#happy valentines day!!!!!!!11 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xxnashiraxx · 12 days ago

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Oh my gOD THIS WAS SO PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL I AM SOBBING MY GOD KHY

Guys do yourselves a favor and read this one, it's beyond beautiful and sweet and I love it so much 🥺💕

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 8.5k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: piv sex, fingering, blowjobs, semi-public sex

‣ preview: “Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.” AO3 ┊ series masterlist

It's a crisp autumn evening, and the High Hall is the place to be. Music pours from the open windows in rich, melodic tones, inviting the Gate's best and brightest. Tonight marks the celebration of the rebuilding of the city – and the heroes who helped defend it.

Presently, Ysera wanders about the ballroom, searching for Astarion. Her heels click against the decorative tiles as her eyes scan the crowd, hoping to spot his distinctive curls amidst the lords and ladies dressed in their finery. He had left her for only a brief moment to fetch her more wine, but as more people began to arrive, they had gotten completely separated.

Ysera suppresses a string of curses as she stumbles forward, her movements severely hampered by her shoes. Astarion had insisted she wear something more practical, but it felt appropriate to wear something nicer to such an important event. The elaborate star-shaped motifs decorating the velvety exterior were the perfect compliment to her gown, the very same one that he had finished for her only days earlier.

Wearing anything less than her best would have been an insult to Astarion’s efforts. Were she more graceful, she would move like a living constellation. The wine will do her no favors, but it will certainly improve her mood.

The beveled edge of a tile throws her off balance yet again, and Ysera braces to crash into the ground, throwing her arms out in front of her in a last, desperate attempt to keep herself upright. To her surprise, her palms slam into something equally as solid but far more forgiving, and an arm snakes delicately around her middle to steady her.

Ysera opens her eyes, expecting the scent of bergamot and rosemary to follow, but she instead finds herself glancing up at a stranger she's never seen before, wrapped in the aroma of wildberries and pine. The man holding her is human, but he’s dressed so exquisitely and carries himself with an air of elegance that one might just as easily mistake him for being of elvish descent. Dark hair frames his handsome face, and the corners of his verdant green eyes crinkle as he smiles pleasantly at her.

Embarrassment floods through her, color staining her cheeks as she extracts herself from the man’s grip and offers him a small smile in return.

“I'm so sorry! Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the man replies coolly. Even his voice evokes power and wealth, a deep, rumbling tone that somehow makes Ysera feel even more self-conscious about how out of place she must look.

Of all the men to inconvenience…

“I am Coran Moore.” The man, Moore, dips into a respectful bow. “Might I ask your name, my Lady? I don't believe I've seen you around before.”

Astarion had been right to try and teach her the proper way to behave amongst the members of high society, an old remnant of his time with Cazador. To hear Astarion tell it, Cazador had often paraded his spawn around during the elegant balls he'd thrown for whichever patriars were corrupt enough to lend him their influence – and what better bargaining chip than those who were already obligated to speak highly of him?

Ysera clears her throat and curtseys politely. Her form could be better, but at least she thinks she's avoided offending him further.

Small victories are still victories.

“Ysera,” she says. Then, after a pause: “Um, Whitlock. I doubt you're familiar with the name. I'm not really…”

She trails off, but Coran Moore’s eyes brighten with recognition.

“Everyone in Baldur's Gate knows your name, my Lady. The hero who saved the city. Or one of them, at least.” He flashes her a dashing smile, all teeth and calculated charm.

Ysera feels more than a little foolish. She chalks it up to whatever it is about him that's clouding her thoughts, unable to break away from his alluring stare.

“Oh,” she mumbles shyly. “Right.”

“Forgive me for my impudence,” Moore carries on, “but whoever convinced you those shoes were a good idea does not have your best interests at heart, I'm afraid.” His eyes drop to the floor to assess her heels as they peek out beneath her gown, and Ysera lets out a breath the moment they fall from her face, as if she's been released by some enchantment.

She twirls a stray lock of her hair that's escaped the fancy braids Astarion had woven into it shortly before their arrival.

“It was my idea. They matched the dress.”

She hadn't meant it as a joke, but Moore throws back his head and lets out a laugh all the same.

“Of course.” He extends a single, gloved hand to her, which Ysera takes for no other reason than it feels like the proper thing to do.

“If I might be so bold,” Moore suggests, “I would like to invite you to my estate some time. If you have the time amidst all your well-earned celebrations, of course.” He addresses the look of confusion written on Ysera's face by quickly adding, “I would be thrilled to help you find a new pair of shoes. Or perhaps a new gown? I think you would look quite stunning in red.”

He must not need to imagine it, if the blazing heat that creeps up her neck is any indication. Ysera's too embarrassed to mull over exactly how appropriate such a remark is, even if his praise works wonders for her confidence.

“I have my own personal tailor whose work you simply must see.” Moore winks and releases her hand. “Special discount for one of the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, of course.”

The seconds pass like minutes as Ysera considers his offer. Her tail swishes anxiously beneath her skirts, thankfully hidden from view. Being designated as a local hero had come with plenty of perks; this, she convinces herself, is no different.

