#the moon ✦ astarion ancunín

[bolyde]

warm. warm. warm. || A Web Weave for the Love of Anais Evernight

@thiefscant

Linnea Paskow

Richard Siken A Primer for the Small Weird Loves

Mitski Nobody

Kaveh Akbar Calling a Wolf a Wolf

J. Bailey Hutchinson Gut

Jen Mazza

June Jordan Intifada Incantation: Poem 38 for b.b.L.

[bolyde]

Food.

At the mention of it, Astarion was finally forced to face the gnawing at his gut. When had it been the last he ate? Weeks or months this time? A meager rat had been provided, emaciated as it was. A swallow full of blood, perhaps? It was long enough ago that he had been pointedly ignoring the heated hunger in his veins.

Being distracted surviving their first day hiking around the wilderness and the sun on his skin had helped.

"I had every intention of stalking that damn boar that got away when you first ran up." The admittance made Astarion tense for a moment, waiting for the stick that usually came with thinking he could eat what or whenever. It would not come, however. It could not. Cazador wasn't here and perhaps with the damn worm in his mind, couldn't even reach him in there either for the time being.

Freedom. A suggestion of it, at least, since their little band was stuck together as long as they wanted to avoid having a squid for a face and having to eat brains.

Disgusting. Not that he could be the one to judge dietary restrictions.

Now... was he a trained tracker? Absolutely not and less so in the wilderness. No, he was built for the city and was thankful that the mosquitoes and other bugs would leave him alone in favor of his other companions.

"Unless you have a better plan? You sometimes do between the two of us."

        Anais's eyes crinkled slightly at his response, feeling a swell of old fondness for him welling up inside. It was so much like he'd been back then; the dramatics, in particular, and the way he held out his arms to them like it was, at best, a tolerable imposition.

        And they stepped in close, winding their arms tightly around his middle and resting their cheek on his chest. It startled them at first, because they knew immediately that something was…not wrong, exactly, but not quite right either.

        Then it occurred to her that a vampire wouldn't have a heartbeat, would he? Nor the usual warmth of a living body…

        That didn't prevent them from melting into his embrace, however. After two hundred years believing him dead and gone, she was happy to hold him like this. He seemed to feel the same, if the nuzzling of his face into her hair was anything to guess by. Never mind his chiding words as he pulled away.

        “Oh, perish the thought,” Anais said, rolling their eyes as they straightened their robes. “As if I could ever make you do anything before—” That wasn't entirely true; she'd been a voice of good and reason in his ear more than once, but every time it had been his choice, ultimately, whatever he'd decided to do.

        But they still had something that needed consideration: “What are you doing about food?”

[pinkberrytea]

He is the king, you are his crown; he is the tree, you are its blooms.

Requiem—A ceremony for the dead. The Vampire Ascendant once made her his bride; now he weds her before the gods. Eternal rest grant unto them, and let perpetual light shine upon them. Amen.

The pleasure of your company is requested at the marriage of Lord Astarion Ancunín to his darling consort, Lady Ancunín. Reception to follow.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 7k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this one was inspired by information released by ed greenwood about wedding rites in the forgotten realms. i thought the blood pact in particular would fit aa and consort perfectly! hopefully it is an enjoyable read. i’d like to thank @bardic-inspo and @starryjuicebox for their support and help with this piece. i appreciate you lovelies!

( part 1 here ) ( part 2 here )

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; orgasm edging; overstimulation; fluff & smut; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; creampie; dry humping; frottage; multiple orgasms; possessive behavior; mirror sex; wedding night; piv sex

“Art desirous of union with the man who comes for thee?” 

As the Galerian priestess’ words reverberate around the otherwise solemnly quiet venue, you are escorted to the snow-covered aisle by your dapperly dressed handmaidens, clad in beautiful scarlet silks with gemstones sown on the sleeves, and all eyes present turn to gaze upon your quivering form—yet none are more piercing than the pair of crimson irises taking in your image from their place by the altar, ruby red flecks swimming in pools of blood whose glistening surface is now disturbed by the waves of emotion breaking on their sanguine shores. Astarion had not been prepared for this; for how his heart would beat faster, how his stomach would twist and turn at the sight of you in your wedding gown, holding the bouquet of dahlias and asphodels he’d endeavored to choose for you himself close to your chest, pale cheeks glowing a faint pink and snowflakes falling leisurely on the veil covering your hair. Suddenly, the shallow reasons for why he had even come up with the idea of hosting the ceremony are all but forgotten, and his frenzied thoughts reduced to a single word: perfect. You look perfect. A vision in white, a bloodied rose, his darling consort, his sinful bride.

His eternal lover.

The moment you start walking towards him, the attendees all rise from their seats and the processional begins, your timid gait almost in rhythm with each pluck of the harp’s strings. He looks hauntingly beautiful in his elegant white doublet, intrinsically embellished with golden and carmine embroidery, silver curls pristinely arranged and marble skin shining ethereally, reflecting the gentle light of the winter moon. The fresh wound on his hand stands in stark contrast against the otherwise smooth blancheness of his palm, blood trickling down onto the soft snow below, and the enticing scent of it wafts through the air almost like an invitation, a temptation too great for your starved self, as all the endless preparations have left you no time to quench the everlasting thirst he bequeathed to you. How long has it been since you last fed? Days? Weeks? Try as you might, you cannot remember. Yet it matters so little now, as he waits for you with almost jovial expectation, ready to once again seal your undying bond, renew the vows made on the fateful eve of your turning.

“Seven thousand souls have given me the power to carve out my own future, and I want you to be part of it.”

The more you approach him, the thicker the air around him becomes, the louder the buzzing in his ears sounds. Your lashes look so long, your rouged lips so full—and gods, how sweetly you gaze upon him, how bashfully, naught behind the bright gleam in your lachrymose eyes but pure, unconditional adoration. Through all the pain, all the hurt, your devotion to him never once faltered, and though the perpetual guilt haunts you both still, it is not in spite of your shared burden that you are brought closer together, but because of it. As you finally make your way to the altar and take your place by his side, time seems to come to a standstill, and in the minutes that follow, you can see nothing but his face, smell nothing but his blood, hear nothing but his heartbeat. No one else matters, nothing else matters—just you, him, and your immortal love.

“My sole endeavor now is to make this world yours and mine alone.”

The priestess takes your hand in hers, and using an ornamental dagger, cuts a gash across its surface, as she did with Astarion’s before your arrival—yet unlike his, the blood takes a while to bloom from the broken skin, so little of it remaining within your veins. You bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a yelp, her treatment of you clearly rougher than would be otherwise necessary; the eldest heiress of an influential patriar, her father had sponsored the construction of the first Galerian temple of Baldur’s Gate, a venture Astarion had enthusiastically supported to gain his favor, and with it, access to the growing following of the God of Ambition. A young acolyte at the time, her infatuation for your darling was undeniable—it was almost wicked then when he arranged for her to be the one to wed you, a political ploy to cement the bond between the two families. You knew his motives, and his cruelty brought you no joy, yet his darkness was something you had long decided to embrace rather than deny, the weight of your choices a penance you’d not ever dare renounce.

Once the deed is done, she lets go of you and backs away, a hint of contempt muddying her lowered gaze. Neither of you pay it heed—rather, you remain focused on each other, the guests but faceless figures looming in the background, blurred and meaningless. He holds his hand up, eyes locked with yours all the while, pupils blown out and raw emotion blazing like a firestorm in their depths. You do the same, your movements small and uncertain, yet as the tips of your fingers touch, he is the one to close the distance between your bloodstained palms, wound against wound, your crimson flowing into his and his flowing into yours. The connection assails you with almost overwhelming fierceness, your minds blended together and a thread of blood binding your souls to one another, as if you were but a single being. You can feel his heart pounding in your chest, his red coursing through your body, his thoughts seeping inside your head and reassuring you of that which needs not be professed; he loves you, oh, how dearly he loves you, like the moon loves the stars, like the dusk loves the dawn. Yours is the light keeping him from being consumed by the shadows, a flickering flame he is willing to protect, no matter the cost.

“I ask for thy hand as my equal, that our lives run as one, from this day forth,” he says, voice soft like velvet, laced with undeniable warmth despite its measured cadence. You may not truly be his equal, not really, but that is a fact you were always willing to accept. He is the king, you are his crown; he is the tree, you are its blooms. You could not hope to compare to his greatness, he could not hope to live up to yours—yet even if those around you may not understand, even if they may challenge it, your love is no less real, no less precious.

