, the extra "spiciness" became unnecessary once Alfira’s trachea nearly collapsed in Ronnie’s grip.

It happened in Jen's bed, the morning after one of her parties. While Jen was making breakfast, Alfira and Ronnie had taken over her bed. They'd been intimate before—always at Jen’s place. Although they weren't exclusive, their relationship was certainly developing. At that time, Ronnie had only ever been a danger to herself—her violent outbursts occurring solely in the privacy of her own flat. She didn't yet know what she was capable of.

From what Ronnie could recall of the incident, one moment she was giving head, and the next, she was on the floor of Jen's bedroom while Jen tried to calm Alfira down.

Apparently, Ronnie had straddled Alfira and was attempting to strangle her to death—her hands like a vice on her lover's neck. Alfira had been screaming, calling for help until her throat was seized. Jen barged in at the perfect time, put Ronnie in a headlock, and dragged her off Alfira.

Jen did the damage control—she let Alfira know that nobody would ever believe her and that if she told anyone, she would never be allowed at her house again. Shortly after that, Alfira was completely excommunicated from their “friend group"—if you could even call it that.

And it was true that nobody would've believed her. Ronnie was known to be a pacifist, even standing back, unable to form words and frozen in place as she watched Jen get into fights. Jen always said it was better that way so that Ronnie wouldn't get hurt.

Since that day, she hadn’t seen Alfira— hadn’t been able to apologise, get closure, or make amends. Nothing . She knew Jen was only trying to protect her, but the rot in Ronnie's stomach grew tenfold that day; not only from discovering the boundlessness of her violent ailment but also from the guilt of what she’d just done.

Remembering such things didn't aid in Ronnie's climax—or lack thereof. 

—Distractions

—So many distractions.

So she pulled the phallus from her top drawer, eyeing it with scepticism, knowing it would bring back bad memories. 

However, in it went.

It was a wretched pink silicone thing—a “rabbit” or something of that nature. Press a button, and it tickled the outside and undulated on the inside; both futile operations if you're too anxious to get off

—Fuck.

Trying to cum was a regular occurrence for Ronnie—at least once a week. She didn't care for porn—it was all made for men, so she relied on her own broken imagination.

Lately, her imagination brought her to Astarion; but with the thoughts of Astarion came the shame of wanting him, and, subsequently, the knowing that she'd never have him.

The cycle would repeat in circuits of two minutes or so, on and on for thirty minutes until she gave up or fruitlessly orgasmed on the wretched, pink, silicone phallus.

—Useless.

Not like sex is important, anyway. Sure, it felt good.

Well...

It felt great; but was it necessary? Certainly not.

Especially in regards to friendship—and she and Astarion were just friends… Barely friends.

—Just met.

   —Wretched friends.

      —Just kill me, already.

—Anyways...

Resisting the nymph would prove challenging; thankfully, it's extremely responsive to “no” and “stop”. 

But, likely, also very responsive to “fuck me” and “kiss me” and “spank me” and—

—Kill me... Maybe not that one...

Of course, Ronnie knew she was attractive, but her naked form was disfigured with jagged, protruding scars all over. She felt like a monster—her beleaguered skin only matching the sickness within.

Nothing a long-sleeved shirt and leggings couldn't hide—that is until you're spread open. Maybe then, the darkness would help, but eyes adjust eventually, and Ronnie would only be lying to herself if she thought otherwise.

She felt ill, her stomach lurching at times by simply staring at her own reflection. Other people surely would feel the same. The only reason she’d felt so comfortable being nude around Alfira was because Alfira has similar scars.

Yet, Astarion had seen her nude form and...

reverence, every time. Washing her like an expensive car, stitching her like a cherished doll, and touching her as if—

... as if she mattered to him, God knows why.

Well... maybe it was because he wanted her to kill his boss—however that would go down, she wasn’t sure.

She got the impression that he wanted to teach her how to win—how to cheat at poker in exchange for her assistance… as if she could control it. As if she wanted to “bask in gore” as he did.

—Gods... what a freak.

There are limitations to what a friend would do. Ronnie might kill for Jen if she asked—if she needed her to...

Jen would kill for Ronnie—without a doubt, or a second thought. That's what friends do—that's what Jen says.

But to build a friendship based on murder? Well... that was—

... different, to say the least. She'd come close before—to murder—but never succeeded. She never wanted to succeed.

She wanted a break: a drink.

꧁꧂

Movie night at Jen's place was the day after Friday afterparties, where Jen would invite some close friends to watch cheesy classics, horror, and comedy—but mostly horror.

Nocturne would sit on the couch with Jen and Wyll. Sometimes, others would join—the flatmates—but Ronnie sat in her own seat, away from the fray of intimacy, not speaking to anyone.

The movie night-goers were accustomed to this. They let her watch quietly in the corner because they were nice people —respectful adults. Jen wouldn't have it any other way, of course, lest they wish to be tossed in the teeming rain on their arses.

And so they sat with the TV as the only light source, eating popcorn and drinking vodka straight or mixed with anything.

A proper Saturday night—in recovery from Friday night. Jen's hand-me-down velvet chair more than sufficed as a routine seat. Nag champa incense burned on the coffee table, and tarot cards might be read later, as Jen was an avid believer in their prophecy.

This night’s movie was Twilight: a supposed romance about a vampire and a teenage girl who fall hopelessly in love with one another.

Bella, the main character, moved from Arizona to Washington to live with her dad in a small town called Forks. Shortly after, she met Edward, the aforementioned vampire who happens to sparkle in the sunlight.

Bella's eyes lit up upon seeing his glittering form, but Edward recoiled in shame at her admiration. “This is the skin of a killer, Bella,” he said.

Everyone in the room giggled when he said that, and Ronnie joined in the joviality, realising that it was indeed a very silly interaction between the two characters, considering the inoffensiveness of sparkles.

At one point, Edward seemingly teleported into Bella’s room where he watched her sleep, to which Wyll said, “That's just not right.”

It was discomforting to watch the choked-up vampire talk about how he wanted to kill Bella... just because he thought she was hot? And because he couldn't read her mind like he could with everyone else?

Perhaps he confused lust with hunger somewhere down the line. To Ronnie, craving chips felt quite different from horniness. However, they allegedly abstained from sex until marriage in the penultimate movie because Edward was too afraid of hurting Bella while shagging.

—Relatable. But as if marriage would make him less dangerous.

It could have made more sense, and the story could have been better, but Ronnie actually enjoyed it overall.

How wonderful it would be to be lifted from your mundane reality by a romance with a supernatural creature. Also, she related to Edward in the way that she, too, felt like a monster—always on edge, worried about being a danger to others.

That night, she slept in the spandrel as usual, only to be woken by the sound of plates smashing in the kitchen. Lae'zel—Jen's girlfriend—had stayed over, and their relationship was tumultuous, to say the least.

At times, they would almost seem like the perfect couple. Other times, however, they were at dire odds, and Lae'zel would hurt Jen in a myriad of ways.

“You think you're such a princess because Vic takes care of you. Some of us have experienced real hardship,” Lae'zel would say, but it was untrue.

Jen had been kicked out plenty of times, and she'd had to fuck for a place to rest her head at night. Vic was anything but merciful when it came to Jen, and it didn't help that she was her landlord, her boss, and a huge philanthropist to the hospital where her dad stayed.

Vic had kicked Jen out for a slew of unjust reasons, those being:

Not paying rent on time, but Vic hadn't sent Jen's pay that month.

Not cleaning up after her disgusting flatmates.

Jen struggling with addiction.

The list goes on, truly. Unfortunately, it was after these bouts of verbal and physical violence perpetrated by Vic and Lae'zel that Jen would spiral further into substance abuse. Ronnie had seen it many times—where Vic would leave after letting Jen know how “worthless” she was, or Lae'zel would slam the door after claiming that it was “over”; though she would always be back within a week with a box of cheap chocolates, apologising and claiming that she'd change.

“I love you to death,” Lae'zel would ominously exclaim, as if she'd be the one to end Jen.

Ronnie knew the look on Jen's face too well by this point—the pursed lips and wet eyes. Surely, her stoicism was crushing her throat. But there was no stopping her in her ascent to her bedroom, where she'd lock the door behind Ronnie, unwilling to accept any comforts—the type that she'd consistently given Ronnie. No , she'd dig her stash from under her bed and get to work, meaning: get as fucked up as needed to numb herself.

It often ended in Nox having to knock the door down, lest Jen drown in her own vomit or overdose on ketamine or whathaveyou. Vic and Lae'zel weren't aware of Jen's fragile disposition—or, at least it didn't seem that way, considering their unrelenting cruelty towards her. Jen would never tell them about what she'd done after they’d stormed out—it'd probably not make a difference, anyway.