“I, uh…” She wrings her hands together. It would be rude to refuse him, no? This man is clearly someone important. Nevermind that she doesn't even know what she'll do with another gown that she has no use for.

“I mean – thank you. I suppose I could always take a look…”

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together. “When should I be expecting you?”

Ysera opens her mouth to make a suggestion before a familiar voice sounds out behind her over the music.

“Expecting you where, darling?” Astarion appears over her shoulder, slipping his arm possessively around her waist and deliberately pulling her against his chest. His ruby eyes narrow as he fixes an unflinching stare upon Coran Moore, lips pulled back in a strained half-smile.

“You must introduce me to this new friend of yours. I don't believe we've met, Ser…”

“Moore. Coran Moore.”

More holds out his arm to shake hands with Astarion, who makes no indication that he has any interest in returning the gesture.

“Astarion,” he says in a clipped tone. “And what is it that you want?”

“Ah, yes; I remember seeing your name amongst the reports as well,” Moore remarks in a disinterested tone. “I was simply trying to offer your… friend –” Astarion tightens his hold on Ysera “– an alternative to her unfortunate choice of footwear.”

His choice of words is intentional, calculated. Astarion knows he means to ascertain the nature of their relationship, and Astarion makes it clear in no uncertain terms. Moore's eyes flash wickedly, with a saccharine smile to match.

“Or anything she likes, really,” he adds. “A hero should look the part, don't you think?”

If he means to insult Astarion’s handiwork, the jab misses its mark entirely. His long list of clients are enough of a testament to his skill as a tailor – and at any rate, only a man without any more cards to play would stoop to such petty insults.

Astarion shrugs off the blow with a roll of his shoulders and retaliates in turn.

“Yes, well, if we have the need for any of your cheap baubles,” he sneers, his voice high and contemptuous, “we'll know exactly where to find you.”

Moore visibly bristles beneath Astarion’s haughty glare.

“I beg your pardon?”

Astarion is all too familiar with this kind of man: pretentious, self-righteous, and utterly devoid of any real substance. He's played the part himself more times than he can count. The mask slips so effortlessly back into place that it's as if he'd never taken it off to begin with.

“I was under the impression you were a smart man, Moore. Shall I say it more clearly for you?”

Coran Moore clenches his fists and raises to his full height. The mocking grin that works its way across Astarion's face enrages him further, and before the pair of them can come to blows, Ysera intervenes by inserting herself between them.

“Okay, okay,” she says, pushing Astarion back, “that's enough. Your offer was very kind, Ser. Thank you for thinking of us.”

Moore’s demeanor changes the instant he turns his attention back to Ysera, no trace of his earlier anger in the way he looks at her. In another life, he would have made a fine chameleon.

“My Lady.” He bows again and turns to leave, but not before delivering one last barb.

“My offer – which I have extended to you and you alone – still stands. If you have any need for more … refined company, please don't hesitate to pay me a visit.”

And with that, he spins on his heel and walks away. The moment he is out of earshot, Ysera rounds on Astarion and jabs her finger directly into the middle of his chest.

“Astarion! You didn't need to be so prickly!” She huffs in exasperation when Astarion rolls his eyes.

“He was just trying to be nice,” she insists. “...by selling me something… which I'm sure is a perfectly normal thing to do at an event like this. I think.”

Astarion scoffs and clicks his tongue in admonishment.

“Was that before or after he invited you back to his estate?”

The accusation drains the color from her face, and Ysera pointedly looks away, suddenly finding the tiled floor far more interesting.

“I thought so,” Astarion says. Ysera doesn't have to ask how he knows – the answer is obvious enough, even to her.

“I saw the way he was looking at you, darling – there's only one thing a man like that wants, and I get the sense he's not above a little bribery to get it. And what a fine catch you'd make.”

Ysera buries her face in her hands.

“Give me that,” she mutters, swiping away the goblet in his hand and downing half the wine in a single swallow.

“You never should have let me convince you that coming here was a good idea.”

“Speak for yourself, darling,” Astarion quips smugly. “That was rather fun, wouldn't you agree?”

As they meander throughout the ballroom, Ysera's occasional muttering is drowned out by the menagerie of bards and other musicians who perform at the opposite end of the hall. Amplified by magic, the music carries far, much to her relief.

The last thing she wants to do is talk about Coran Moore and his strange proposition. After a while, a familiar face emerges from the crowd, and Ysera lets go of Astarion’s hand as she bounds ahead on unsteady feet.

“Gale!” She throws her arms around the wizard, who struggles not to lose his own wine or the small plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres he's been snacking on. “You made it!”

Gale smiles warmly at her and chuckles. There's always such an infectious kindness to him that she can't help but grin back and hug him even more fiercely. When he sputters and sways on his feet, she finally releases him.

“Why, I could scarcely miss the opportunity for celebration!” Gale says, popping another square of something expensive looking into his mouth. “Good food, good wine – and even better company to boot.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial look on his face and adds: “My students have kept me busy, but I assured them my attendance tonight was quite mandatory.”