“I accept, before the gods, and before all these good people,” you answer, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the words slip from your trembling lips. His feelings become entangled with your own while the blood link lasts, and hidden beneath the yearning, beneath the sheer intensity of his longing for you, you sense anguish, you sense remorse. How many times have you danced to this same tune, played this same game? What a hopeless fool he is—manipulating your affections and toying with them, only to then realize the upper hand was hardly his, not in that pretty clearing during your first night together, not now, as you stand before him so beautifully, so earnestly, laying bare your heart and handing it to him on a silver platter. Your unwavering trust in him is something he was never quite able to come to terms with—why? Why is it that you want him, even after everything? Why give yourself to a selfish villain such as he while asking for nothing in return, nothing but for him to love you back? He knows not the answer to this, but still he would take it; your body, your mind, your soul, he would take it all and make them his, and his alone.

“I shall protect thee and succor thee, until my breath fails and the gods claim me, putting thy needs and comfort before mine own, and keeping no secret from thee, until the end of my days, or until the gods set us apart, though I hereby pray they shall never do so.” The gods have no say in this—you are forever his, and he is forever yours. Astarion is your god, and he shall be the one to claim you; such is the fate you have chosen for yourself. Once he finishes voicing the pledge, your hands come apart and the connection is severed, leaving you empty and vulnerable. Still, you carry on with the rites, bringing your bloodied fingers to his parted lips, and his to yours, staining them with your combined essence; while mimicking your movements, he purposefully refuses to pry his eyes from yours, looking upon you and through you, so fiercely yet so gently, so ardently yet so lovingly. You lose yourself in the urgency of his gaze, giving into its passionate allure, feeling your body lean forward almost as if you were but a flesh puppet, and him the performer pulling your strings.

“You’ve never tasted so sweet, darling.”

He lowers his head to meet you halfway, and the instant your mouth crashes into his, all your thoughts crumble down and dissolve into nothing. The coppery taste of your crimson mixed with his spreads through your tongue, reaching the back of your throat, and the pain of hunger tugs violently at your stomach; yet even in death, as he breathes into you, you feel alive, through him, for him, enraptured by the softness of his lips and the warmth of his skin, protected from the bloodlust, from its all-consuming fury. He cups your cheeks with both of his hands and pulls your face even closer to his, almost as if trying to assimilate you, become one with you, to which you respond just as desperately, standing on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his neck. The tears that had been threatening to fall spill from your closed eyes, the surge of emotions bursting your frozen heart open; he dries them with his thumbs, delicately tucking the few hair strands that have slipped from underneath your headdress behind your ear. Blood is his ink, and with it, he shall again carve his name on your soul and claim that which belongs to him—requiem aeternam dona eis, so that tomorrow, you may rise anew.

“We have a beautiful, bloody future to look forward to, my love.”

It’s useless. No matter for how long or how hard you peer into the grand cheval mirror standing before you, it refuses to show you your reflection. Rather, all you see is an empty room, illuminated by naught but the moonshine creeping in from the open balcony, its velvet drapers swaying with the evening breeze. The snowfall has ceased, but the air remains mercilessly gelid; with your veins painfully wanting for blood to keep them warm, you wrap your arms around yourself, which unsurprisingly brings you no comfort. The guests are all gone, the ceremony is over—now you are left alone with the wandering voices echoing in the recesses of your mind, which grow ever so loud as the aftermath dawns upon you and dissipates the dreamy fog that had been cast over your still veiled head up until this very moment. 

Alone—yet not for long.

“Stunning.” You hear his voice before you see him approach you from behind, elegant fingers brushing against your bare shoulders and squeezing them gently, the soothing heat emanating from his hands sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. “You look stunning, darling,” Astarion whispers in your ear, his pretty lips grazing the ruby-carved earring hanging off it, which in turn dangles ever so softly, catching the moon beams on its shiny surface; breathing hot air onto your sensitive flesh, he then slides them down your neck and plants a loving kiss at its base, half-lidded eyes staring back at his own lonesome figure on the other side of the glass. 

“Do I?” you ask, the hint of disdain in your tone taking even you by surprise. He, however, seems unphased; on the contrary, his handsome face creases into a subtle, cheeky smile, and his hands glide down your arms to then join them around your waist, his chiseled chest pressed flat against your back. As if under a spell, you promptly let down your walls and lean into his embrace, closing your eyes and cocking your head to the side to grant him better access. His smile widens in response, and he kisses your neck again, letting his fangs ghost over the set of bite marks disrupting your otherwise immaculate skin for a moment before pulling back slightly and resting his chin on that same spot.

“Why, shall I be your mirror, my sweet?” Astarion purrs, the silky smoothness of his voice covering your now limp body in goosebumps. “Would that please you? Knowing what the world sees when it looks at you.” He articulates each word with a guttural growl, scarlet irises darkening as his grip on you tightens, yet swirling in their murky depths, you glimpse ruddy hues of worship and desire, fondness and hunger; while it may sound like he is being unserious or trying to egg you on, there is sincerity underlying his offer, an honest wish to make good on it. “What I see.” 

No sooner than the question leaves his lips, he spins you around and presses one of his hands to the small of your back, the other brushing your veil away from your face and caressing your cold cheek—once you lock eyes with him, his cheerfulness vanishes and he gazes upon your graceful figure in pensive silence, scanning every inch of your frame, from the opulent headpiece around your forehead to the sequined pumps hugging your tired feet. After what seems like an eternity, he brings his hand on your cheek down to clasp one of your own, fingers intertwined with yours; lifting it up gently, he then gives it a tender kiss, an impish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“May I have this dance, dearest?” As he waits for your answer, it occurs to you that the chance to waltz with him never really presented itself, noblemen and underground overlords alike having kept him plenty busy throughout the night. You nod timidly, and immediately he takes the lead, stepping to the side and bringing you with him. You tumble awkwardly as if about to fall, but his palm splayed across your back holds you firmly, and instead you lean onto his torso, resting your head right above his heart. The instant you do, its loud pounding reverberates against your ear, lulling you, cradling you, and your tangled bodies sway gently to its soothing rhythm. In the mirror, the image reflected is that of a groom dancing with his ghost bride; no music, no ballroom, no elegant footwork, and yet the intensity of his lovestruck stare paints such a vivid picture that one might see shadows of your presence reflected in his eyes.

“Let’s see then—a slender neck, deliciously bare as if inviting me to feast on it, thanks to that lovely hairdo of yours,” Astarion suddenly says, voice quiet but hoarse, tinged with undeniable specks of lust. He guides your hand to his own waist and lets go of it, only to then slide his newly freed digits along the curve of your throat, carefully tracing the bite marks with their soft pads. “Though I must say, beautiful as your gown may be, I would very much like to undo that pesky knot keeping some of it concealed. May I, darling?” he asks, fingers quickly moving to the satin ribbon holding your bodice in place, wrapped fast around your neckline and flowing down your naked back. You nod again, cheek still pressed to his chest, and with a smug simper, he expertly unlaces it with unparalleled adroitness, letting the pure white fabric slip down your now completely nude bosom. You shudder and snuggle closer to him, in response to which he affectionately folds an arm over your shoulder and buries his fingers in your hair, partially unweaving the elaborate braids that had been tugging at your scalp all day, only those held by the crystal flower barrettes on your temples remaining. 

“Flawless, supple skin, which flushes so handsomely with my essence blooming under it,” he continues, digits sinking deeper into your ribs before he twirls you around, dipping forward as if going in for a kiss, though instead, he reaches for the hemline of your dress, hiking it up your long legs and in so doing, exposing the sinuous contours of your hips and thighs. Almost absentmindedly, the wandering fingers knead their way to the plushness of your round behind, still hidden beneath your underpants; giving it a firm squeeze, he then brings his other hand down from your head to unbutton the tulle corset attached to your petticoat, and just like that, the sumptuous wedding gown falls to your feet, leaving you covered in nothing but your veil and smallclothes.

“Bright crimson eyes that always stare so very coyly, so very docilely.” With a provocative growl, Astarion pulls you taut against him, and once your navel clashes with his crotch, the obvious erection forming under his pants becomes nested right between your bodies. Holding onto your waist with both of his hands, he then presses his mouth to an artery pulsating slightly above your collarbone, letting his warm tongue graze it teasingly as he speaks. “And oh, those precious little fangs, peeking from under lips most luscious… shall we put them to good use, pretty vampling?” he asks, pitch lowering dangerously, and his meaning is made instantly clear—positioned as he is, his own neck is conveniently exposed to you, too tantalizing an offer to ever be refused, so you accept it graciously, biting down on his ivory flesh just as he bites down on yours. The piercing pain of his teeth puncturing your skin is entirely numbed as the thick blood cascades down your throat, and you lose yourself in the bliss of life being returned to your undead veins, gripping both of his arms in an almost delirious haze; while drinking from each other, you rock back and forth, dancing still, a dark waltz under the fading stars.