Ronnie would wait outside Jen’s door, leaning her back on it as she sat on the ground. “Jen,” Ronnie would say, not knowing what to offer other than her presence. “Please, Jen.”

Jen would not respond. All Ronnie could hear were the rustling of bags, sounds of nasal insufflation, or the sharp exhales after swigs of liquor.

Narcan was kept in the "House of Grief” and it'd been used on Jen before. She always acted resentful when the ambulance showed, metaphorically pushing everyone away because she thought herself deceitful enough to make her friends believe that she was a cunt, after all. To which they would retort with a “nice try” sort of attitude.

— As if losing Jen: my cunt friend would be easier than losing Jen: my friend.

When she'd get out of the hospital, she'd essentially pretend that nothing ever happened—life went on like normal, and “I'm fine” became her two favourite words in the English language.

Cliché.

꧁꧂

Ronnie sat on her shabby couch, scrolling and scrolling. It was a Monday night, and she'd had the day off work. She'd prepped her meals, stretched, exercised, and cleaned her flat—it always becomes a wreck after a few days, but she usually manages to tidy once a week.

Behind the couch was the chipping-white-paint-covered beam and stool, then a blank space, then the kitchen where the ceiling light dimly illuminated almost the entirety of her basement flat, except for her bedroom and bathroom.

The leak dripped, and the mould on it grew every day. Ronnie wanted to get it fixed, but then she'd be alone with the handyman in her flat: a terrible idea, considering her history of violence.

It had been almost two weeks since the tavern and, of course, no sign of Astarion. Maybe he'd changed his mind about her, or maybe he simply got bored.

Ronnie… missed him. They never exchanged numbers, as neither Astarion nor Ronnie brought it up. She would have thought that he'd leave a piece of paper with it written down for her to see when she woke up at the tavern, at least, but no. Nothing . She thought it might be better that way because if she hadn’t scared him away yet with her problems, she'd surely scare him away with her eagerness. She'd have to make a constant effort to text him no more than once a day—at most.

Since the events at the tavern, Astarion had been on her mind more than was justifiable. It bordered on entirely obsessive—obsessed with countering the lustful thoughts, contemplating the meanings behind his words. What was the deal with his boss—was he some sort of mobster? And Astarion—what part did he really play in all of this?

Over the past two weeks, she had likely spent hours staring in her bathroom mirror, admiring her wound, pulled tight like a corset—although not too tight, of course. She would examine it up and down and run her fingers along the sides, feeling the slight burn of her swollen tissue. It felt almost as if the dissolving thread was Astarion himself, diving through her laceration and holding it together. She imagined herself tearing it open and reaching for her heart through her ribcage, handing it to him like a cat with a dead bird at his doorstep.

And then there was the fourteen hundred pounds he'd given her—she hadn’t spent it yet. She didn't know what to do with it.

—Maybe something for Jen.

Jen needed a new laptop—she was always complaining about hers glitching out, freezing, and crashing. So Ronnie browsed the web in search of just that.

It was amazing—the type of laptops one could buy with fourteen hundred pounds; but what brand would she want? Would she want a large screen or something more compact?

— Hmm... I'm bored.

But, out of her periphery starred the wretched, pink phallus—the torturous, useless thing.

Though; useless as it was, Ronnie sought to give it another go—not accepting total defeat just yet.

So she sat up, pulled down her flannelette pyjama trousers, grabbed the thing off the coffee table, hoisted her knees up, and got to work. Facing the black TV screen, she closed her eyes to avoid visual distractions, mainly her scars.

She tried thinking—imagining ideas of what ought to get her off. 

A beautiful woman above her, glistening all over with dexterous fingers. Or maybe a man with a skilled tongue, or maybe—

—Alfira.

...

No. She would stay focused.

The man with the skilled tongue is... doing things with his tongue and he is hot...

— No.

— I need to get groceries. I hate the grocery shop. Maybe I can just use some of Astarion's money to have them delivered.

—Astarion is hot.

— No. I can't think of him while I'm doing this.

—But he...

Ronnie remembered vividly their first night together, when he'd been inside and teased her so. What if he'd continued? What if things went further? They both could have finished—finished with each other. On each other, in—

She was so close. She allowed herself to imagine that maybe he was right there—inside her. She tried picturing his body, and the way his muscles would ripple with the smallest movements—with each thrust, perhaps.

How his hair would be damp with sweat and his expression— oh, his expression would be sinfully picturesque. It would be a face one would never catch him making except for in the moments before rapture. 

And his sounds—his little grunts of pleasure.

“You take me so well, Ronnie,” he'd say. “Such a good girl, all for me.”

It was the closest she’d been in weeks—right on the precipice—

*Knock-knock-knock*

…

She panicked, throwing the thing under a pillow on her couch and hastily pulling on her trousers.

—Who would be knocking on my door at eleven at night?

She tiptoed to the spyhole in her door, making sure not to be too noisy in case she didn't want to answer.

But it was Astarion, standing and waiting patiently with a bag on his wrist and his hands in his pockets. His hard chest was evident under his buttoned-up shirt.

Her face reddened; it couldn't have been worse timing for him to show up—or better timing, depending on how she looked at it. Maybe he could cuff her to the pole and take her on the floor— NO.

She couldn't. What if she lost her wits amid a shag? It would be humiliating for her.

—But he said he would wait there for me—wait for it to be over.

Even still, was that enough insurance? No. She thought she'd better be safe than sorry.

Elated, Ronnie opened the door to look at him through the chain lock, but she suddenly became very aware of how plain and makeupless she was, so she bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself.

“Astarion!” she started, sounding much more eager than she'd meant to. “Hi. What are you doing here?” She smiled, lowering her pitch.

He wore a dress suit again, but this time, with an unbuttoned raincoat. Dressed nicely, as always.

His pocketed hands drew Ronnie's eyes lower to where his narrow hips were, but her gaze didn't linger there for more than a moment.

He looked relieved. “ Ah —finally. I've been coming here almost every night looking for you,” he said. “ Er —may I come in?”

—He's been looking for me? Oh my Gods, yes. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much.

Ronnie cleared her throat. “ Ahem —do you have handcuffs?”

Astarion held up his bag. “Yes, I have all the fixings.” He grinned roguishly.

Ronnie wanted to scream into her pillow and punch her mattress a hundred times or more. She had an unignorable rising feeling in her chest that reverberated through her arms—a feeling she knew was bound to make her stupid. What could he possibly mean by “ all the fixings”? Had he brought treats? Games? Gifts? She had to know.

Reeling herself in, she responded coolly, “Right. So the protocol is you have to cuff me to the beam immediately as soon as you come in. That always has to be our number one priority. Yeah?”

Astarion gave a curt bow. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Are you ready?”

“Very.”

—I hate you, you stupid freak.

   —I hate how you make me feel.

—Why do you make me feel like this?

Ronnie gritted her teeth. “Set.”

Astarion huffed a laugh, throwing his head back—which exposed his perfect smile—but ultimately, he bent his knees in a playful battle stance.

“Go.”

Ronnie slammed her door shut and unhooked her chain lock. Astarion opened the door before she could open it for him herself, and she giddily ran to the stool that was always at her pole. He closed the door and laughed mirthfully, approaching her already. She tried to suppress a grin as he ran up and hooked her cuffs on behind her in one swift movement.

Ronnie tugged to test her restraints, and she sighed happily, feeling the stability they provided as Astarion hung his coat on her coat hooks and rolled up his sleeves.

Astarion stood in front of her, arms crossed with his bag on the ground beside him, looking awfully satisfied and smelling delicious. She wanted to bite him, only softly to steal a salty taste... or to immobilise him. She scrunched her features, shooing away the intrusive fantasy.

“Have I ever told you how good you look when you're helpless?” Astarion joked.

Ronnie blushed, averting her gaze from the handsome man. “Whatever. You can quit the evil act. I know you're not going to hurt me,” she spat; although, she wanted him to hurt her—only a little. And she knew he would if she asked.

“ Oh? But why would I do that when you clearly respond to it so well,” he teased with a devious and toothy grin. She wondered how much of her bullshit he could see straight through.

Ronnie chuckled, craning her head back. “What did you come here for, anyway?” He'd been looking for her. It had to be important. Or maybe she was important. Or... what she was capable of. Nevertheless, he was there—right where she wanted him, or close. She preferred him to be closer. But she wouldn't—she wouldn't cave.

He held his chin in thought for a few moments. “To see you,” he started, “and I suppose to teach you a few little tricks—using sleight of hand with card games.” His voice was smooth but raspy, almost like the sound of a bowling ball rolling towards its pins.

“Oh... that’s calm. Okay.” She nodded, looking at his feet.

She should have guessed that he'd only come to continue their “business”—not to simply hang out. It might make it easier to keep it in her pants, but his flirtatious remarks were tugging at her strings already. She was thankful that he'd shown up with a purpose, after all. And she was thankful that he hadn't abandoned her—that he'd been looking for her, even.