Ysera giggles and covers her mouth with her hands. The skirts of her gown rustle as her tail flicks excitedly beneath the layers of fabric. She has a sudden feeling of nostalgia for their time together back at camp, when the lot of them would sit around the campfire in the evenings exchanging stories and terrible jokes with one another. They all see each other so rarely now, but she will always cherish the memories she has of her dearest companions.

“I'm so glad to see you,” Ysera tells him. “Wyll and Karlach are here somewhere too. Probably off somewhere being pestered by the Duke before his big speech. Halsin is probably still here too… if he hasn't managed to rip off his suit yet.”

They both share a laugh, half expecting to see a bear eating its weight in appetizers somewhere amidst the crowd. He'd certainly be far happier that way, rather than stuffed into an ill-fitting ensemble that, despite its elegance, was clearly uncomfortable. If she sees him again, she’ll be sure to make the suggestion.

Ysera doesn't spot Halsin, but a shock of white hair catches her attention from only a few paces away.

“Is that…” She leans forward to confirm her suspicions, her smile growing wider when she spots two more of their companions.

“Shadowheart! Lae’zel!”

The cleric is dressed in a midnight black gown with a plunging neckline that tapers at her narrow waist before spilling into an array of satiny-soft skirts, complimenting her pale complexion and the braid that falls down her back like a moonlit waterfall. Beside her, Lae’zel looks as fierce as ever, dressed in the armor Ysera remembers so well from their travels. It's been polished to a mirror shine, along with the greatsword strung across her back.

Ysera spares a moment of pity for the poor servant who probably tried to take it away from her at the door.

“It's good to see you, my friend,” Shadowheart greets her, pulling her into a friendly hug. “Have you and Astarion been well?”

They launch into a lively conversation. Ysera tells them all about what she and Astarion have been up to since they last saw each other; Shadowheart, in turn, returns the favor by telling them about her and Lae’zel, and although the githyanki remains stoic throughout most of the conversation, it's evident by the way she glances periodically at Shadowheart that the two of them are doing quite well together themselves.

They've come a long way from trying to slit one another's throats in the dirt.

If Ysera had to use one word to describe Lae’zel, it would be intimidating. If she had two, she would call her admirable, though never to her face. But the wine has made her bolder than usual, and one more look at Lae’zel's too-serious expression makes her feel suddenly like bursting out in laughter.

“Don't look so sour, Lae’zel!” she admonishes, patting her on the arm. “It's supposed to be a celebration.”

Lae’zel scoffs lightly and peers down at Ysera, who feels very brave for not shying away.

“Do I not appear to be having fun?” she asks, in a tone that does nothing to counter Ysera's accusation. “Shadowheart assures me that it is an honor to be invited to attend such an elaborate ceremony.”

That, at last, is what makes Ysera laugh, struck by the absurdity of it all.

“Of course it is,” she agrees. In a moment of brilliant stupidity, she grabs the warrior by the hand and tugs her away from Shadowheart.

“Here, I know what'll help - come dance with me!”

“Chk.” Lae’zel scoffs again and furrows her brow. “I have no desire to embarrass myself with such frivolities.” She looks very fierce, but Ysera is far too tipsy to care about insignificant things like her safety anymore.

Shadowheart only smiles when Lae’zel throws an almost frantic gaze her way, uncertain how to deal with Ysera's uncharacteristic behavior. The two of them have never been exceptionally close, and even for such a hardened warrior, Lae’zel has no battle plan for this scenario.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart says unhelpfully. “It's customary. Go on and have a dance.” She'll pay for it later, but she knows a golden opportunity when she sees it.

Lae'zel allows herself to be pulled out onto the dance floor, though her posture is stiff and uncomfortable. Sensing her hesitation, Ysera chews on her lip for a moment and considers.

“Oh! How about this?” she offers. “Combat is sort of like a dance, isn't it? Maybe if you pretend you're trying to stab me, it'll be easier.”

Lae'zel’s scowl finally recedes, replaced by the easy smirk that flits across her face. She takes one of Ysera's hands and holds it aloft, mimicking the dancers around them.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

────

Astarion watches, perplexed and amused in equal measure, as he watches Ysera bully Lae’zel into dancing with her.

The sight of Ysera wobbling on her heels like a newborn fawn as Lae’zel leads her in a ferocious, chaotic waltz around the dance floor brings a grin to his lips, and he snorts when the other dancers part for them with looks of bewilderment.

Neither of them have any rhythm; Lae’zel, because she is unaccustomed to dance, and Ysera, because the wine has stolen what little grace she had to begin with.

A figure sidles up next to him, and Astarion catches a glimpse of Gale's trademark purple as the wizard gives him a thorough assessment.

“You look happy, Astarion,” Gale eventually concludes. Astarion swirls the wine in his goblet, takes a deep draught, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

“Of course. I suppose we have the old Duke to thank for the wine. I'm surprised his coffers weren't completely emptied out rebuilding the city.”

It's a calculated response, meant to gauge Gale's true intentions. Astarion is less guarded these days, but he still plays his cards close to his chest. Old habits and all.

Gale takes a moment to consider.