“I can’t wait to taste your lips after you’ve tasted me.” 

Never unlatching from your bruising artery, Astarion wraps his arms around your rear and picks you up, taking you with him to the canopy bed on the other side of the room. Upon reaching it, he sits down on the edge of the mattress, you in his lap, knees bent on each side of him. He takes a few more swigs of your crimson before pulling away, though you remain feeding—while letting you drink, he carefully removes your headdress and veil, laying them aside to then cradle the back of your scalp with one of his hands and gently run his fingers down your spine with the other. You both moan and groan quietly in each other’s ears, and you can feel him leisurely grinding his hardness against your core; due to the friction, slick starts building between your now puffed-up folds, most of his red going straight to your aching sex rather than swimming around in your stomach. 

“That’s enough, pet,” he coos after some time, lightly tapping your shoulder, and you reluctantly obey, prying yourself off him with a needy whimper. He smirks and plants a kiss on your forehead, sliding his hands under your thighs to lift you up slightly and rotate your body so that your back is turned to his chest. Once your buttocks are pushed flush against the swell between his legs, you help him peel off your soaked underpants—pressing his knees to the back of yours, he then spreads you both wide, exposing your pretty cunt to the chilly winter air. You mewl pathetically, casting down your gaze in shame and hiding behind your palms; with an amused snicker, he grabs your wrists and lowers them, holding both together with one hand and using the other to grasp your chin. “Look, darling,” he whispers, tilting up your jaw and brushing his fangs against your earlobe, “see how exquisite you are.” 

Raising your head almost hesitantly, you do as told, and it takes you a moment to register what now fills your field of vision: the mirror, albeit more distant, is angled perfectly to reflect your naked form, no longer a ghostly apparition, but flesh and bone, your image returned to you thanks to Astarion’s ascended essence sizzling within your veins. Still holding your wrists, he slides the hand on your chin down your neck, gliding it across the hollows of your sternum and then up the soft curve of your breasts, where he stops to pinch a pebbling nipple, earning a high-pitched yelp from you; looking straight into your eyes through the glass, he lovingly kisses the back of your shoulder and smiles against your skin, obviously pleased with himself. After playing with the puckered nub for a moment, his fingers continue descending, through your navel and crotch—finally reaching their intended destination, they circle the twitching bundle of nerves crowning your mound, and you arch your back in turn, shock waves shooting up your limbs.

“Asta—ah!” you moan, rolling your hips into his hand, but he immobilizes you by tensioning his arm muscles, without ever stopping stroking the engorged knot. You whine impatiently, the tautness in your lower belly growing more agonizing by the second; Astarion, however, is clearly in no rush, his movements mercilessly languid. Pressing down on your clit with a deft digit, he buries two others in the sticky warmth of your folds, parting them gently and hungrily gazing upon your wetness, or rather, its reflection—in the mirror, your slickened entrance glistens wantonly, a honied flower waiting to be pollinated, given a healthy flush by the heat of his crimson. One finger rims it tentatively, coating itself in your juices; with no prior warning, he then plunges it in you up to the knuckle, venturing within the tightness of your walls. You try to stifle a shriek, in vain—emboldened by this, he plunges another, watching mischievously as you writhe and squirm. 

“Oh, little love, I do quite like those pretty noises you’re making, I like them very much,” he says, kissing your shoulder again and curling his fingers inside your slit, which flutters desperately in its urge to be stuffed full. Overwhelmed by the lewdness of the scene unfolding before you, not quite used to witnessing yourself in such a vulnerable position, you try turning your head to the side, only for him to quickly let go of your wrists, capturing your face in his now freed hand and pulling it back into its previous position, intent on having you be his audience as he brings about your ruin. “Tut tut, cheeky pup.” Despite clicking his tongue, Astarion’s voice carries a playful lilt, accompanied by the roguish glint in his lust-ridden irises. Bucking his hips forward, he wedges his still clothed bulge deeper within the valley of your ass, and even through the fabric, you can feel it twitching and jerking. “You will be a good girl for me, won’t you?” 

You nod vigorously, hot tears of yearning prickling your eyelids and escaping through your long lashes. He dries them with his thumb, the smirk still gracing his lips, yet his gaze softens a little; moving his hand from your jaw to your chest, he then cups one of your breasts, squeezing and kneading it gently before resuming his attentions between your legs, now pumping his elegant digits in and out of your center. Feeling your body edging closer to the precipice of desire, you hold onto both of his arms, clenched abdomen covered in a glossy sheen of salty sweat and cheeks burning bright red—however, just as you are about to climax, he suddenly snatches you up and throws you on the bed, stradling you right after so that you become entrapped beneath him.

“Good girls must earn their spurs, darling,” he growls, grabbing both of your knees and pushing them apart, licking his lips at the sight of your cunt spasming madly in protest, hopelessly slickened and swollen. “So needy… have you no patience, my dear?” Smoldering you with a lascivious stare, he ignores your avid pleas and lowers his head, pressing his mouth to the plushness of one of your thighs. Ever so delicately, he kisses it and lingers for a short while, only to then unceremoniously sink his fangs into the squishy flesh, coaxing a soft cry out of you. Moving his hands to your hips, he holds you in place while voraciously sucking on the throbbing artery, some of the blood leaking and trickling down onto the silk sheets. Your arousal makes your crimson taste delectably sweet, an ambrosial aphrodisiac—with each gulp, his neglected cock jolts angrily, translucent drops of precome running down its length, so hard now that the pink tip peeks out from the hem of his pants.

“It will only hurt a bit—the pleasure will be far greater than the pain.”

“Hnng—Astarion, please…!” you beg, attempting to bring a hand to the tumid bud convulsing atop your dripping core, but Astarion seizes it with one of his own and pins it to the mattress while drinking still. Finally unlatching from your thigh, he laps at the red beads that remain oozing out of the small wounds inflicted on your skin by his teeth, following the trail down to your groin; once there, he lets his tongue wander and graze your folds, tauntingly flicking it as if by accident. You bury the fingers of your other hand in his silvery curls, half expecting him to stop you, but he doesn’t—instead, he brushes the wet appendage against your clit, swirling it around for a moment before making his way downwards, leaving a glistening string of his saliva mixed with your lifeblood in his wake. Upon arriving at your entrance, he traces its outer edges, savoring you with lengthy strokes to then delve inside at last.

“Oh, gods… hah…” No longer capable of keeping the breathy whimpers and erratic pants contained within the confines of your mouth, you throw your head back and let them fall freely from your parted lips, grabbing a fistful of his hair, though carefully so as not to pull at it. Pleased with your reaction, he rewards you by nuzzling his face against your mound, reaching as deeply within you as possible while massaging and tasting your tender walls, the bridge of his nose auspiciously pressed against the hood of your pearl. Heat starts again pooling in your stomach, your every nerve set ablaze, and it doesn’t take long before the tension snaps and you finally come undone on his tongue, creaming and clenching around it. He enthusiastically partakes of your tangy nectar, eating you up still even as you bask in the afterglow, only stopping once you let go of him. With one last lick, he propels his torso back up, drool dribbling down his chin. 

“Ah, but that won’t do,” Astarion says, releasing your wrist to wipe his lips, their corners still quirked upwards into a haughty, devilish smile. “No, my sweet… I’m not nearly done with you yet.” Lowering both hands to his pants, he swiftly drags them down, freeing his erection and wrapping his fingers around its base. Your eyes are irresistibly drawn to it, and from under heavy lids you gape at the bulging veins and enlarged crown, his foreskin tautly pulled back to reveal the weeping slit. Leaning on one of your knees and slipping his free hand under the other to keep you spread open, he then guides the swollen cockhead to your fluttering folds, dipping it between them and glazing himself in your essence. With a quiet whine, you wiggle your hips, your sex still sensitive as you recover from your orgasm, but instead of backing out, he doubles down and presses the velvety tip harder against your raw knot, chuckling as your protests grow in volume and you try to slither away from him, straining your thigh muscles in an unsuccessful effort to close your legs.

“Gods, you are too cute.” Staring smugly at your flailing body while rubbing himself up and down your wetness, Astarion fastens his grip on your calf using just about enough force not to hurt you, but simply restrain your movements. “Where’s my good girl? Again. I know you can come again,” he purrs, voice deceptively gentle, although the warmth in his eyes is genuine. You shake your head, unable to muster up an intelligible sentence, your mind wiped clean of coherent thought; bending down to brush his lips against your temple, he kisses away the tears beading your lashes, affectionately pressing his forehead to yours. “You can do it. Come, my love. For me.” The whisper caresses your ears with such tenderness that as if by magic, you feel yourself relax, the pain slowly giving way to rekindled arousal. You try your best to focus on the budding sensation, reveling in the smoothness of his cockhead as it grinds against your sore clit, indulging in the intimacy of having your center of pleasure almost merged with his. Gradually, the waves of lust and hunger rippling through you gain momentum, spreading from your gut to your extremities, every inch of your skin tingling and prickling with primal yearning—taking notice of your rapid ascent to rapture, he hastily aligns his cock with your entrance, stretching its tight borders open, though not yet shafting himself inside. 