She never thought someone could want her after knowing what she was capable of, or what her body looked like—save for Alfira, but it was hard to come by someone with morals as pure as hers. 

He'd called her visage “ominous.” Shouldn't that have meant that he was repulsed? But he still made advances on her after sharing his derogatory and unwanted opinion—maybe he liked “ominous.”

“Also, I've thought of some solutions to the mobility issues that would arise given our use of handcuffs.” He put one hand on his hip, and all of his weight on one leg as he feigned disinterest, looking at his nails. “Although the cuffs are the most convenient, they didn't seem like the most... practical, nor the most comfortable idea.”

Ronnie's lips parted, her eyes sparkling with intrigue, or perhaps enamourment at his thoughtful consideration.

“Do you want to see what I've come up with?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.

She bit her inner lip. “Yeah, sure,” she drawled, unsure of exactly how much gratitude to display, as she had to avoid leading him on.

He fussed with his phone for a moment and then showed Ronnie an image of a mannequin that had been intricately tied around its torso and waist. It looked beautiful, but it also looked quite lewd, somehow.

“This is called ‘shibari’. It's an ancient Japanese roping technique that has been historically used on prisoners. Now, however, people primarily use it for art and— er ... sex, to be quite honest,” he said, briefly chuckling after his statement.

Cheeks flushing, Ronnie kept her gaze on the screen as he swiped to another picture of a mannequin tied similarly, but this time the rope extended through the groin.

“Of course, some of these are a bit more... salacious than others, but I thought I'd give you options. Given your circumstance, it only seemed fair.”

He swiped to the next image, this time showing the back of a mannequin with its arms fastened straight vertically, adorned with knots along their length. It looked much more comfortable than the handcuffs.

“Um... is this okay?” Ronnie asked, rubbing her knees together nervously. She couldn't quell the dirty images in her mind of her tied up—naked and displayed—free for him to touch in whatever way he pleased.

“What, tying you up? Sure! It's perfectly fine— er ... that is, if you want to, of course.” He tilted his head, smiling awkwardly.

—This doesn't have to be sexual. He said it was originally used with prisoners. I am just being tied like a prisoner, she justified to herself.

“ Um ... we—we can try,” Ronnie stammered.

—Fuck. Now I'm stuttering? Stupid.

“Just don't make it weird, please,” she added, only partially confident that she would be able to rein herself in. She would have to count on him.

“ Me? ‘Make it weird’?” He scoffed. “Why, I would never,” he said, frowning disingenuously.

“Astarion... I need your help with this,” she tried her best to sound serious. She knew that shagging him would be wholly reckless—unfair to both of them, given her condition.

“Relax! I'm only joking. Ugh —you’re no fun,” he teased. “ So ... which one would you like?” Astarion asked.

Ronnie squinted at his screen as he flipped through the carousel of pictures, looking for the one that looked the least perverted.

One, in particular, caught her eye: a harness that only hugged the torso and shoulders without riding between the breasts or groin. It was perfect and safer than the handcuffs for both parties involved. She doubted that she'd be able to free herself of the binding, and she wouldn't be able to dislocate her wrists in it either. Additionally, it looked like a comfortable setup, and she'd even be able to traverse a portion of her flat—as much as the rope connecting her to the pole would allow.

“Can we do that one?” she asked.

Astarion looked at his phone. “Of course. This one should be quite easy, actually,” he exclaimed, squatting to grab a red rope from his bag. “Could you stand, please?”

“ Oh —yes, of course,” Ronnie said, standing and moving around the pole—away from her stool.

He unravelled the rope and then folded it in half to find the middle. Then he began his wrapping and knotting. He wrapped above her shoulders and around her ribs, honed into his work as he was when he'd stitched her.

His brows knitted together and he bit his bottom lip while he focused, pulling the rope through the loops made around her shoulders as it brushed against the fabric of her loose cropped t-shirt. Ronnie held her breath almost the entire time, as each brush of his tender digits made her internally recoil in shame.

Next, he moved to her back, fastening her arms to the harness and immobilising them. The binding felt more secure than the cuffs, but without the discomfort.

As he was finishing up, Ronnie had a fleeting recollection of what she’d been doing just before he came in—what she'd been thinking about. But she gritted her teeth and attempted to relinquish the thoughts.

It was a consistent effort, in the silence, though. She thought she might have more luck once he began his lesson.

To be fair, Ronnie didn't really care about learning how to cheat at poker, but he seemed like he wanted to show her, and she was simply happy to spend time with him at this point—she wasn't going to be picky when genuine friendships were so difficult for her to come by.

Once he bound from her shoulders to her elbows, he unlocked the handcuffs and then proceeded to tie his last knots along her upper limbs. Then, he pulled a separate rope from his bag and stuck his fingers under one of the loops in the middle of her back, inadvertently jostling Ronnie and consequently gripping her arm to steady her. She must have been hot because his hand was cool against her skin, and she wondered if she was red like the ogre at the tavern.

He fed the second rope through her harness and knotted it to her before doing the same with the other end on the pole.

At last, she was free of his touch, grateful for the chance to create some distance between them.

Astarion stood in front of Ronnie with his hands on his hips. “All done, safe and secure. You’re free to walk about, but the second rope is only about three metres long. It’s safest to keep it that way.”

Ronnie tugged at her restraints as hard as she could, but they didn’t budge. She walked until the rope connecting her to the pole was taut, then leaned her entire body weight on it, giggling as she balanced on her toes at a forty-five-degree angle.

She felt a slight tug and looked back to find Astarion pulling at the rope towards the beam, also testing its strength.

“As I thought, it won’t come undone easily,” he said, letting go of the rope.

“How’d you learn how to do this?” Ronnie asked as she straightened up.

Astarion paused for a moment, walking around to the sofa with his bag in hand. “Let’s not exhume the past tonight, eh?” He plopped onto the sofa, awfully close to the pillow under which the thing was hidden, causing Ronnie to gasp sharply through her nose.

When it came to exhuming the past, she could do without revisiting what she’d been doing immediately before Astarion arrived. She really ought to have put away the thing before letting Astarion in, but she’d been too distracted by his presence, and she could all but hope she wouldn’t have to pay for that mistake.

She climbed over the back of her sofa in her bare feet and settled on the opposite end from Astarion, feeling the plush cushion beneath her.

He pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle, the cards snapping crisply between his fingers. “The first thing is that, of course, you’ll need to know where the cards are in the deck.” He set the deck on the table and flicked the corner up with his thumb, exposing each card for a split second. “That’s how much time you have to take in the contents of the deck. Now—if I’m looking for the Jack of Spades, I can find it right here.” He lifted a portion of the deck and showed Ronnie the card at the bottom of his chosen section—it was the Jack of Spades. “You’ll need to learn the weight of the cards—how ten cards feel versus... twenty-two cards, and so on.”

Ronnie watched him put the deck back together and riffle the cards, her eyes drawn to the way his fingers moved deftly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each gesture. There was something hypnotic about his movements—a grace that made everything he did look effortless. She imagined those hands on her skin, the same dexterity applied to tracing lines along her body.

He continued shuffling in a myriad of ways, his voice a low murmur. “The most important part, when you’re first starting, is to wait for an opening—wait until your opponent’s eyes are busy. That’s why you’ll begin with Heads-up—one-on-one poker—”

Ronnie could hear the cadence of his words, but her focus was on his lithe fingers, the way they worked through the cards with such precision. His fingernails, perfectly manicured, danced across the deck, and she wondered what those fingers would feel like in her mouth.

“Ronnie?” His voice snapped her from her trance, and she realized he’d stopped talking and she’d been staring at his hands.

She shook her head, trying to clear the haze. “Sorry. I’m just—distracted. Do you think we could maybe watch a movie instead, tonight?” she asked, giving him a tense smile and hoping he didn’t notice the flush creeping up her neck. Though; the mischievous glint in his eye and his roguish grin informed Ronnie that he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and that caused her to stir slightly in her spot.

“If that's what you'd prefer.” He shuffled the cards one last time before placing them in the box and away in his bag. He retrieved the remote from the coffee table and switched on the TV, navigating to the built-in streaming service.

Ronnie hung her head in relief before looking at the list of recommended shows and movies. He flipped through them, witnessing her embarrassing stack of dating shows under the “Continue watching” section. Tensing, she held her breath, but he didn’t seem phased by her taste in media. She could've been sure that he’d tease her about it, but he didn’t say a word.

One movie in particular caught her eye: New Moon, the sequel to Twilight. Her eyes widened with excitement. “ Oh! Can we watch New Moon?” she asked.

“I remember hearing about this one a decade ago. It’s about werewolves and vampires, correct? Infamous for its mawkishness?” Astarion asked.