“I mean you and Ysera,” he clarifies, bringing his own goblet to his mouth and taking a quick sip. “Although I must agree, the wine is rather spectacular.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. Lae’zel and Ysera continue their rampage across the ballroom, locked in a strange display as they push and pull against one another. He hears Ysera's heart thrums above the music, thundering when Lae’zel twirls her so fast she almost topples into a nearby pair of half-elves. There's no time to apologize before Lae’zel whisks her away again – though she certainly tries her best.

Astarion hardly notices the way his expression softens as he watches her. As it so often does when she's caught up in the moment, living her life to its fullest.

And Gale has the measure of things. He is happy, isn't he?

It's difficult for him to imagine a life for himself without her in it, and even less easy to envision one where he would be happy without her by his side.

After a moment of introspection, Astarion tips his head to the side. His eyes flick to Gale for only a moment before returning to Ysera. He takes another drink from his goblet.

“She was the one to find me after I fled the docks, you know.”

There's something akin to surprise in Gale's expression for a moment, before his face becomes inscrutable. He's not used to Astarion being so candid with him, but his silence is a token of respect, paid in full for Astarion’s honesty.

“She sat with me until sundown and made sure that we – that I – had somewhere safe to go,” Astarion continues. His smile turns sardonic as he adds, “In that moment, all I could think of was how weak and ashamed I felt, and she never made me apologize for any of it. She never has. I've never understood why.”

And that, above all else, is the honest to gods’ truth. He doesn't doubt her affection for him (how can he, after everything they've been through?), even if it's still difficult to understand her motivations.

Loving her comes easy. Finding that same compassion for himself is a monumental task. He's not half the man she thinks he is, but he wants to be.

Gale fixes Astarion with a knowing look and rests his hand on Astarion’s shoulder.

“She loves you, Astarion. What other reason does she need?”

She'd told him nearly the same thing, what feels like a lifetime ago. The irony makes him bark out a laugh, and if it weren't for the fact that the tadpoles are very much gone, he would swear Gale had been conspiring with Ysera all along.

The memory is so vivid in his mind. The way the moon had illuminated her face and made her eyes shine like the sun. How resolute she'd sounded when she'd pledged herself to his cause, despite the risks involved.

‘I don't want anyone else to feel the way I did. I don't need any reason beyond that to help you.’

Beside him, Gale raises an inquisitive brow.

“It’s nothing,” Astarion says, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. “Just an old memory.”

Gale's brows raise again, but this time his attention is fully tethered on Ysera and Lae’zel. The githyanki warrior has increased their already frenetic pace, and Ysera’s expression has quickly grown to one of very apparent terror. Her body dips and twirls as she struggles to find a place for her feet, and in a desperate plea for assistance she catches Astarion’s eye for no more than a second before Lae’zel’s got her spinning once again.

Gale leans over and brings his face close to Astarion's.

“Does she know it's a dance, and not a duel? Might I suggest –”

Astarion presses his goblet into the wizard's hands and strides forward.

“Already on it.”

He reaches his destination in no more than a few clipped strides, carefully extracting Ysera from Lae’zel's arms. Lae’zel is breathing heavily from the exertion, eyes wild as though she's just fought a very intense battle. Ysera stumbles into his embrace, her vision spinning as she clings to him and tries to get her bearings.

“Careful, darling,” he croons, placing a single kiss atop her head between her horns. “Are you alright?”

“Oh gods,” she murmurs, “where am I?”

Astarion chuckles fondly and rubs his hand over her back in soothing circles. Her chin lifts easily when he slips a single, gloved finger beneath her jaw.

“Exactly where you need to be, my love.”

They melt back into the crowd, and as the music grows soft, Astarion’s world narrows to the space between them. The sconces along the wall begin to dim, casting a pleasant glow across the ballroom.

Ysera looks up at him in adoration, admiring how handsome he looks in this light, especially as it catches in his eyes and reflects a thousand shades of gold-flecked crimson. She tucks her head against his chest, mindful of her horns, and winds her arms around his back.

They sway back and forth, but after a few moments she can sense he has something more to say. She lifts her head to let him speak.

“May I have this dance?”

There's a vulnerability in his voice she doesn't often hear, and the soft smile he offers her has never looked so good or so genuine. She knows he can hear the way her heart skips a beat, but at least this way she doesn't have to try to find the words for how she feels about him at this moment.

“I don't know the steps,” she says in response.

“Don't worry,” Astarion assures her. One hand slips into hers as the other brackets her waist. She would trust him with anything, as long as he keeps holding her like this. “Just follow my lead.”

Astarion guides her gently around the dance floor, their bodies pressed together as he instructs her where to place her hands and how to move her feet. She takes to it far more quickly than she had expected, and it soon becomes as simple as breathing. Her mind is blissfully empty but for him; the comforting familiarity of his body, the way he cradles her in his arms, and the citrusy scent of him that she will always associate with what it means to be home.

“I'm sorry for making you jealous,” Ysera says, still feeling more than a little guilty.

Astarion scoffs incredulously.

“Please, darling. In order for me to be jealous, I would have had to have believed that oaf actually stood a chance with you.”