“That’s it, my darling little bride. Come for your sire.” You can barely hear his words as white noise overtakes all your senses, the world around you reduced to a blurry, chaotic maelstrom. The moment he finally slides his length between your walls, filling you to the brim in a single thrust, your toes curl and your hands ball into fists, your body going limp as you are at last pushed over the edge of ecstasy. Letting go of your knee to take off his doublet, he carelessly tosses it on the floor to then gently cradle both of your cheeks, pulling you into a sensual, passionate kiss. Muffled groans form in the back of his throat with every twitch of his cock, which pulsates longingly as you vibrate and flutter around it; he nips at your bottom lip as if asking for passage, sucking on the bloody droplets drawn from the nicked flesh, and once you comply, without delay his tongue starts massaging your own, eagerly rolling over it while he patiently waits for you to adjust to his size. Wrapping both of your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, you roll your hips upwards, wanting to feel all of him, each bead of sweat, each drop of blood, until it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins.

“Mhnf—Astarion…” you mewl into his mouth, encouraging him to start moving, his rhythm slow and gentle at first. Despite how wet you are, he works your slit open with a bit of difficulty, his girth abnormally enlarged due to the drawn-out neglect, although even through the discomfort you find yourself relishing the chance to have him so snugly nested within you. Astarion, too, seems to be thoroughly enjoying having you gripping him so deliciously tautly, his usually husky grunts growing louder with every push. His hands leave your face to roam the sides of your body, gliding down your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist and slipping underneath you to grope and fondle your ass, slightly tilting you upwards so he can sink deeper within your cunt. Finally breaking the kiss, lips bruised and plumped, he lovingly gazes upon your just as disheveled self for a moment before leaning back down to give you a chaste, tender peck; pulling away again, he then lowers his head to have his tongue ghost over the skin of your throat, your clavicle, and then up the swell of one of your breasts, stopping to hover above its reddened peak.

“Say it, pet. Tell me who you belong to.” His breath tickles the sensitive nub as he speaks, voice dripping with honey and eyes searching for yours from under thick lashes, darkened with desire. To anyone else the question may sound like just another racy quip, provocative banter to spice up the mood, but you know better—you know him better. Following the Black Mass, on that very eve Astarion would first test his unholy gifts as the Ascendant, not by calling upon the dark forces now at his mercy nor by turning into mist, but by making you his for all eternity. That was always the plan—to become your warden, your guardian, your sire and master. Never before you had he ever felt as wanted, as needed, and he cherished that power; for once in his life he was the protector, not the protectee, not the weak vermin wriggling about to find shelter. You gave him a reason to be, a reason to live, and he would not lose that, not for as long as his thawed heart beats.

“I’m yours, Astarion. All yours,” you say, giving him the reassurance he seeks while at the same time soothing yourself. Yes, you are his, entirely his, and that is of solace to you as much as it is to him. Satisfied with your answer, Astarion smiles softly; refusing to avert his gaze from your face, he then wraps his perfectly-shaped lips around your nipple, circling it with a pointed tongue. His teeth graze the supple surrounding flesh for a moment before unexpectedly sinking into it, and your mouth pops open to let out a soundless gasp in surprise. You propel your torso up slightly by resting your arms on each side of your body and leaning on your bent elbows, firmly gripping the sheets beneath you with both of your hands, panting and whining as he suddenly speeds up the pace, undulating his hips more energetically with every thrust. Through his cock and fangs alike, his presence inside of you is absolute, imperious, overwhelming—yet also comforting and fulfilling, like a crushing, constricting embrace.

“You complete me.” 

“Mnhg—ah!” While still latched onto your breast, avidly drinking from it, Astarion moves one hand to your lower back so he may gently raise you with him into a seated position, and you let go of the sheets to hold onto his broad shoulders for support. His other hand continues fondling your ass, fingers widely splayed across one of your cheeks, applying just enough pressure to push your crotch flat against his, securely settling you in his lap as you had been before, except you are now both facing each other. Prying himself off you, he then pulls back to admire his handiwork—the blood seeping from the freshly made puncture marks on your chest trails lazily down your abdomen, the bright crimson accentuated so beautifully by your pale skin, a perfect match with the rubies encrusted in the jewelry that you remain wearing despite being otherwise completely nude. You make for a breathtaking vision, one belonging perpetually and irrevocably to him.

“My darling,” Astarion croons, voice uncharacteristically tender, bringing his hand on your back up to lovingly cup your chin. “My pretty darling,” he whispers before capturing your lips with his bloodstained ones, hips snapping upwards to resume massaging your walls. You bob your body in rhythm with his thrusts, buttocks slapping against his thighs every time you sink down to the base of his length, and his fingers dig deeper into the soft swell of your rear, surely to leave bruises in the morning. Eyes fluttering close, you lean fully against him, the contours of your frame hugging his own almost perfectly, save for your breasts, which are now squished between your rib cage and his pectorals. Releasing your face, he instead grabs your throat, his grip strong, but not binding; giving it a gentle squeeze, he then pulls away, tongue absentmindedly lapping at the strand of saliva connecting you still even as your mouths unweave.

“Astarion…” The way you utter his name sounds almost like a plea, a supplication, yet you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. “I love you”—is what you mean to say, but you bite back the words instead. They are empty, meaningless; the depth of your bond is such that “love” is a sentiment which needs not be voiced. You know he can feel it, for you can feel it too—way past just affection, the pure devotion carved on the core of your very being, so raw and so visceral that it may as well be an open wound, never to heal, bleeding thick, warm emotion. As tempting as it may be to proclaim it, the world is not owed any measure of access to your relationship; this is something meant just for the two of you, a silent understanding between an eternal bride and her husband-to-be, sacred and precious. Thus, rather than speaking any further, you look into his eyes with as much earnestness as you can possibly manage, and he looks back at you just as intensely, pupils so dilated that his irises are but thin red discs, barely even visible. He knows; of course he does. He always did.

“Shh. Hush.” He lets go of your throat before softly pressing a finger to your lips, only to then comb all five digits of that same hand through your hair and cradle your head, gently nudging you forward. Following his lead, you rest your chin in the crook of his neck, flushed cheek brushing against his; upon raising your gaze, you notice that you can see the mirror behind him, reflecting his strong back and shapely waist, still encircled by your entangled legs. More than that, you can see him moving—his hips going up and down every time he disappears inside you, balls swinging whenever he lifts up his ass from the mattress. Watching him fuck you might as well be the most erotic thing you have ever laid eyes on, and for a third time arousal coils low in your belly. 

“Oh… Astarion…” you whimper in his ear, feeling him bump against the spongy skin of your cervix just as his cock is fully swallowed by your needy cunt in the mirror. Your blunt nails rake down his spine, gliding across the valleys and ridges of his scars, once a reason for shame and pain, now a proud symbol of his victory—and of the ghastly consequences it entailed. The fingers buried in your hair pull at it firmly as he pounds into you, and those on your rear continue their ministrations, wandering to the space between your buttocks to lightly graze the puckered entrance. As he peppers kisses over your nape and shoulders, his own moans grow more desperate and less dignified; sweat drips down his curls, now tousled and sticking to his forehead and temples. You feel so tight, so wet, so warm, so good—always such an obedient little thing, so eager to please, letting yourself be thoroughly ravaged and catering to his every whim, his every desire. There is nothing Astarion values more than his dominance over you; his most beloved treasure, the source of his life, the source of his light, however dim. How terribly he adores you, and how frightfully he yearns for you, to be drunk on you, an addiction so great that the very thought of you leaving his side for even a minute fills him with pure dread. To love you is bliss, but also torturous, for you are at once his greatest strength and his most alarming weakness.

“That’s it, gods, that’s it… you’re taking me so well, darling,” he groans, breath hitching as you push against his thrusts, the lewd sound of smacking flesh reverberating across the room. He is close, so close, and so are you—beyond the glass, his reflection plunges into yours with reckless abandon, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. As you ride him, you can feel the entirety of his length, the velvety skin, the throbbing veins, the tumid girth stretching and rubbing against your slickened walls; and with one last powerful jerk of his hips, you can also feel his thick spend painting them in spurts, flooding you like a broken dam. 