“Yes! Exactly!” She bounced excitedly. “I just watched the first one at Jen’s not that long ago.”

“ Hm— I’ll entertain this, sure. We have to change it if it's boring, though,” he said, clicking on the movie and then getting up to flick her kitchen light off before returning to his spot on the couch.

“Yes! Okay, I'm so excited. I've never seen it before.” She shimmied, bringing her knees to her chest.

Ronnie watched raptly as the opening scene began with Bella in a forest clearing with Edward. They approached an elderly woman, only to find out she was Bella’s reflection. Glancing at Astarion, she saw his brows knit together in a frown, clearly already entranced by the film.

He was… cute —the way he seemed utterly intrigued.

“He can go in the sun? He's sparkling,” Astarion asked.

“Yeah. He's all bitter about it, as well—haha,” Ronnie giggled.

“Bitter? Gods . You think he would be grateful that he doesn't burn to ash.”

Bella and Edward were standing together in the school parking lot when Edward said: “Jacob's here,” before Jacob was within eyesight.

“How did he know that Jacob was there?” Astarion asked.

“He can read minds.”

“Terrifying.”

“Except for Bella's, but Alice can tell the future, and Jasper is always hungry and constipated-looking,” Ronnie exclaimed.

Bella was sitting at the back of the class watching Romeo and Juliette with Edward. They were casually talking about the movie when Edward—out of the blue—exclaimed that he envies Romeo because he committed suicide.

“He envies Romeo because he killed himself? Edward is a fool,” Astarion said, frowning.

“You're granted immortality, and you can walk in the sun, but you spend your days in high school around a bunch of teenagers? Their master must be some sort of eccentric. Though, it beats rotting away in a kennel.” Astarion seemed personally offended by this premise, causing Ronnie to stifle a giggle.

“Those ‘Volturi’ seem like awful creatures. Quite ugly, as well,” Astarion said, and Ronnie enjoyed his commentary on the movie—keeping her entertained.

Jasper—the constipated one—became feral over Bella's papercut. In response, Edward pushed Bella away from him to protect her, but she flew into a table, injuring herself further. Alice had to escort Jasper away.

“ Oh —I like this movie,” Astarion exclaimed, smirking.

—Of course he would say that during the most chaotic scene, Ronnie thought.

Carlisle—the “father”—stitched Bella's wounds, and he mentioned to Bella that he believed he was “damned” due to his vampiric condition.

“‘Damned’? These vampires are free of a master, they live in a comfortable abode, they can walk in the sun, and they think they are ‘damned’? Ridiculous,” Astarion said.

“I know. It's a little silly, but I guess I understand if they're depressed,” Ronnie added.

“Edward is in love with this beautiful young lady, and he refuses to change her? The stupidity,” Astarion spat.

A scene played where Edward breaks up with Bella in the woods because he's moving away. Bella said: “I'm coming,” to which Edward responded: “I don't want you to come.”

Astarion huffed a chuckle. “I would never not let you come, Ronnie.”

“Sod off.”

As a result of Edward's abandonment, Bella fell into a deep depression, and a scene played where she was staring out of her bedroom window as the months passed by.

“Is this what you do when I'm not around?” Astarion asked, grinning.

“No.”

“I'm hurt,” he said, grabbing his chest in mock offence.

Bella began spending more time with Jacob after experiencing a hallucination of Edward’s presence while riding on the back of a stranger's motorcycle. She realised there might be a link between the hallucination and engaging in life-risking behaviour, so she decided to take advantage of Jacob’s skills as a mechanic. Bella brought him two dirt bikes from the scrapyard, and Jacob helped her fix them. She rode one of the bikes intending to induce the same “Edward hallucination.” While it worked, the distraction caused her to crash the bike and smash her head against a rock.

“He's clearly reinforcing Bella's dangerous behaviour. How does he not see this?” Astarion protested.

The movie continued, showing Bella spending even more time with Jacob, their friendship nearly approaching romantic territory.

“This Jacob boy isn't half-bad,” Astarion said. But when Jacob started lashing out towards Bella and her friends, Astarion changed his mind. “Nevermind. I take back what I said about him earlier.”

Eventually, the plot dragged on and Astarion became frustrated. “There are no vampires in this movie!” he complained, shifting his position on the couch and sitting on the pillow.

The moment he descended on the pillow, it began to vibrate—or rather, the thing began to vibrate under it.

Mortified, Ronnie's eyes widened and she held her breath as Astarion half-stood to search for the source of the buzzing beneath him.

“Wait!” she raised her voice in a panic.

He stood, crouching in front of the couch. “Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out where that sound is coming from. I can rewind in a second, don't you worry. I—” He froze, lifting the pillow to find her toy undulating beneath it. “Oh—I see.” His face of confusion quickly warped into one of mischief at his discovery. 

Grinning, he lifted the phallus and inspected it before switching it off. “We've been very naughty, today—haven't we?” His head was unmoving but his conniving stare landed on Ronnie's face. He smiled, almost strategically so—or that's how it felt. 

He looked away only to pause the movie—a freeze frame of Bella.

Ronnie sat back in horror, watching him examine it . If it wasn't for her restraints, she would've snatched it from him already. Blushing, she frowned, gritting her teeth as her heart raced with embarrassment. 

There was no going back now—not since he'd seen it . If she could've erased it from his mind like her amnesia, she would've.

She hadn’t spent all that much time with Astarion yet, but she already surmised a few of his consistent character traits. 

One: he was an instigator.

Two: he was cunning.

And three: he was opportunistic.

“No,” she denied his allegation, as it was all she could manage in her fragile state of shame—feeling stupid for letting him in; for not putting away her toy properly beforehand.

Her desire crept up on her, its languid grasp much like a boa constrictor. Attempting to ground herself, she shook her head. She knew what was coming next—he wouldn't drop this… wouldn't let her live this down. 

“ Hm ... Good girls don't lie,” he purred, hovering over Ronnie as his shadow cast on her. 

Checkmate.

He had her.

And she felt small under his stare.

“Now—I'm going to give this a little wash, I think, and then I'll be right back.”

Ronnie watched as he waltzed away, past the couch, out of her field of vision, and into the darkness of her kitchen.

Visions of Astarion played in her mind as a needle on vinyl—visions of him “torturing” her with the thing. Her womb throbbed at the idea.

She heard the ominous sound of running water emanating from the kitchen, and then—even more ominously—the footsteps towards her after it stopped.

Astarion—phallus in hand—climbed onto the sofa, facing her. “You must've been in an awful hurry to hide this, considering its location and the remnants that adorned it,” he cooed. “Pray tell—it was within you when I arrived at your door, was it not?”

— How did he...?

Cunning

Opportunistic

Perceptive

Instigator.

Ronnie bit her inner cheek, her brows tensing as she shook her head. Her breath was caught in her chest as her head became weighty on her neck. Instinctively, she laid back, her nape resting on the arm of the couch as she watched him crawl closer, like a feline.

“ Tut tut, Ronnie. You truly are too easy to read, you know,” he teased. “I’ve always wondered: do you think of me when you touch yourself?” 

—Yes, you bastard.

She looked up at him—framed by her thighs—eyes pleading, and excuses stuck on her tongue. 

Her eyes pleaded for mercy—mercy of any breed. All or nothing. But—at this point—she'd prefer the former.

Her thoughts became muddied, snuffing the enervated flames of coherence and obligation.

“Your lips look so pretty when you bite them like that—so... kissable,” he rasped, climbing atop her.

The sudden taste of iron invaded her mouth. She hadn’t realised she was biting her lip—but she’d been biting it hard enough to break skin. 

Ronnie released her lower lip from its toothy restraint, and she saw a flit of something restrained in him when her lip bounced back into place.

The way his palms sunk into the sofa on either side of her made her arch her back expectantly.

He leaned in, and she gasped, feeling his cheekbone fleetingly make contact with hers.

His breath brushed her ear. “You know, Ronnie,” he started, “I wish for you to confide in me—your desires,” he whispered. 

Ronnie's knees neared her shoulders—his hips, hovering inches from hers.

“If it helps, I'll share mine first. Would you like that?” he purred, playing with a lock of her hair.

He rose from her torso, humming low and soft as he watched her, tilting his head condescendingly and sitting on his heels.

And Ronnie felt like something precious was torn from her.

Her skin tingled, yearning for his touch. Astarion's cadence was soothing and his demeanour, benevolent. She let her eyelids fall closed, remembering the safety of his embrace after their first coupling. She'd never felt so cherished before; or at least… not that she could remember.

She wanted it again.

“Tell me,” Ronnie said, her voice trembling with nerves.