It's neither a lie nor the entire truth. He had been afraid of losing her before, of course. Once, when he confessed his feelings for her against his better judgment, and again when the brain fell and there was nothing tying them together other than the treacherous thoughts that told him she had no more use for him.

Somewhere along the line, the veil had been lifted, and he had finally accepted she wasn't going anywhere.

Almost as if she's heard his thoughts, Ysera grins up at him and flashes her teeth.

“Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me.”

“It's a difficult burden to bear,” he teases her back, “but I think I'm fit for the task.”

Their noses brush against one another before they share a quick kiss, letting the rhythm of the music carry them in slow, wide circles around the ballroom.

“You know,” Ysera says, almost mischievously. “Coram Moore said something very interesting that you might want to hear.” Astarion inclines his head but doesn't bother to suppress the pout he makes at the mention of the other man’s name.

“He told me I would look stunning in red.”

Astarion presses his face against the slender column of Ysera's throat, which muffles his deep chuckle. He opens his mouth, and Ysera shivers as his fangs slot into the twin scars on her neck where he typically feeds from her.

“Did he now?” he purrs. “Shall we find out for ourselves?”

────

The moment Ysera and Astarion enter the suite they've been given in the upper floors of the High Hall, Ysera kicks off her heels and tugs her hair out of the braids Astarion had made for her with a sigh of relief. With a flex of her toes, the feeling returns to her feet, and she follows Astarion out into the balcony.

“Gods,” she groans, resting her face in her hands as she leans her elbows across the balustrade, “that was embarrassing.”

Hands in his pockets, Astarion watches the sky, dark as the void and adorned with thousands of glittering specks of silver stars. His fangs catch the light as he smirks sidelong at her.

“Not a fan of the spotlight, love?”

At the end of his grand speech to those in attendance for the celebration, Duke Ravengard had turned towards Astarion, Ysera, and the rest of her companions and asked if any of them would like to say something. Her nerves had twisted into silent panic as several hundred eyes swept over her, and she had prayed to any god who would listen that someone else would volunteer so she didn't have to.

She had almost collapsed from relief when Wyll approached his father's podium to make a statement on their behalf, delivering a few concise words on the importance and enduring health of the city, and what an honor it had been to be on the front lines of its defense. Shortly after, the celebration had ended, and it was all she could do to stop herself from sprinting to their suite upstairs.

“I told you he was gonna ask one of us to get up there and talk,” Ysera laments. “And you thought he wouldn't be crazy enough to do it. I win.”

“I wasn't aware we were wagering on it, darling,” Astarion responds. “But since you're so insistent, what would you like for your reward?”

She doesn't need to think for any longer than a few seconds.

“A kiss,” she announces. “I want you to kiss me.”

Astarion sweeps her into his arms and slots his mouth along hers.

“How scandalous,” he murmurs against her lips. When he pulls away, Ysera pouts and balls her fist in his jacket to tug him back. Astarion rolls his eyes but willingly gives into her demands, this time nipping at her bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside her mouth.

“Insatiable, aren't you?” His voice is low and sensual in a way that makes her shiver.

“With you? Always.”

Ysera is light in his hands as Astarion hoists her up and onto the balustrade, holding her close while she steadies herself on the carved wooden beam. His fingers drag across her scalp as his fingers dive into her hair, and he tugs just enough to coax a soft moan from her. He has enough leverage to bend her neck to the side and bare her throat, but as he tears his mouth away from hers to turn his attention elsewhere, something catches his attention.

Across the narrow courtyard, Coram Moore watches them through an open window. Astarion doesn't care why he's there, but as he grins wickedly over Ysera's shoulder a plan formulates in his mind.

“Darling, would you mind?” he asks, innocently enough that she won't suspect anything. He holds up his gloved hand, and Ysera immediately opens her mouth, biting down on the tip of the leather hard enough for Astarion to pull his fingers free. The moment his cool skin touches her leg beneath her gown is electric and she sucks in a breath, anticipation burning hot in her belly.

He takes his time with her, gliding his slender fingers up her calf, face tucked against her neck so she's free to make more of those pretty little noises for him. Ysera holds him by the hair, not trusting her balance the more and more he teases her. She can already feel the wetness pooling between her thighs, and her clit throbs with need as Astarion nears the place she wants him most.

Astarion is finally thankful for the vastness of her skirts, for the chiffon and lace that keeps her guarded from prying eyes. Nevertheless, his fingers trace a devastatingly slow path across her skin, drinking in the warmth of her and the sound of her increasingly desperate mewls and moans make it all but impossible for either of them to keep her pleasure a secret.

“Nnn… Astarion!” She gasps his name, but he can hear the concern in her voice.

“Yes, my love?” he inquires, fingers stilling just beneath the apex of her thighs. “Afraid someone might hear us?”

“No,” she says, “not really.” Then she smirks. “But if we don't get invited back next year, I'm blaming you.”

“Perish the thought.”

It’s settled. Let them all see, then, so there will be no doubt in anyone's mind that she is his. The next time he glances across the courtyard, Coram Moore has vanished.

Ysera is already in quite a state when his fingers brush against her through her underwear, and he groans when he feels the wetness seeping through the thin fabric.