“Oh, my love…” Astarion continues rutting into you even through his orgasm, pumping his seed out of your slit. Before long, you too clench violently around him, thighs trembling and gut convulsing, coating his twitching cock in your release. Shoving you back onto the mattress, he keeps leisurely sliding in and out of your sex as you both pant quietly, reveling in the high of your respective climaxes; with his face nuzzled into your cleavage, he affectionately laps at the bite marks on your breast, occasionally intercalating each lick with tender little pecks. You bring one of your hands to his scalp and run your fingers through the silky locks, closing your eyes and emptying your mind, intent on enjoying the moment for what it is, safe and sound in the arms of your lover; he who took you into his sanguineous embrace and imparted on you the gift of absolution, he who set the world on fire while shielding you from the dancing flames, he who placed a crown of roses upon your head after ripping off every thorn. Lux aeterna luceat eis—let perpetual light shine, and from the dark, the two shall reign, betrothed in immortality, wedded in undeath, now and forevermore.

May they rest in peace.

[whirlybirbs]

please god give me "[ CLING ]: having finally been reunited, the sender pulls the receiver into a tight, overwhelmingly relieved embrace, clinging to them and burying their face in their shoulder" with astarion and gale.

┊ astarion ancunín + f!tav!reader┊ CLING

His voice is a near shriek — full of irritation.

"What is wrong with you, hm?!"

"Astarion, I am not in the mood—"

"Oh, well pardon me, my dear lady," comes the snarl of a snarked jest as he follows hot on your trail, "Had I known you weren't in the mood, I would simply have kept my mouth shut and let you die!"

"I had it handled!" you fire back, throwing your hands in the starry, night air and very much ignoring the inquisitive looks from the rest of camp. Astarion does not let up, in fact he jogs to follow more closely than before — right on your boot heels.

"He had a knife to your throat!"

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened!"

"God, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met—"

You finally reach your tent and slam your pack down on your makeshift vanity. Inside, the stolen wares rattle amongst pinched gold and silver. A few scrolls, a few potions; enough to get you and your rag-tag team through the next few days on the road.

You'd embarked into the town at sundown, with Astarion by your side, to pull a few old tricks. You're not a stranger to the silver-tongued methods of a thief. A few plucked lute strings, a few batted eyes. Usually, it's quick work. But, tonight you'd met a bit of resistance behind the town's tavern.

At the edge of camp, it's darker. The moon is hung half-full in the sky, and you gather your matches lighter to ignite your trusty lamp. However, the moment you move to flick the ignition, there's a hand on yours.

"Will you listen to me?"

"I told you," you huff haughtily, "I'm not in the mood, Astarion—"

Suddenly, he slaps the pack of matches from your hands.

It hits the ground a few feet away.

You look up at him, brow wrinkled in shock and confusion.

"...Rude..."

His face is set in a firm frown. And then, suddenly, he's pulling you into an embrace that is as unpracticed as it is rough. Your arms are cramped to your sides as the vampire presses his face hard into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel him huff, and then soften slightly.

Your attitude melts away.

"Don't do that again," comes a quiet, desperate utterance. You swear it will cling to your throat forever more; the sound of his true intentions, "As much as I hate to admit it, you've grown on me."

Your eyes slip shut. "...I'm sorry."

He scoffs. His nose, cold and delicate, brushes the skin of your throat.

Astarion can feel the thrum of life beneath your skin there; a familiar feeling. His heart pangs in want. He knows your scent best — comforting. Home. Even if you aren't entirely aware of it.

...But, he'll keep that to himself for now.

And maybe forever.

┊ gale dekarios + tav!reader ┊ CLING

It's a long trek back to camp — and by morning, you've never been happier to smell the last embers of a fire that's burnt noon and night.

Morning rays, fresh from the dawn, spill over the horizon as you meander into the camp. There's dew on your boots and blood in your hair. The gash along your side has long since coagulated into a sticky, cold mess; your leathers are drenched in all sorts of gore. Not all your own. Most belonging to the three Gnolls who had attempted to take you along with your hunted prey for the camp's dinner.

You lost the boar, your favorite bow, and a good amount of pride in the scuffle.

The moment you cross the threshold of camp, you can taste the tang of magic in the air.

You know, immediately, that it's Gale.

Perhaps it's your own awareness of the Weave, or a particular tenderness for the Wizard himself, but you feel him before you see him.

And then, it's a crushing embrace.

His toiling is long forgotten the moment he lays eyes on you, in all your brutality, and he can't help but surge forward with enough momentum to nearly knock you both breathless.

"Where the hell have you been? Avernus?" he mutters, one hand moving to gently cradle the back of your head. His palm is warm, radiating already with a healing magic that alights the air with the smell of lavender.

"Met a bit of trouble fetching us dinner—"

"Karlach will have your head," Gale says, leaning back to eye you up and down as a warm sweep of light graces your edges. You feel it, like a touch white-hot against bare skin. Intimate. Caring. Different entirely from Shadowheart's healing entirely, "She has been out all night searching for you — Astarion, too."

"I'm fine," you mutter — pointedly keeping the fact you had been chased up a tree by the aforementioned Gnolls to yourself — hands falling to his waist, "And I'm ruining your robes."

"Hush."

The magic pulses hotly, and you slip your eyes shut at the intrusion. His sternness comes robed in warmth. A safe sort of thing.

Gale pulls away only long enough to plant a kiss on your brow.

AS ALWAYS: prompts are here, the ask box is here.

[thatfreshi]

Can you make an Angsty Astarion x mortal!reader fic where Astarion realizes that one day the reader will pass and he’ll be alone again🙏🙏🙏 I need more Angst of this man😭

TW - Talk of death, graveyards

Recommended Song: Halley's Comet - Billie Eilish

Astarion often visits graveyards. It's some form of therapy, a place where he can let it all out, a place where he can mourn what he never had, what he doesn't remember. You don't usually go with him, deciding it's best to give him something just for him. Occasionally he'll ask you to come with him, if it's been a particularly rough time or if it's a special day. At the very least he goes once a month, and it's never a question of where he's going, you just know. You worry about him sometimes, being alone in some graveyard. You are all each other have, all you cherish, all you love. It's not often you're apart, but it's not all that difficult to stick to someone like sap when you can't be in the sun.

It's the anniversary of the death of some family member he doesn't remember, who died centuries ago, but some part of him feels as though he should at least go. Not like anyone else goes to see his family anymore. You're in the living room, setting up the fireplace for when you return. Astarion comes downstairs, and you hear his shoes tap each step. You turn to find him in all black, you are as well.

"Are you ready to go?"

You ask, grabbing your trusty knife off the table by the front door, sheathing it under your jacket. It's been quite cold as of recent.

"Mhm."

He doesn't say much. He doesn't have to say much.

"Then let's go."

You smile warmly and wrap yourself around his arm. The graveyard you're visiting isn't too far from the house. It's where most of the Ancuníns were laid to rest, including Astarion's 'grave.' When you arrive, he knows right where to go, and you simply follow along. A while back he memorized all of these people, their death dates, who they were, trying to remember anything he could from a life he lost long ago. The two of you sit in front of an ornate grave, a second cousin of his, or something of the like. You feel guilty that you don't remember like he does.

"I appreciate you."

He'd been silent the entire walk here.

"You always come with me when I ask. I know it may not make sense, I just feel as though it's right, to at least try."

"Of course my love. Whatever you need."

You rest your head on his shoulder and read the inscription on the tombstone. Apparently this man got a terrible illness, died sometime in his 20s, extremely young for an elf. You wonder how much Astarion remembers, if he knew this man at all. You never pry though. He always shares when he's ready. Suddenly, he squeezes your hand.

"I'll miss you. I don't miss these people, but I'll miss you."

"That's hardly a fair comparison. You barely remember them."

"I'll remember you forever. Even if I were enslaved for two hundred more years after this, I couldn't ever forget you."

He kisses the top of your head, lingering for a moment to take in your scent, the feeling of your hair, every little thing he'll remember when you're gone.

"The truth is darling, I don't think I'll ever love again, once you're gone."

He begins to cry. You hadn't thought about him with future lovers, lying with another soul.

"That's not fair though."

"What makes you say that?"

"You deserve to love after me. You deserve to be loved after me."

He sadly chuckles to himself.

"As if anyone could ever compare. You're the sun, and I the moon. Without you, no light would ever reflect off me again. A dark husk of a man, that's what I will be when you're gone."

He sounds so sure of himself, as if beyond you there is nothing. Then again, you've made this entire life together. Who else would fall in love with a vampire spawn with no master, a monster who's never going to be quite right? You're not sure what to say.

"To be honest, I don't think I could fall in love with someone else, even if I tried my damnest. You've made me feel safe in a way that is so foreign, fabricated just for me. You can't replicate that. You can't find someone so willing to be this patient, this kind, to not only love me for my body."

"You have so much more to love though."