“ Hmm... ” He snaked his hand down her shin, leaving sparks in its wake. “I want to roam your body with my touch,” he began. “I want to make you whimper and squirm as I fill you,” he cooed, teasing under her waistband with his fingers. “I want to hear you breathless while I make you come undone.” He splayed his fingers under the hem of her shirt. “Your turn,” he instructed.

Ronnie arched her back, finally finding her breath again as the nerves melted into solace. “I want... your touch,” she whispered. “I want to kiss you again… please ,” she pleaded, rolling her pelvis into his, and—to her delight—finding his hardened length; though, it was imprisoned by his trousers.

Dropping the phallus, he grabbed at her hips and pulled her core to his hardness. “ Mm —there we are. You'll find that I'll reward you for honesty,” he hummed, slotting his fingers under her waistband and pulling her pants off, leaving her fully exposed, scars and all. He leaned into her, caging her in with his elbows. “How innocent of you—to want a kiss; though I'm sure you want more than that,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as they shared breath.

Ronnie let her lashes flutter shut as she basked in the feeling of his skin—so close to hers. He pressed his forehead into hers—their noses, staggered.

“I'm right, aren't I?” He smooched her experimentally. “You wish to be ravished, don't you?” Teasing, he pecked beside her lips.

Ronnie felt as if her shabby couch had transformed into a cloud as she wrapped her legs around him. Even her disorder felt like a distant axiom, with the way he enveloped her.

“Tell me,” he said, pecking her cheek. “What is it that you truly want?”

Ronnie craned her head forward, capturing his lips, to which he promptly reciprocated. Astarion groaned into her mouth, and she could feel his smile as they kissed. His cunningness was troublesome and inescapable.

She was at a threshold she hadn’t planned to cross with him again, but the safety of her bindings began to feel much like the safety provided by her lithium on the day they’d met—safety that would give consequence to the morrow.

Capitulating, Ronnie pulled from his kiss. “I want…” she breathed, “I want to have sex with you.” She found his lips again, pecking him roughly.

Astarion growled his assent, their lips colliding once more as Ronnie could hear him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers—music to her ears.

Their mouths disconnected with a pop, and Astarion stood to unbutton his shirt. As she'd expected, his body was impeccably toned, and his muscles rippled as he discarded his top on the coffee table.

He slotted his thumbs under his waistband. “What a sight, you are—now that you've given yourself to me, at last,” he teased, relinquishing himself of both his formal trousers and his briefs.

His length sprang free—it was much larger than her meagre toy and it glistened with precum in the television's dim light. She had no recollection of shagging someone with a penis, and, of course, her sexual relationship with Alfira was painfully short-lived. And so, excitation became her, as she laid with her thighs resting on her tummy which bounced ever so slightly as Astarion sat on the couch to pull off his socks.

“You're such a princess, you know?” he teased.

—Princess?

Ronnie tilted her head away, huffing. “ Hmph —I’d be doing more if I wasn't tied up like a... rabid animal.” She scowled.

Astarion threw his head back, chuckling darkly. “That’s not what I meant—and you're tied up like a gift, not a ‘rabid animal’,” he mocked, crawling atop her form. “I'd quite like to unwrap you, my dear.” He tugged at her shirt, easing it through her bindings to crumple just above her breasts. “ Oh —your wound healed beautifully, I see.” He traced his finger beside it, languidly.

“Yeah.” She blushed. “Thanks, again, by the way.”

Astarion quirked up the corner of his mouth as his hands slotted beneath her—one under her back and the other, carding through her hair. He eased her towards him so that her head rested comfortably against the pillow. Consequently, she felt his length brush against her folds. 

“Better?” he asked, peering into her eyes as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah... Thank you,” she said, her eyes, heavy-lidded with desire.

— So courteous.

His face seemed relaxed, except for a barely perceptible intensity in his brow. At last, he descended to her breast with his open maw, flicking her hardened pebble with his tongue. Thumbing her other nipple, he gave her nip a playful bite, causing Ronnie to squeak as he rocked his heavy length between her folds.

He created a trail of small hickies from one breast to the other, thumbing her now-wet nipple. 

Ronnie twirled her pelvis, trying to urge him inwards, but her efforts proved futile.

Groaning, he disconnected from her mound—a string of saliva between them. He kissed her, hungrily sucking on her lower lip and grabbing her waist rough enough to bruise her marred flesh.

Breathless, he pulled away, and Ronnie’s lip bounced back into place. 

“I’m sorry. I seem to be... getting lost in you. Are you okay?” he asked, frantic.

Ronnie welcomed a reasonable level of pain—their first tryst being evidence of that—and his ungentle treatment hadn’t phased her. “I’m good,” she said, attempting a smile to stifle his woes. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he said loudly before catching himself. “No. I just... need to keep my teeth to myself, that's all,” he scolded himself, looking away.

“ Hm —I don't mind. Don't worry,” she hummed. “I like it.”

He sighed, closing his eyes as he held her waist. He snaked his hands under her bottom, and crouched, lifting her core to his mouth. He relaxed in his position as he began lapping at her clit, sticking a thumb inside her as he licked and held her up with his forearm. 

Sucking on her bud, he removed his thumb, only to replace it with two digits which he pumped into her at a consistent pace. Astarion closed his eyes, his brows furrowing as he feasted on her like a starved man—lewd, wet sounds emanating from his tongue and lips.

Ronnie's thighs tensed as she approached her climax—breathing heavily, pliable in his grasp.

He placed the flat of his tongue on her, working her similarly to her toy, but—of course—better, as it was Astarion. Astarion, who she'd been restraining herself from since after their first coupling—denying herself the pleasure out of trepidation... because she didn't want to hurt him. But, with her wrapped up, he could more than handle her— devour her. 

One last raucous emission—deep from within Astarion's chest—was enough to break the bough, splintering Ronnie into broken cries of release.

She went limp entirely, his fingers still working inside her, and his tongue relenting before he removed his face. "That's it," he murmured, " good girl." He spread his digits apart inside her. "You're going to take my cock so well, Ronnie. You're doing so well," he said, kissing her clit ravenously and making her hips lurch as she panted, overstimulated from her orgasm. 

Chuckling darkly, he let up, grabbing her thighs and parting them as he aligned himself with her weeping nethers. He sunk into her slowly, allowing her to stretch and adjust to his size as his tip hugged her cervix. “See? You were made for me,” he purred, setting a dilatory pace. “ Really. I should have kept you tied up for me to fuck whenever I pleased the day we met—kept you hidden away for my own personal use—my little prisoner,” he rasped, snapping into her. “You would like that, wouldn’t you—to be my cherished fuck slave?” His rutting quickened.

“Yeah,” she whined, picturing herself, his bound and subservient personal whore. Astarion truly had a way of plucking the right strings, as if he knew exactly what would make her sing for him.

Nobody had ever done that before.

He used her hips as leverage, rotating them forward so that her back arched and he could thrust into her at the right angle. “You wish to be mine to fill whenever I want, I know it. You want me to spill inside you and coat your womb with my seed—to be fucked until you’re swollen and sore from my cock,” he rasped.

Eyes wet, Ronnie nodded, messy with perspiration as she cried her assent.

“ Good girl. See what happens when you’re honest?” he praised, sucking his fingers and then dutifully reaching them to rub her clit. 

Ronnie moaned through gritted teeth as she watched him work her, feeling awfully stuffed by his member—so long and wide and pressing up into where she felt it most.

With a snap of his hips, he sheathed himself fully, stilling as he worshipped her bud with a rapidly moving hand. “I want to feel you cum on me, darling. Cum on me, and you’ll get your reward,” he said,  warming his pulsing girth in her channel.

Tears flowed from Ronnie’s eyes, and her muscles flexed as she felt him twitching inside of her. She let go, weeping, watching him choke out an undignified moan as she quivered around him, violently clutching him with her climax.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut as he finished with her clit, allowing himself to move again. Grabbing the backs of her thighs, he pushed her knees towards her chest, forcing her to fold in half. Watching himself stretch her folds, he would languidly pull out—almost completely, leaving only his tip sheathed—before thrusting back in with punishing snaps of his hips. Ronnie's bound body was no match, as it was forced up with each sloppy pound of his pelvis.

His lips pulled into a satisfied smirk, watching her bounce haplessly. All she could do was take it; it was everything she wanted since she began to crave him. Her body and mind's reaction to his ruthless sexual treatment came as a surprise to her, as she'd only ever been with the kind and gentle or selfish types; or at least, that's all she could recall. 

His grip on her thighs was pressuresome and wild—sure to mark her skin. Her back rubbed against the rough polymer texture of the cheap couch as he slammed into her, his smirk faltered as his breathing became more erratic. 

Again, he slowed. “Does the princess want to be filled with my cum?” he asked, condescendingly. Entering her fully, he began twirling his hips teasingly so that his girth would compress against every bit of her inner walls in a venerated circle. “Honesty, my dear. What have we learned?”