“Already? Why, I've hardly even touched you, darling.”

Astarion dips his head to nip at her collarbones and the tops of her breasts, and even a subtle shift of movement makes him hiss as his hardening cock brushes against her thigh. He doesn't need to see her face to imagine how smug that's made her, especially after his teasing remarks. But before she can comment on it, he slips his hand beneath the gusset of her underwear and drags two fingers along the seam of her, and she cries out at the sudden sensation.

“Q-uit stalling,” Ysera chokes out, less sternly than she would have liked. Astarion has already busied his fingers with her clit, tracing purposeful circles around her most sensitive areas with the precision of someone who knows her body almost better than she does.

“I'm doing no such thing,” he says, offended. “I'm simply affording you the pleasure you deserve. Or am I wrong? Does it not feel good?”

He asks the question with deserved arrogance, knowing very well how much she's enjoying this. Despite her impatience, the stuttering of her heart and the way she pants against him tells a clear enough story.

“It would feel better if – ahh! ”

The moment Astarion sweeps the pad of his finger directly over her clit, Ysera bucks her hips and bites back a scream, mouth slack as her vision swims.

“Asshole,” she groans. Then, “Don't you dare stop.”

Astarion grins triumphantly. “Say please, sweet girl.”

“ Please don't stop, Astarion. Not if you know what's good for you.” The sweetness on her tongue turns to venom, and she barely gets the words out. But there's an edge to her voice that speaks directly to the lizard part of his brain that wants to forgo all this – what had she called it? Stalling? – and take her straight to bed. His composure is nothing when matched against her.

With more difficulty than he would like to admit, Astarion claws back the remaining threads of his sanity. He gathers her wetness on his fingers and presses a single one against her entrance; he slips inside with little resistance, stroking her walls with practiced efficiency. Her body easily acclimates to the second one he pushes inside, and Ysera arches her back to coax him deeper.

“Greedy,” he huffs, stealing another kiss from her. “Can you take another, darling?”

“I’ll take anything you give me, Astarion,” she whimpers, shuddering when he makes good on his offer. It doesn't feel the same as his cock, but when he buries himself to the second knuckle and crooks his fingers, the pleasure she feels is enough to wipe whatever remaining thoughts she has from her mind.

Ysera babbles incoherently as he fucks her with his fingers, praising him as he swallows her moans with another hungry kiss.

“So good… you're so… ohhh…”

As Ysera writhes beneath his touch and bares her throat to him, Astarion finds his patience growing thin. He finds that he wants nothing more than to feel her unravel on his fingers, the cloying thought guiding every pass of his thumb as he guides her closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” she begs, “yes!” There is only desperation left for her now. Astarion gives her what she needs, and as his fingers glide across her walls one last time, she finds herself tossed about on the rising tide of her orgasm, burying her face into his jacket to muffle her sobs of pleasure.

Once her body has stopped its trembling, Astarion slides his hand from between her legs. Ysera opens her mouth without hesitation, letting Astarion press his slick fingers against the flat of her tongue. Her lashes flutter as she looks him in the eyes, tongue swirling around his fingers as she tastes what he's done to her.

And Astarion’s brain nearly short-circuits.

He can think of nothing but replacing his fingers with his cock; if he doesn't get her back inside now, it might very well be the end of him. Ysera seems to have the same idea, and she slips from the balustrade, barely pausing to grab him by the wrist as they retreat into their suite.

Astarion takes only as much time as is absolutely necessary to close the balcony doors and draw the curtains shut. Ysera's already tugged the laces of her gown open, and Astarion spots the fading glimmer of the mage hand she summoned to assist her before her gown flows like a river of ink down her body, leaving her in nothing but her smallclothes, which she wastes little time discarding just as haphazardly.

She strides towards the bed with Astarion in toe.

The mattress dips beneath her weight when Ysera sinks into the plush duvet, with wildfire in her eyes and a laugh that washes over him like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. Astarion barely has the time to begin shedding his clothes before she's reaching for him, tugging him down to join her only moments after he kicks off his shoes and undoes the buttons of his embroidered jacket.

He crashes into her with a noise of protest, just as roughly as she surges up to capture his lips with her own. A quick flick of her tongue against the seam of his mouth is enough for Astarion to oblige her, and he groans as he parts his lips to let her taste him. She kisses him like it's their first, their last, and every time in between, hands tangled in the curls that he had worked so hard to style before tonight's affair.

“Patience, darling,” he tries, barely able to pull his lips away and admonish her eagerness before she's chasing after him. “You're going to ruin the stitching.” His trousers were already tight enough to begin with, tailored to accentuate his long, slender legs. And now, the growing need between his thighs is merciless, the swell of his cock straining against the only remaining barrier between them.

“I'm certain you can fix it,” she murmurs deviously, grinning when her teeth sink into his lower lip and his hips buck suddenly. “After all, you've just shown me how talented those hands of yours are.”

The inflection of her voice is downright sinful. Astarion struggles not to whimper when her hands fumble for the fastening of his waistband, fingertips brushing over the bulge in his pants with just enough pressure to make him ache for her more than he already does.