"I don't think anyone would see it the way you do my sweet."

You shift to turn and look at Astarion, taking his hands in yours.

"You know what I love most about you?"

He softly smiles.

"What?"

"That you can change. It's something many people forget to do, to change and evolve, to find more in life than their misery. You've changed, for the better. Very few can do that the way you have."

"It's you who changed me."

Sometimes it frustrates you, how little credit he gives himself. Then again, it's much better than it used to be.

"Just promise me something? Once I'm gone, find another way to be happy. Find something that makes your heart flutter, that causes those precious creases when you smile. Find something else, if not for yourself, for me."

He nestles into your neck, giving you a soft kiss.

"I promise to try my love, that's all I can do."

His eyes are still misty, the tears get onto your neck. You try hard not to cry yourself, but it's hard when your heart is breaking outside of your body. You pray in that moment, although you're not sure to what god or power, but you pray that he'll be okay when you die, that it's a long time away from someone driving a stake through his ribs, that he finds joy in the small things like he does now. After all, hope is all you have when the afterlife comes to get you so soon.

"I hope I get to watch over you, wherever I end up."

"Like some kind of angel or something?"

"I guess. Like your guardian."

"Do you think I'll know?"

"Yes, I think you'll know. Maybe I'll take on the body of stray cats, follow you on the streets, lead you down paths with less heartache."