Ronnie felt entirely debauched with her damp, limp body and her humiliating whines. She wanted to get him back for his incessant teasing, but the euphoria was overwhelming. He must’ve been close, she could tell by the way he kept stopping. So she clenched her lower muscles, squeezing him inside her—babbling out a broken cry of agreement as she took her revenge by bestowing pleasure.

As she'd expected, his composure shattered momentarily at that. He began slurring curses, and leaning in—resting his elbows at her sides. Kissing a line from her lips to her neck, he sucked her skin into his mouth. His rhythm picked up—hard and fast as he chased his climax.

Ronnie closed her eyes, tilting her head, and allowing him to ravish. Although he was glistening with sweat, his cologne still whelmed her, relaxing her as he speared her over and over. She flinched when she felt a sharp and sudden pain on her throat, where he was creating hickeys, but it quickly faded. Unbothered, she let him continue, as she loved the feel of his lips and tongue anywhere on her body.

She wished she could wrap her arms around him, embrace him how he’d embraced her, and she mused about doing so the next time they were somewhere less secluded. 

For now, she pressed her legs into his sides as he slammed into her, emptying himself at last. But he was unrelenting with his latch on her throat. Pity, she wanted to see his o-face, but she revelled in the feeling of his churning tongue on her neck.

Fully within her, he muffled a whine on her skin before tearing his maw from her and licking her where he had placed the bruising kiss. “Shit,” he whispered, pumping into her before lifting his torso from hers and admiring their entanglement, frowning and grunting. 

He thrust into her once more before pulling out, covered in their combined fluids. Sitting back, he stared at his mess for a moment, leaning his side on the back of the sofa and quirking a brow. 

“Are you okay, my dear?” he checked in.

And he massaged her knee…

The reverence…

The tenderness…

It felt like… like nothing she’d ever felt before. 

And she wanted it to last forever.

“I’m good, yeah.” She swallowed, nodding with the smallest smile as if she didn’t just experience a drug-like euphoria because of what they’d just done.

She had to be cool… 

She had to be calm…

He hung his sweaty head, shaking it as he laughed. “Do you remember how I told you that there were things I couldn't disclose to you yet?” he said, his voice quiet and benevolent; although you could hear his smile when he spoke. “I seem to have created a situation that requires my transparency.”

꧁꧂

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[dragonsfictavern]

In The Wind 

Astarion Ancunin X Reader

a/n: This came to mind specifically because of the scene in 2005 Pride and Prejudice where Bingley is trailing after Jane and touching the ribbon on her dress. So keep that in mind bc it haunts me in the best way

summary: After your tunic gets torn in battle, you and Astarion head to a shop to get materials to get it fixed. Astarion, trapped in thoughts surrounding you, decides to do something to properly show his appreciation

word count: 2k

The day was cool, the breeze blowing through the opened door of the fabric store you and Astarion currently walked through. The others were Gods knew where but Astarion didn’t particularly care where they were. His thoughts were on you. More and more he found that his thoughts always came back to you.

Baldur’s Gate was loud. It has always been loud. Something Astarion remembered specifically. But he found the sound drained out as he stared down at a beautiful ribbon. At first he couldn’t exactly say what about it had caught his attention. What kept it. But upon reflection he noted how it reminded him of your eyes.

Cursing himself under his breath, Astarion threw down the ribbon and glanced away from the pile of fabrics. But just as his eyes lifted from the box, they fell right onto you. You who stood right in the sunlight, whose hair flowed through the wind that passed through the store.

He couldn’t look away from you, once again not really believing that you somehow cared about him. You were so… good. It was honestly almost nauseating. But it was also something he admired about you. It made him want to be better. To be better than what he was before. Most importantly for him. But he couldn’t deny he also wanted to be better for you. To be someone you could be proud to love.

Astarion walked around one of the makeshift aisles of the store. You were busy as you looked over some of the patches of fabric while Astarion was busy as he watched you. He didn’t blame you for not having noticed his stare. You were on a mission after all. Your tunic had been badly torn in your party’s last battle. The tear could easily be mended by you and the enchantments on it could be replaced by Gale if he was going to actually be helpful today.

But Astarion knew you weren’t the most gifted tailor. At least, not better than him. He could do a fine job, he’d been doing it with his own clothing for longer than he’d care to admit. A rare warmth spread through his chest as the idea came to him. When you least expected it, he’d take the fabric from you and fix your tunic before you even noticed it would be missing.

Something in him told him he just had to do this. To show you he cared, at least enough to do something as little at this… and to show you that you weren’t making a mistake as you stuck by him. Astarion closed his eyes as he shook out those unwanted thoughts. Not wanting to think about any of that or what it meant.

When Astarion opened his eyes he’s met with you walking away, a long piece of fabric hanging from your belt. A brief shot of panic ran through Astarion as you walked away, only deeper into the store to pay for fabric. Yet that didn’t shake away the fear. Astarion cleared his throat in order to push down the panic and put it with the rest of his emotions he was ignoring before he headed after you.

He doesn’t say anything, knowing he doesn’t need to. He knows you know he’s there. The wind blew through the store once again and your scent wafted straight into Astarion’s nose. He closed his eyes as he continued to follow you. He relished in the way you smelled. Focused and memorized it, knowing he could pick it out of an entire crowd of people. Aware of the fact that he could find you in an instant if needed. But still he preferred to remain close. Have you stay in his sights.

As he opened his eyes and looked back upon you, his eyes moved down your form. Not stopping until they halt at the fabric on your belt. He hand reached out and lightly fiddled with the end of it that flowed in the air after you. Neither of you have stopped walking, Astarion not thinking as he walked behind you. His attention completely focused on the fabric and the way it hung off of you. On how beautiful it would look on you.

He then noted how soft the fabric was. How easy or difficult it could possibly be to work with. A plan already had formed in his head at how he’d stitch it into your tunic. It would be flawless, just as all his other work had been prior. Just as his thoughts shifted into imagining your reaction, your voice broke him out of it.

“Are you trying to pickpocket me?” You ask softly, not having bothered to check back and glance at him. Astarion blinked back, hand still gripped onto the fabric, though his eyes found their way to the back of your head. Before he realized what he’s done, an easy grin was on his face and a joke had slipped from his lips.

“You, my darling? Never,” Astarion jested, both of them keenly aware of the fact. He gave a little tug on the fabric for good measure and was rewarded with the sweet melody of your laugh. You shook your head as you both turned a corner, seemingly in search of an attendant.

“Oh, don’t give me that. No one is safe,” you teased right back but for some reason Astarion felt his grin drop a little. His brows furrowed as he quickly thought over your response. The word ‘safe’ having run repeatedly in his ear. He wanted you to feel safe. With him. He wanted you to know that you were safe from him. Whatever that meant he didn’t exactly know but it was what he felt. From what he could pin point.

He debated even telling you all this. To have allowed himself to randomly unleash his soul to you in the middle of a random shop in a city that held so many memories for him. But then he started to think about what you’d say in response. How you would react. Emotion begun to rise within him at the idea of admitting any of that to do. So instead he simply continued the light and fun banter.

“Well now I suppose I must for fear that I have something to prove.” Astarion gave another tug to the fabric, though this time a little bit lighter in order to have kept up the playful atmosphere. As your laughter echoed throughout the store due to his actions, all those pesky emotions subsided.

You lightheartedly pranced forward a few steps in a weak attempt to get your fabric out of his reach but Astarion followed right on your tail. Both to stop you from getting away and to stop any other displaced emotions from coming forth from your distance.

“Or you could simply not steal my fabric from my person,” you responded with laughter still in your tone. Astarion tsked as he shook his head at you. He picked up his pace, walking closer to you now. He adjusted his grip on the fabric, getting ready for his next move.

“No, darling, I’m afraid that doesn’t seem to be an option,” he said smoothly before he harshly tugged on the fabric for the third time. It slipped from your belt with ease and curled right around Astarion’s hand. You immediately felt it and a gasp ripped from your throat.

You turned around, finally facing Astarion since you both walked in here. You looked breathtaking. Astarion could marvel at your beauty for hours. At times he’d almost swear it’s greater than his own. Almost. But he especially thought your beauty shined most spectacularly in the sun, and it had hit you just right in this moment.

“Ah, Astarion! Why must you do this?” You asked with a light grin on your face. Astarion mirrored it, holding the piece of fabric slightly above his head as he knew you wouldn’t be able to reach it. That didn’t stop you from trying as you stepped up to him to try and reach for it. Your body pressed against his and instead of feeling like he needed to back away, not wanting to be touched, Astarion found himself leaning into you.