“Despicable woman,” he grumbles, tugging his pants and underwear down as Ysera hums contentedly and kisses him again. The aftertaste of wine and her own arousal is sweet on her tongue, and he can smell enough of it in the blood coursing through her veins that he yearns to pierce her throat with his fangs and indulge in the rich, heady taste of her. But he would need to abandon her lips to do it, a prospect neither of them seem to be too keen on at the moment.

The instant Astarion’s cock springs free is a euphoria rivaled only by the way it feels pressed against her flushed skin, leaking onto her stomach. Their bodies mold together, the space between them small enough that Astarion can't help but rock his hips forward to chase the friction he so desperately needs. His desire to be inside her overtakes his every thought, and he has half a mind to beg her for it as he tears himself away from the hungry sweep of her tongue.

“Ysera…”

She looks at him through half-lidded eyes, angling her gaze towards him with a look of adoration on her face.

“I –”

He's only just opened his mouth before her hands slip around the small of his back, and Astarion finds himself dazed for the second time this evening before everything stops spinning and he finds himself beneath her. Ysera smiles tenderly at him, brushing away a stray lock of his hair that was so rudely obscuring his view of her lovely face.

“My turn. Let me take care of you now.”

Pleasure erupts within him like the fires of the hells themselves when Ysera splays her palm over his stomach and rolls her hips in a slow, steady rhythm across the hard length of him, teasing his neglected cock. She's absolutely soaked, and it feels so wonderful, but it's not enough, it's not enough, gods it isn't enough.

The loss of contact between them is agonizing when Ysera pulls away, but as she sinks between his legs and runs her tongue along the underside of his cock, his protests die on a shaky, broken moan. He watches, spellbound, as her lips encircle the head of his cock, her eyes trained on his. The hand she wraps around him is bliss, and his hard length twitches as she takes him eagerly into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “that's… wonderful, darling.”

“I had a good teacher,” she mumbles around him with a smirk, and the vibration of her voice entices him to thrust up into her until he hits the back of her throat. Ysera groans and takes him beautifully, following his lead and bobbing her head along the full length of his cock as she sucks and licks him. Her fingers cup his balls, teasing him in gentle sweeps that have him keening. With a hand buried in her hair that moves to wrap around one of her horns, he fights not to buck wildly into her mouth.

If she keeps this up, he's going to come.

Not that he doesn't want that, of course, but it's too soon. He needs more of her – all of her.

Astarion tugs gently on Ysera's horn and she releases his cock from her mouth with a soft pop , licking her lips as she sits up and waits for him to gather his thoughts. Elusive as they are, he finally manages a gruff, “Not yet, love… come here, will you?”

Ysera sighs softly and climbs back on top of him, grinding her hips against his sensitive cock.

Astarion’s mouth falls open and he pants softly, his throat constricting around a whimper he can no longer contain. He bites out her name through gritted teeth, brow furrowed as heat coils like a taut spring low in his belly. He grabs her by the wrist and tugs her forward, caging her close to him with the arms he wraps tightly around her back.

“Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.”

He could take her right now, if he chose to. It would be a simple enough thing, to lift her just high enough so he could plunge his cock inside her eager little cunt. The bliss he imagines feeling as he thrusts wildly into her is almost enough to make him do it, but she seems so intent on taking control for now, and he'd be a fool not to admit the idea doesn't intrigue him.

And the admission of his desire for her was all she wanted, in the end.

The wetness between her legs drips down her thighs as Ysera extracts herself from his embrace, and the sight of her makes Astarion's mouth go dry as she wraps her free hand around his cock and sinks down onto him. Both of their lips part with a satisfied sigh, and Astarion throws his head back against the pillows.

She feels better than he ever could have imagined, warm and soft and unbelievably tight as her body molds to the shape of him. She bites her lip as she rolls her hips experimentally, her walls already pulsing around him.

“Astarion,” she moans, taking the hand he reaches out to her and threading their fingers together tightly.

“I know,” he says, squeezing her hand.

Something he learned early on in their relationship, even before it was a relationship, was her fondness for physical contact. Whether they were in the throes of passion, laying next to one another, or simply existing in each other's space, she always sought comfort in the closeness of him, delighted merely by the feel of his skin on hers.

It wasn't easy, overcoming that particular distaste of his, but now, the thought of her not touching him, of not running her hand across his chest or cupping his face so gently as she smooths the pad of her thumb over his cheek is enough to make his dead heart ache with longing.

She holds him delicately, not because he is fragile, but because he is something precious. Some one worth loving.

Her hips undulate as she rides him for all he's worth, his cock slamming home inside of her each time their bodies make contact. The heat of her engulfs him completely, unfurling through his limbs. Their movements are an extension of the dance they shared before, harmonized this time not by music but by their shared sounds of ecstasy.

A lopsided grin spreads over Astarion’s face, a single brilliant fang poking out beneath the uneven curve of his lips. He feels weightless and almost giddy, as though lost in a dream he hopes he never has to wake from.

“Have I told you lately that you are the most beautiful woman in all the realms?” he asks. His eyes rove over every inch of her body, from the place they're joined to the feminine curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the blissed-out look she fixes on him.