"I'd like that, very much."

~~~

Decades later, Astarion gets ready to leave the house, your knife on the table. When he steps out onto the cobblestone streets, there's a pure white cat standing a couple feet away. It meows, almost melodically, and turns to a nearby alleyway. He walks to where the animal was standing, and turns to look into the alleyway, but there is no sight of the stray. He smiles.

"Thank you, my love."

[starcunin]

@weavesick i love the way they speak to one another xD

[siopaofrog]

When There Was You (pt. 1) || Astarion x Fem!Tav

Those were the days, my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose For we were young and sure to have our way… – Those Were the Days, Mary Hopkin

A gravestone is a curious thing.

You could engrave a name, a number — pinch an entire person, a lifetime — into a single slab of stone.

You could carve into it with a dagger, rewrite history, alter its meaning — just as Astarion Ancunín had done many, many moons ago.

You could, he thought. But none of it could spin a tale he told himself into truth. None of it could change fate, or death, or whatever the gods had planned for you.

None of it could bring you back.

The pale elf knew this, even as he knelt by this curious headstone, this thing that was supposed to be you. He knew this, and he hated it.

“Hello again, darling,” he whispered, and placed a single flower on the grass, just as you had done all those moons ago.

It was a glorious time, it was. Adventure. Antics. Heartache and admission. Lust and love. Real love. And warmth. Warmth, too.

He found himself smiling softly.

But more than anything — there was you.

Astarion had finally conquered his master, Cazador. He had finally, truly, found freedom — the freedom to do whatever he wanted, and to love whomever he wanted.

He had sliced his dagger into the crazed vampire lord, a dozen thrusts that ended with a final, soul-searing scream that sent you to his side at once. There you cradled him, he a blood soaked mess, spitting, sobbing into your neck. You held him like that for a long, long while. Hushing him gently, kissing his forehead, caressing his silver curls.

That night in Baldur’s Gate, he knew a display of his gravestone and the dark story that came with it would be morbid or trite to someone else — but you understood. Astarion finally allowed himself to want you, to love you, and you accepted him wholly for it. In fact, to his delight, you wanted him, too.

Five decades later, and here you were. Sitting in your own grave. But you did not crawl out, emerging from death caked in dirt and grime, as he once did.

It was cruel, he thought. Cruel that he was dead and yet not — undead, immortal, of a heart that did not beat. Yet yours did not beat either. Yet, you were the one buried beneath a mound of dirt.

“Your heart quickened just now,” you had whispered one night, as you rested your head upon his bare chest.

“Did it?” he mumbled, half asleep.

You hummed with your eyes closed. Your hand sweeping across his skin, up his collar. You felt the two little scars on his neck, brushing a thumb over them thoughtfully.

“You have a wild heart. Emotional, easy to read,” you said. “It is almost in tune with my own.”

He chuckled lowly, softly. “My darling, did Halsin set you up to this? This sounds like something he would…” Then, upon feeling your hand on his neck, your body atop his, and the seriousness of your words, he swallowed. “Tav.”

You pulled your hand away and perched yourself up, forearms resting on top of him. “Yes, love.”

His dark eyes watched yours for a time. “My body is cold and dead. I pretend to breathe so I may pass as an elf. I wear perfume to smell alive. Gods.”

“And what of it?” you said, unfazed. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t living.”

You sat up in the grass and took his hand, placing it on your chest. You placed your own on his.

“You don’t feel that? Those vibrations in your chest, our chests, in unison,” you said. “Soft… throbbing. Pulsing. A wave of it just rippled under your skin.”

“That might not be my chest, darling,” he said, and you hit him lightly for the jest.

“I just want you to know you aren’t simply undead, Astarion. You are very much living, thriving. You are not… a monster.”

The vampire spawn blinked at you then. Enamored. Bewitched, really. Even as his lust for blood (yours, particularly) swelled in recent times, he might agree for a moment that he was in fact not a monster. He didn’t want to believe it, anyway. Not anymore.

It’s cruel, he now spat in his head, staring down at your tombstone with a bitterness that clung to his clenched hands and gritted teeth.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a high, pinched voice echoed behind him.

“My gods,” said Astarion, glancing over his shoulder, “you are an old man and you still sound as smarmy as ever.”

“You wound me, old friend.” Gale ambled towards the pale elf, a good-natured smile on his lips. “I’ve never been smarmy to you. Not ever.”

The elf stood up and the two hugged, a lifetime of battles and camaraderie etched in their brows as they parted and looked at one another. The wizard now had silver hair neatly slicked back, a long wiry beard, and a staff he used more like a cane.

“My, you did get old,” Astarion said with a smirk.

“Ha! And you haven’t changed a bit.”

The elf placed a hand on his chin, nodding. “I see you finally decided to try silver on your head. Rather dashing, dare I say.”

Gale laughed, but he was staring at your grave now, the sparkle in his eyes suddenly subsiding. He was old, to be sure, but he was still sharp and clear-minded. He saw the loss in the elf’s eyes. He has known his own loss, too. You were not his lover, but his adoration and admiration for you knew no bounds.

“Ah… What a warrior she was.”

“Yes. And so much more.”

“You’ll never get over her, will you?” Gale asked, and he meant it in kindness.

“Well. Evidently not,” Astarion said lightheartedly.

Many of their companions had either fled to make a new living, or died in battle, or were simply never to be seen again. For all of their jests, all the boring wizardry and debates and banter — Astarion appreciated Gale. He would never tell the man that, of course, but he was sure Gale could see it nonetheless.

The elf was teary-eyed, for gods sake.

“I never did ask… How did you and Tav meet?”

Astarion grinned. “Once upon a time, in a little tavern, of all places. She tried to kill me upon our meeting, actually.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t take you for a vampire pining for the one in a drunken haze.”

“I didn’t. We were sober. Too sober for that crowd, I might add. And she was…” He didn’t realize it. He had far too many things to say about you, far too many compliments, fondness and feelings straight from romantic literature.

“Unlike anything you’ve seen before.”

“Yes,” the elf said, settling for that. He pressed his lips together, licked his teeth in thought. He felt the wizard’s eye on him.

“Well now I must know, Astarion.” Gale knelt by the grave, placed a hand on it. Ran his fingers across the cool stone.

The elf raised a brow.

“How would you like to see her again?”

[wickedholl0w]

An eternal bond pt3

Fandom: Baldurs Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: After Astarion find you and your son, he sees the boy for te first time after 10 years, and you two have a moment alone, with nostalgia and passion.

Notes: Just some romance and smut hehehe

Warnings: smut!, bittersweet, oral sex male and female receiving, possession, unprotected sex, vaginal sex.

Part 1 👇

Part 2 👇

Astarion's red eyes shine in the darkness, his beautiful face is gradually illuminated as the clouds uncover the partially full moon. He dresses with luxury and refinement, dark clothes with details in silver and red, his white hair always well combed. The vampire analyzes you carefully, as if he were formulating a sentence, he then looks at the charred body of the spawn lying on the floor and gives a smile.

"Apparently you don't like visitors" he says.

"When the visitor wants to kill me and kidnap my son, no" you answering, your son still behind you and spying on the vampire.

Astarion clicks his tongue and takes a more casual pose and looks at you.

"So you helped my work in killing her, my dear," he says and you raise your eyebrow. "But I would have been a little longer... Slower..." his eyes went directly to the boy who was spying on him behind you.  "If you understand me."

The Vampire Lord clears his throat and looks at you again, you frown.

"So you mean you have nothing to do with this attack?" you ask.

"No, I didn't know" he says.

You let out a low sneer and put your arm around your son's shoulders, pulling him closer to you, the boy rests his face against your chest and looks at his father.

"And you want me to believe it?"  you say in disbelief.

"Yes, after all, what would I gain from it?" he says. "If there's something I don't want, it's your death and I want the good of my heir."

"He's not your heir"  you growl, squeezing the boy against you.

"Do you want to deny his blood?"  Astarion says, his eyes shining. "He is an Ancunín, he is my son, my blood, my heir, and you cannot deny that."

You swallow hard and look at your son who is looking at you, his eyes confused, an expression on his face that you never wanted to see, anguish. You look at the vampire.

"What do you want?" you ask.

"Your safety," he replies. "I'll commit to this, I'll send more spawns, I'll give you a fortress, whatever you want..." His gaze becomes soft, anguished. "But please don't go."

You take a deep breath, look again at your son who is staring at his father.

"We don't need a fortress," you say. "We don't need any more of your spawns surrounding our house. All I want is for you to keep our location and Astarion's existence a secret."

"Done" he says without hesitation.

"We're gonna stay?" your son asks and you look at him, giving him a small smile.

"Yes."

The boy breathes a sigh of relief.

"Now, go inside, take Scratch with you" you say and the boy obeys, taking Scrath by the collar.

Before heading towards the house, he looks towards his father who looks at him and you can see and feel that your son is not receptive, he looks at him with a frown and turns his back to go home being followed by the owl bear who always sleeps below his bedroom window.

When you see him enter the house and the owl bear walks around it, you look back at Astarion and are startled to see him less than a step away from you, which makes you look up so you can see his face. The ascended vampire gives a mischievous smile.

"Hello, my dear" he says and you make an unhappy face.

"How did she know about my son?" you ask and he raises his eyebrows.

"Who?" he asks, tilting his head to the side and then looking back over his shoulder and letting out a laugh. "Ah, the piece of burned coal?"

You stare at him sternly.

"I have no idea how the obsessed little bitch found out about you and the boy."

"If she knew, more might know"  you say and Astarion becomes thoughtful.

"The only one who would know would be Alec," he says. "But he wouldn't tell..."

"And do you trust?"  you cross your arms over your chest. "He is your spawn, he can be as fake and sneaky as you."

"Hmm"  Astarion grumbles, closing his fingers on his chin, thoughtfully. "You have an interesting view. But, Alec is a great dog and... He's lived here since I ordered him to find you, he's never been to my palace again. Maybe this little dog was too nosy."

You roll your eyes and try to move away, but soon Astarion's cold hand closes, gently, around yours. You look at the touch and then at his face.

"Please "he says. "Just tonight."

You know what he wants, you know he wants to get closer to your son, to you, at least once. Of course you could refuse, but... Maybe it was the opportunity for the boy to meet his father.

"Right, but I don't want you to say what you are, what you have done in Baldurs Gate. Try to be kind..."

He laughs.

"Honey, you know very well that I can be kind" he says.

You hold back your smile and release your hand from his and walk forward with the pale elf following you, you reach the porch of the house and you open the door. There is only darkness, but with a snap of his fingers Astarion makes all the candles light and you see your son sitting on the first step of the stairs that lead to the upper floor, he hugs his knees and keeps his chin against the top of them.

The boy looks at you and Astarion who is right behind.

"Asta," you call the boy who raises his head. "Come here."

He looks at Astarion and you once again and gets up, walks to you go and you place yourself behind the boy who is now looking at his father closely.

"Honey, this is..."

"I know who he is, mother,"  the boy replies. "Is obvious."

Astarion raises his eyebrows and wrinkles his forehead, he looks at the boy in surprise.

"It's... Yes" you say, sinking your fingers into the white curls of your son's hair. "But you were never properly presented..."

"We are now, then," Asta says, turning away from you and walking away towards Scrath. "I'm going back to sleep."

The boy takes the dog's collar and leads him up the stairs, leaving his parents behind, completely unresponsive.

"That was..." you were saying until Astarion started laughing, literally.

You look at him until he's breathless, hands on his stomach as he go to a chair at the table and sit there. The Vampire Lord continues to laugh nonstop.

The man catches his breath and looks at you with eyes full of tears of laughter.

"What a detestable little brat," he says, still laughing and you frown. "It was amazing!" Astarion says getting up again. "Did you see the way he looked at me? How did he speak to me? It was perfect!"

"What?..." you look at him confused.

"Darling, he might hate me" he says, leaving you even more confused.

"And how good would that be?"

"I will not be a disappointment to him," Astarion replies. "I prefer him to hate me instead of seeing me in a fantasy way where I would be his hero... He won't suffer."

You think about it and it really makes sense,  Asta not having expectations with Astarion it's really a positive point, after all, he won't be disappointed because his father is a cruel tyrant addicted to power.

"Yeah, you're right," you say, touching the back of your head. "Well, I believe that's it. You can go."

The vampire squints his red eyes as he stares at you, a viperine smile forming on his beautiful lips.

"Whatever is going through that head of yours, the answer is no," you say and point to the door. "Out."

"Oh, you're being so hostile to me," he says, getting closer and you turn your face away, intending not to look at him. "It's like you don't love me anymore...'

"I don't love you," you say looking into his eyes. "One day I loved, yes, but today..."

Astarion swallows, red eyes looking at you with softness, pain.