“I believe you practically asked me to do this, love. Begged me to almost as much as you beg for my attention,” he boasted, his expression smug as you continued to try and grab at the fabric. He’d lower it briefly just as you’d reached for it but then quickly bring it back up. You laughed again, shaking your head at him. Astarion didn’t realize until that moment that he had been counting the number of times he had made you laugh. The revelation sent a tremor through his chest that he’d rather just ignore.

“My dear Astarion, I think that tadpole in your mind has finally driven you to insanity,” you said with a light scoff. Astarion’s face dropped into a deadpan at that, though he couldn’t help the quirk of his lips still present.

“Dear me, how humorous you are, darling,” he responded back flatly, though a teasing note was still clear through his tone. His attention zeroed in on you once again as you snickered back at him. Astarion fell deeper into his focus, his ears ringing till he felt a deep pounding surrounding him. He didn’t realize before it was too late that he had focused on your heartbeat. It sounded light. Happy. Because of him.

While he remained distracted, his body sagged in place, not paying attention to his momentary lack of posture. You don’t hesitate to use that to your advantage as with it he had lowered his arm that held the fabric. You reached up, your arm having stretched as far as it could go before you swiped up the fabric right from his grip. A noise of victory left your lips and it effectively alerted Astarion. He blinked back, breaking out of his thoughts. It only took a couple of seconds for him to realize he didn’t have the fabric anymore. He met your smug look with a bit of disbelief as his eyes connected back to yours.

“I try,” you replied playfully to his previous comment as you winked at him. Astarion stood there frozen for a moment before he added another mental tally as you laughed once more. You strode off to barter with the owner as Astarion stood off to the side while he waited for you.

He couldn’t understand how easy this all was for you. How open with yourself you had always been. Especially toward him. He… didn’t know how to do stuff like that. To let you in so easily. But stitching this for you, even without your initial knowledge, that he could do. It was the only way he knew how to express what you meant to him. It was all he was ready to do. For now anyway.

So as you walked past him after you purchased the fabric, Astarion stayed particularly close. As you both entered the hustle and bustle of Baldur’s Gate’s streets, there were a lot of things around you both that served as proper distraction. Astarion struck when the time was right, just as another vendor started a loud argument with a customer, you looked over and that’s when Astarion reached out and slipped the fabric off of you with the lightest touch he could have managed.

He gazed down at it with a smile on his face and a sense of victory in his heart, his thumb brushed over it lightly as he reminded himself of its softness. But when you started to turn your head back to him, his eyes jerked up and the fabric disappeared within the confines of his inventory. You snorted as ruckus that continued off to the side and as you looked at him, Astarion plastered on another one of his signature grins.

It was only after you chuckled at him and looked back forward that Astarion found his grin had softened. He looked toward the streets just as you had as he counted down the minutes till you both got back to camp and he could get started. He wondered if you’d like it and what you’d say when you found out. Most of all though he wondered if you’d know what it meant. If you’d see through him as you always seemed to. Strangely, this time around he kind of liked that thought.

[aristenfromwarsaw]

🖤 Vampire Lord and His Dark Consort 🖤

Request from Baldur's Gate 3 / DOS2 FB group.

[pursuitseternal]

𝒜𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒜𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒟𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈

🎨 by @nyx-knox

🔥 “Your Reward:” Prompt fill— NSFW Dark!Fic, DubCon, angst, and degradation with Ascended Astarion, premise of if Tav left him 🔥 Ao3 link🔥

🔥 “To Make You Swell with Child:” breeding kink with Ascended Astarion 🔥 Ao3 link 🔥

🔥 “Beg me:” BDSM, NSFW punishment with Ascended Astarion 🔥 Ao3 link🔥

🔥 “Wrap Me Up: Yultide in Faerûn with Ascended Astarion, based on A Christmas Carol 🔥Ao3 link🔥

🔥 “More than Just a Little Death:” angst with minimal happy ending, Ascended Dark Lord Astarion x Enemy Tav 🔥 Ao3 link🔥

🔥 “Make Room for Him:” AA x f!reader breeding for pregnancy fic

🔥 “Just a Drop:” Ascended Astarion’s angst as he watches Tav turn

🔥 “His”- gift fic, Smut after a massacre, Durge x A!Astarion 🔥Ao3 link🔥

Smut Ask Prompt Fills

🩸 “Do Your Worst:” cross posted to “Rogue You Were” [x f!Reader]

🩸”I’m Going to Ruin You…” [x f!Reader]

🩸“No more, please, I Can’t…” [x f!Reader]

🩸 “If you stop, I stop…” [AA x Shadowheart]

[baldursgrave69]

A Pretty Sight - Mature

*this is my first time writing smut, I hope y’all enjoy 🫣*

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Halsin x Astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 2.5K

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, threesome, unprotected sex, piv, blood drinking, vaginal fingering, feelings, oral sex

While writing this I was listening to: Take a Slice by Glass Animals

Find me on Ao3 here

“Halsin you really don’t have to come with. Gale and Astarion are joining me, I’ll be alright,” Agnes said, perched in Halsin’s lap at a table in the Elfsong Tavern. Gale, Astarion, and Agnes were planning their trip to the House of Hope, joined by Halsin who was never far from Agnes’ side. Halsin wrapped his arms around the half elf, leaning his head on her shoulder. “I know you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, little thief. But I can’t just sit here while you’re in the Hells, I’d worry too much,” Halsin said as he pulled her closer. “Let him come, we can use him as a shield,” Astarion said from beside Agnes with a smirk. Agnes rolled her eyes, leaning back into Halsin’s embrace. “Ugh, fine,” she grumbled, closing her eyes. “You’re just loved, my heart. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you while I was sitting here,” Halsin trailed off, burying his head in the crook of her neck. “Alright, alright,” Agnes said, turning to look at the druid. She cupped his face in her hands, pressing a kiss to his nose. A smile crossed Halsin’s face as Agnes pressed her forehead to his. He nuzzled his nose to Agnes’ before pressing his lips to hers. Agnes wrapped her arms around the Druid’s neck, leaning into his kiss. “Ahem, as much as I’d love to watch you two go at it, we really should focus on coming up with a plan for tomorrow,” Astarion said with a devilish grin. Gale cleared his throat, shifting in his seat awkwardly. Agnes pulled away from Halsin, pressing a kiss to his forehead before turning back towards the table.

“As we were saying earlier, it’s going to be rather pricey to get Helsik to help us get to the Hells,” Gale said, his finger drumming on his chin. “I don’t relish the idea of emptying our pockets to get to this ‘House of Hope’,” Astarion added. “I’m not worried about it,” Agnes said, lifting her mug of ale to her lips to take a sip. “Oh, did you remember you have a stack of gold somewhere? We can’t exactly afford to just give her everything we have,” Gale snipped at the rogue. Agnes narrowed her gaze at the wizard, setting down her mug. “I don’t plan on paying her anything. I was able to convince her to let me in once before, I don’t see why it would be a problem this time,” Agnes said, a hand stroking Halsin’s hair. Gale scoffed at Agnes, waving a hand at her dismissively. With a quick motion, Agnes threw her dagger at Gale, it landed just above his head, taking a bit of hair with it. “What in the hells!?” Gale yelled, ducking down as not to hit his head on the dagger lodged in the wall. “I find that I can be very persuasive. Perhaps you should trust me on this one,” Agnes said nonchalantly, hugging Halsin tightly. “Gods, you’re amazing,” Astarion said in a low tone, Halsin humming in agreement. “Oh for the love of… I’m heading to bed,” Gale grumbled, beginning to scoot out of the booth. “My knife, if you would,” Agnes said, holding out her hand towards Gale. “Get it yourself,” he snapped, standing quickly and heading up to their rented rooms.

“He’s so sensitive,” Astarion laughed, reaching over and pulling Agnes’ dagger out of the wall. She held out her hand for Astarion to give it to her, but he grabbed it with his free hand and peppered soft kisses to her wrist. “Are you hungry, my love?” Agnes asked, as Astarion looked up at her, his fangs grazing her veins. “Mm, I wouldn’t say no to a taste,” he hummed, releasing her hand and giving her the dagger. “How could you, she’s positively decadent,” Halsin said, his face nuzzled in the crook of Agnes’ neck, kissing along her tattoo. Agnes felt a shiver down her spine as she felt Astarion’s fingers ghost across her thighs. “Just what are the two of you up to?” She asked, looking over to see Astarion laying a heavy gaze on her, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He allowed his hand to trail along her inner thigh, his eyes blown wide with lust. “Perhaps we should head upstairs, hmm?” Astarion purred, squeezing Agnes’ leg before removing his hand. “What do you say, little thief? Would you like to have some fun?” Halsin whispered, Agnes could feel the growing erection in his trousers pressing against her leg. “I think that sounds like a lovely idea,” Agnes said, her voice coming out more breathy than intended. Halsin needed no further encouragement, he swiftly picked the half elf up, putting her over his shoulder. “Halsin!” Agnes squeaked, dizzy from the ale she had been drinking. “Save your voice darling, you’ll be screaming our names soon enough,” Astarion purred, patting Agnes’ backside as Halsin carried her up the stairs to a private room.