She smiles back and rolls her eyes, sucking in a breath when his fingers return to her hips.

“You've had too much wine,” she insists. “You're drunk.”

Astarion huffs a laugh.

“What's the saying, darling? ‘Drunk words are sober thoughts?’”

“You're ridiculous,” she says, crouching low to hide the color in her cheeks with another passionate kiss.

“So tell me I'm wrong,” Astarion says, confidently calling her bluff. He kisses her back just as fiercely, the fingers of his hand tangling in the loose waves of her hair. The soft strands wrap around his fingers and he pulls hard enough to coax another undignified noise from her.

“Tell me you're not the most stunning–” he bites her lip, groaning as he catches the single bead of blood that blooms on his tongue; “–magnificent… radiant creature to ever grace these halls.”

He explores her mouth between praises, free hand tracing absent-minded patterns across her skin as he lets himself enjoy every inch of her body. He drags his nails along the curve of her spine, and she arches into him with a broken moan.

The heat radiating from Ysera's cheeks may as well be an inferno; he doesn't need to see her face to know his words have hit their mark.

“If I agree with you,” she mumbles quietly, “will you stop embarrassing me?”

It's an absurd request, and one he has no intention of granting.

“Oh, no, my love,” he purrs, purposely lowering his voice because he knows it will drive her wild. “Never.”

His fangs graze the soft curve of her jaw, and Astarion revels in the way she shudders as goosebumps bloom across her skin. He mouths at the shell of her ear and she cries out with a sharp snap of her hips.

“And besides, we both know you wouldn't want me to anyway.”

Ysera's magic roars to life beneath her skin like a hibernating predator roused from slumber. Mastery over her powers has leant her formidable strength, and so it is with careful deliberation that she manipulates the Weave, until the very air itself crackles and seems to writhe around them. Traces of her magic burst around them like a constellation of stars, bathing them in soft, glittering light.

Satisfied, Astarion pulls her ear closer to his lips, near enough that she can almost certainly feel the wickedness of his grin.

“Does it please you, knowing how much you make me ache for you?”

“Everything you do pleases me, Astarion.”

He doesn't expect her admission to affect him so deeply, and he holds her close with a fierce possessiveness. His hips roll into hers at a feverish pace, his fangs a sharp, desperate question against her throat.

“Do it,” she commands him. “Sink your fangs into me and take what's yours.”

Astarion whispers his thanks against her throat before his fangs pierce her neck, warm blood flooding his mouth and coating his lips. Ysera hears every ravenous swallow he makes, lost in the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her on his cock as he drives into her again and again and again. She cries out as the pain bleeds into pleasure, the drowsy satisfaction of losing so much blood nearly making her go limp in his arms.

But Astarion doesn't seem to mind, chasing his own pleasure with reckless abandon. One hand slips between them to tease her clit again, and as her cunt flutters around him and Ysera whines into his ear, he falls apart beneath her. He growls against her throat as he empties himself inside her, hips undulating wildly with each spurt of his cock. He doesn't stop until she comes again, her throat ragged with the way she screams for him.

When she has enough clarity to remember where she is again, Ysera lets Astarion gently roll her onto her side; he moves with her, his softening cock still buried inside her as he holds her close, kissing her face, her neck, her breasts. She sighs softly beneath his affections, letting him shower her with praise.

Tucked against his chest, her eyes flutter closed, and she drifts in and out of consciousness as she fights against the overwhelming urge to sleep. Astarion nuzzles his nose against the crown of her head and presses a soft kiss into her hair.

“You must be cold, darling. Let me get up, and we'll get you beneath the blankets.” He tries to roll to the edge of the mattress but Ysera tangles her legs with his and whines in protest.

“No,” she says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stay with me.”

Ysera sits up just far enough to cast a quick Fire Bolt, tossing the mote of flame into the empty hearth across the chamber. It roars to life, bathing them in its gentle warmth.

“There,” Ysera yawns, falling back into her pillow and snuggling close to him again. “Problem solved.”

Astarion can't help but laugh.

“Stubborn girl. Whatever am I to do with you?”

Ysera smiles softly and places a quick kiss on his lips. She knows the answer as if it's been there waiting all along.

“That's easy. Let me love you.” She's still so warm as she drapes an arm over his middle, determined to hold onto him as long as she can. A hundred different responses hang in the silence that stretches between them. But before Astarion can settle on one that appropriately conveys the depth of his feelings for her and her endless kindness, Ysera has already fallen asleep, snoring softly with her face pressed against his chest. He cards his fingers through her hair, and when her lips pull back in a smile, he wonders if she sees him in her dreams.

“Don't be ridiculous, darling,” he tells her, finally letting his eyes close as he settles in beside her. His heart feels light, and the warmth he feels blossoming in his chest has nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth or the comforting heat of her skin. “As if I could ever do anything else.”

#friend fic!!#fic rec #GORGEOUS GOD DAMN #always knocking it out of the park 😭🖤#happy valentines day!#astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female oc #bg3 fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #ysera #kinktober day 11 #ysera x astarion #my loves <3

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