Halsin entered the room followed by Astarion, who swiftly closed and locked the door. The druid gently placed Agnes on the bed at the back of the room, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling away. Agnes propped herself up on her elbows, watching as Astarion approached the foot of the bed. “What a pretty sight,” Astarion said, crossing his arms. “Isn’t she?” Halsin agreed, licking his lips, one hand trailing down to cup his erection. “I could say the same,” Agnes said with a smirk, feeling her arousal grow as she eyed the two elves in front of her. Seeing Halsin’s sheer size next to Astarion made her clench her thighs together, growing even more wet. Astarion made his way to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling his tunic over his head. Agnes’ eyes trailed along the vampire’s body, her mouth hanging slightly open as she took in every inch of his beautifully smooth, pale skin. Agnes could see Halsin have a similar reaction as he eyed the other elf, the vampire looked ethereal in the candlelight. Astarion climbed up onto the bed, using a hand to spread Agnes’ legs apart and pulling himself up along her body. “I cannot wait to taste you, my love,” he whispered, his head dipping to her neck. Astarion pressed kisses to her bite scars, a hand pressing her harder onto the bed. Agnes moaned as Astarion sucked at the skin around her scars, his tongue occasionally lapping at her neck. “Astarion,” Agnes moaned breathlessly as he slipped a hand under her shirt, cupping her breast. He groaned, realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra. Astarion pulled her shirt up over her head, thumbing at her nipple causing her to whine. “What is it, little love?” Astarion said grazing his fangs across her neck and pressing his erection against her clothed clit sending a wave of pleasure through her body. “Please, just…” Agnes couldn’t get her words out, her head clouded with lust and the faintest hint of drunkenness. “What do you think, Halsin?” Astarion said, pulling away from Agnes to look at the druid. He was watching the two on the bed, palming his cock through his pants. “I think she needs to tell you what she wants,” Halsin said, walking around the side of the bed for a better view. Agnes rolled her eyes, grabbing a fistful of Astarion’s curls and pulling him into a kiss. Astarion groaned as he felt her leg come up to press against the erection straining against his pants.

Astarion pulled back, a smirk crossing his face. “So impatient,” he tutted, pushing himself back off of the bed. Agnes narrowed her gaze at him, letting her head fall back in frustration. “What do you want, my heart? Tell us,” Halsin said, cupping Agnes’ jaw and turning her to face him. Her eyes widened as she noticed Halsin had removed his trousers, his other hand wrapped around his impressive length. “Gods, Halsin,” Agnes groaned, his thumb trailing along her bottom lip. She pulled his large thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and sucking. Halsin and Astarion both let out a groan as they watched her, Astarion now quickly removing his own pants. Agnes pulled her mouth off of Halsin’s finger with a pop, spit running down her chin. Halsin wiped it off for her before pulling her into a kiss. Agnes was so lost in the druid she almost didn’t notice the tug on her bottoms. “Up,” Astarion ordered, patting her leg. Agnes lifted her hips as Halsin’s tongue pushed its way into her mouth. Their tongues danced as Astarion pulled down Agnes’ trousers and small clothes, gently lifting her legs as he removed the clothing. Astarion’s cold fingers ghosted up her legs onto her thighs, kneading into the soft flesh. “I can see how wet you are already, pet,” Astarion purred, pushing her knees to spread her legs for him. Agnes pulled away from Halsin to look at Astarion lying between her legs, his hands trailing her thighs. He shot her a devilish grin before dipping his head to press soft kisses between her thighs. Agnes threw her head back onto the pillow behind her, wiggling under Astarion as he gently trailed his lips closer to her core. “Look at me, my heart,” Halsin purred, pulling her face towards him. She looked over to him, a whine escaping her lips as Astarion licked a stripe up her thigh. Agnes watched Halsin pump his cock as, a groan escaping his lips. “Use your words, love. What do you need,” Halsin said breathily, looking down at Agnes. “I need to taste you,” Agnes whimpered, bringing her hand up to Halsin’s length and swiping her thumb across the tip. Halsin groaned as he kneeled on the bed, bringing his cock closer to Agnes.

“Yes, my love, I want to see you take all of him,” Astarion said as he trailed his fangs along Agnes’ thigh. Just as Agnes was pulling Halsin’s cock into her mouth, Astarion plunged his fangs into her thigh, a loud sigh escaping him as he felt her blood flood into his mouth. Agnes moaned around Halsin’s length, her tongue swirling around his head. Halsin threw his head back, a hand coming up to grab her braid. Astarion dragged his fingers through Agnes’ folds as he continued to feed, groaning at how wet she was. He pulled his mouth away from Agnes’ thigh, the rush he got from her blood leaving him a bit light headed. He lapped at the new wound, licking up beads of blood as they dripped out. Halsin used Agnes’ braid to bob her head up and down his cock as Astarion teased her entrance with his icy fingers. She moaned loudly as Astarion pushed two fingers inside her, curling them upward. “Gods you sound so beautiful,” Astarion groaned, kissing the inside of her thigh as he pumped his fingers in and out of her cunt. Halsin pulled back on her braid, her mouth coming off of his cock with a pop. “Does that feel good, little thief?” He asked, leaning down to kiss her. “Yes,” she breathed as Halsin captured her lips with his. Astarion leaned forward, dragging his tongue along her clit as he fucked her with his fingers. He began drawing lazy circles with his tongue, slowly pulling his fingers out of her.

Agnes moaned into Halsin’s mouth, her back arching up off of the bed as she ground her cunt against Astarion’s face. Halsin pulled back from her to watch Astarion lavish her pussy, his hand pumping his cock once more. “Astarion you look positively divine devouring her like that,” he breathed, spitting in his hand to lubricate his length. “Oh, Astarion,” Agnes whined, her hands tangling in his hair. She could feel her climax building as Astarion lapped at her with reckless abandon. Agnes pulled on his hair, bringing his face up to hers. His eyes were wild, blown wide with lust as he breathed heavily. “I need you inside me. I want to come on your cock,” she growled, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer. Astarion was too far gone to make her wait any longer, dragging his cock along her folds to wet his length. He nudged his head at her entrance, groaning at the feeling of her. As he pushed himself inside, he grabbed Halsin by the hair and pulled him in to a kiss as he began pumping his cock into Agnes. “Oh, gods below,” Agnes moaned, the feeling of Astarion pumping inside her and the image of the two elves devouring one another in front of her nearly pushing her over the edge already. Agnes wrapped her fingers around Halsin’s length, stroking him to match Astarion’s pace.

Astarion pulled back from Halsin, bringing Agnes’ leg up to rest on his shoulder so he could get a better angle. He leaned forward, a hand gripping the headboard behind Agnes as he resumed a bruising pace. “Fuck you’re so… gods,” Astarion was close, Agnes could tell by the sheer nonsense spilling out of his mouth. “Come for me, Astarion,” Agnes whined, continuing to stroke Halsin’s cock with one hand, the other gripping Astarion’s curls. Agnes could feel her own climax building, the new angle punching the air from her lungs. “By the Oak Father, the two of you look so… ah,” Halsin groaned, rutting into Agnes’ hand as he watched Astarion fuck her, gripping the headboard with one hand. Agnes pulled Astarion closer by his curls. “Come for me, please,” she begged against his lips, feeling his pace grow more erratic. Astarion pressed his forehead to hers as he came with a grunt, spilling inside her. Feeling him come brought Agnes over the edge, a wave of pleasure overcoming her body. Halsin wasn’t far behind the other two, spilling into his own hand at the sight of his lovers tangled in one another.

Astarion curled up next to Agnes, his forehead pressed to hers. Halsin joined the two on the bed, embracing Agnes from behind and pressing kisses to the back of her neck. “I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow,” Agnes chuckled, nuzzling Astarion’s nose with hers. “Gale will be pissed,” Astarion added, stroking Agnes’ cheek. “Oh he’ll be fine,” she said, lacing her fingers with Halsin’s. “Would you like to take a bath, my heart?” Halsin asked against her neck, continuing to lay kisses to her soft skin. “Mm that sounds nice,” she hummed. Halsin squeezed her hand before getting up from the bed. “I’ll run it for you,” the druid said with a smile, heading towards the bathroom. Astarion pulled Agnes into his arms, burying his head in her neck. “Are you alright, Star?” Agnes asked, holding Astarion tight. “So good,” he murmured, nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck. She smiled, draping a leg over his waist. Astarion pulled back to look at Agnes, his expression soft. “I love you,” he said with a smile. Agnes pulled him close to her chest, hugging him as tightly as possible. “I love you, too” she whispered.