You nod, lowering your head.

"Go away and don't come back" you say, your heart compressing in your chest, fighting against the words you had just said.

The Vampire Lord slowly brings his fingers to your face and slides their tips there, he holds your chin between his index finger and thumb making you lift your face to look at him.

"Don't lie to me and don't lie to yourself," he says. "You know what you feel...  "he brings his face closer to yours and brings your foreheads together. "You know what I feel..."

"You don't feel anything..."

"I feel for you, and that's enough," he says and you look him in the eyes. "I miss you, I miss the touch of your skin, your kisses... I miss tasting you."  

His nose brushes against yours and you feel your entire skin crawl, your cheekbones getting hot and your body trembles slightly .

"Stop..." you say, taking your hands to the jacket embroidered in silver thread.

"I want you," he says with his mouth close to your ear. "I need you."

"We can't..."

"Why?" he asks, taking his hands to the buttons of your tunic, opening them one by one in the area of your chest.

"It's wrong" you say, sliding your hands over the embroidery of your son's father's chic clothes.

Astarion laughs, placing his mouth on your neck, he lightly touches his cold lips to your skin and you feel your insides throb with the familiar touch. He slides his mouth down your neck and presses a light kiss to the spot next to your jaw.

"Seeing you wearing these clothes makes me nostalgic,"  he says. "I remember the first time I took something similar from you... The first night you were totally mine."

"Astarion" you whisper, turning your face to him and he looks at you, your noses almost touching.

"You want me as much as I want you," he says, taking his hand to the back of your neck and holding your hair between his cold fingers. "One last night, one last time" he bring your bodies together and you can feel his rigidity against your belly, which makes you pant and part your lips, looking at his mouth so close to yours.

"Asta is up there..."

"He went to sleep..."

"No, he wasn't," you lightly touched your lips to Astarion's who tried to stick his tongue in your mouth, failing, but licked your lips. "I know our son, I know he's awake and won't sleep until you leave."

The vampire smiles broadly.

"So, he'll stay awake until dawn" he says.

You try to say something, but you are stopped by the Vampire Lord's thirsty and cold kiss, you moan and try to push him away from you, but the feeling of his tongue against yours, the way he takes your mouth, thirsty, full of desire. You feel a feeling of pure nostalgia, you feel your skin crawling, your heart pumping your blood even harder and you know that you won't be able to resist the urge and the need to be his, at least one more time.

You hug Astarion's neck, deepening the kiss, he lets out a hoarse moan from the back of his throat and holds you tighter against him. The vampire wastes no time in placing his hands on upur thighs and pull ypu onto his lap, making your mouths separate.

"Over there" you say, panting and pointing towards the door of your room, which is on the ground floor.

Astarion kisses you again and promptly starts walking towards the door, he knocks you against the door and opens it, entering your simple, dimly lit room. The vampire kicks the door closing it and walks to the bed, throwing you there.

You support the weight of your body on your elbows as you watch Astarion slowly undress his torso, you almost don't know how to breathe anymore as his gaze burns your skin like lava, almost melting your bones and when you see his beautiful and eternal body you sigh .

He hasn't changed anything in years, but you... You've changed, you've aged, even if not much, but you weren't the same as when you met.

"What?"  he questions while taking off his boots.

"You're still identical,"  you say, sitting down. "Nothing has changed, absolutely nothing, while me..." you look at the ground and bring your fingertips to your face. "I'm getting older, more and more every day..."

"My love," he says, leaning towards you, placing his closed fists on the mattress and placing his face in front of yours. "You're still as beautiful as the first time I saw you."

You let out a nasal laugh in disbelief.

"You tried to kill me when we first met" you say and he raises his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead.

"And you were going to abandon me with a bunch of brain creatures" he says and you laugh, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"There weren't any."

He laughs and kisses you again, a calmer kiss, still deep and sensual. The man then takes his hands to the rest of the closed buttons on your tunic, opening it completely and removing it from you, leaving you with your torso completely naked.

Astarion's kisses disdain for your chin where he nibbles with his teeth and goes down your neck, wet and lingering kisses on your skin causing slight chills down your spine, good and pleasant chills.

Astarion arrived with kisses on the area of your breasts, he slowly takes the right nipple between his teeth and gently pulls it, making you startle, but soon gives in to total pleasure when he begins to suck, his tongue playing with the nipple, the nibbles. The man then goes to the other breast and before continuing with the caresses he stops, you notice that he is now looking closely at your breasts,.

"What?" you ask and Astarion takes his hand to his left breast, holding it and runs his thumb around the nipple.

"Fang marks," he says. "Small..." he raises his eyes to yours.

You give a small smile.

"When Asta's fangs grew, he started to drink milk and blood" you say.

Astarion swallowed and looked again at your breast marked by the many scars of his son's tiny fangs. The Vampire Lord gives a warm and long kiss there, then several more on each breast.

You smile and then push him lightly making him move away and the vampire looks at you seeing that you sit more on the edge of the bed. You take your hands to the waistband of his pants and bring your face closer to the vampire's defined abdomen, kissing there, causing the vampire to let out a kind of purr of approval.

"Ah... Your lips are so warm,"  he says, taking his hands to your hair, which was tied up in a high ponytail. "The feeling of them against my skin is like fire..."

He lets go of you hair, making it fall over your shoulders and back, you look at him from under your eyelashes while still kissing Astarion's stomach and smiling without taking your lips off his skin, your hands working together begin to unbutton his pants, opening the piece.

You pull down his pants, making Astarion's hard cock jump out, hitting your chin, you look at it and take in your hand, starting to slowly masturbate him, making the vampire breathe deeply.

"Gods..." he says between low and hoarse moans as you place a kiss on the head of his member and look at him again from under your eyelashes.

You put his length in your mouth, making him take it completely and Astarion lifts his face, leaving the spine of his neck in evidence. You begin to suck him eagerly, all the way to the back of your throat, making the most pleasurable moans come from your partner's lips, who grabs your hair and begins to move his hips following the movement of your hand and mouth.

"Yes, yes, yes"  he moans softly as you increase the pace of your mouth around his stiff, engorged cock.

You take it out of your mouth to breathe and lick it from the base to the head, several times, from different angles and put it back in your mouth.

"Fuck..." he says in a hoarse moan and you feel your core pulsing, getting hot and your moisture is so much that it becomes uncomfortable between your legs.

"Enough," Astarion says pulling your hair making you move away from him.

You can't say anything, you just look at him with eyes filled with lust.

The vampire leans towards you and kisses you fiercely, your tongues fighting an arduous battle in your mouths as you take off your boots and he rips off your pants quickly, desperately.

Astarion stops kissing you and quickly gets down on his knees on the floor, spreads your legs further apart and puts his index and middle fingers in his own mouth, moistening them while he looks at your dripping wet intimacy.

He takes his fingers out of his mouth and slowly penetrates them in you, making you breathe hard and deeply, and when he takes your clit between his lips, you moan, feeling your whole body shake. He sucks you and plays with his tongue, his sharp fangs need the sensitive and soft flesh of the region, but they don't hurt you and his fingers work together with his mouth, entering and exiting you in a torturous way, caressing the exact point of pleasure.

You grip his hair between your fingers and arch your body forward, your breasts heavy and nipples hard and erect, you are just one step away from the precipice of pleasure, his tongue swirls around your clit, his lips open and close there and the obscene sounds take over the small room.

"Astarion..." you moan softly and he grunted without responding, focused on giving you pleasure and making you cum in his mouth.

You cry out the name of the gods as you feel the pleasure washing over you, your insides clenching tightly around his fingers. Your body can no longer stand sitting when the peak hits you, you throw your back against the bed arching your whole body forward as you scream with pleasure as you cum in Astarion's mouth who continues to lick and suck you, taking every last drop of your orgasm.

Only when you stop shaking does he remove his fingers from you, he sucks them and you look at him weakly, drunk with pleasure, as he finishes taking off his pants.

You gather the little strength you have and adjust yourself on the bed, your head now close to the wooden headboard, opening your legs, leaving space for your partner to place himself between them and take you.

Astarion comes to you, placing himself on top of you and between your legs, you bring your hand to his face and the vampire kisses your palm, he lowers himself to you and kisses you slowly and not so slowly he penetrates his dick into you to the hilt causing you to warm the kiss in a gasp of surprise and pain. It had been many years since you slept with someone, so the pain was normal. And, he noted, which made him smile proudly.

You give him another quick kiss and look into his eyes, into his half-open mouth... his fangs. You remember perfectly the feeling of them embedded in your neck and how you liked the sensation, the different and unique pleasure it caused.

You then offer your neck to Astarion, his eyes shine like liquid fire and then he puts his mouth there, at first he licks it in a slow and torturous way, but then he sinks his fangs into your skin, starting to thrust inside you, slowly and deep as he sucks your blood. Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you dig your nails into his back, away from the scars.

Astarion removes his mouth from your neck.

"Gods, you're delicious" he says with his lips covered in blood and rubbing his nose against your face as he continues thrusting into you.

You kiss him desperately feeling the iron taste of your own blood on his tongue. Astarion increases the pace of his thrusts and grabs your neck with his hand, closing his fingers with a little force, making you gasp out a moan, he turns your face to the side and licks the two wounds of his fangs. You then intertwine his hips with your legs, a way of making you more united, as if it were physically possible.

He puts his arms under you holding you, kisses your face while moaning, the sound of your sweaty skin hitting each other echoes loudly, the smells of your bodies intertwined. Nothing else matters around, just him and the unique and perfect feeling of him filling you.

Your body begins to show signs of orgasm, your inner walls tighten around Astarion's cock making him grunt against your mouth and he looks into your watering eyes.

"Come for me, my love"  he says licking your mouth and you moan loudly, sinking your nails into the skin of his back, from the smell you know you made him bleed and he moans. He doesn't stop the thrusts, he continues with the deep and fast step.

The pleasure hits you like a sharp and powerful blow, all you can see are stars and your body shakes desperately, you almost can't breathe, it's something like a feeling of despair, but delicious.

You hold his face between your shaking hands and kiss him.

"My love, my love, my love..." you say with tears of pleasure running down your face as you kiss him and Astarion grinds his teeth tightly and moans loudly between his teeth as he comes inside you, thrusting deeply one last time.

His body trembles over yours and he kisses you deeply, his tongue slowly sliding over yours, his lips making a loud, obscene noise amidst your moans.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth and tug gently, making him smile widely. He holds your hair at the back of your neck and gives you kisses on your face and neck, the vampire nibbles your earlobe between his teeth and then licks it.

"You're mine,"  he says softly and you roll your eyes in pleasure. "You will always be mine."

You could deny it, you could push him off of you and tell him to go away, but... You can't, all you can do is smile wide as he kisses your neck and nod your head.

Astarion was right, you were his and would always be his.

***

The boy thought that his mother would send away that stranger who was his father as soon as he turned his back on both of them. But, unfortunately for Astarion, it wasn't the front door that knocked, but his mother's bedroom.

Just the mere thought made him feel disgusted and repulsed, not by his mother, but by the damn stranger.

Asta always pretended he slept well at night so his mother wouldn't worry, but his sleep was as light as a feather, so he had an escape route.

The white-haired boy covers Scratch who is lying on his bed sleeping with the blanket and goes to the window. Asta whistles imitating a bird's song and soon the owl bear is waiting for him under his window. The boy climbs up to the window and deftly jumps onto the animal's back, holding on to its soft feathers.

"Let's go, Bear"  the boy says and calmly the animal starts walking towards the forest.

Because he always hunted in the surrounding areas, Asta knew many places that his mother had no idea about, one of these places was the ruins of a temple covered in vegetation and on top of a high rock that gave a complete view of the surroundings, of the village that was a few milles away from your home, and from your own home.

When he arrives at the place, Astarion leaves the owl bear and begins to climb the ruins until he reaches the top where he made a small secret corner, a refuge on days when he needed to be alone.

He sits on the edge of an opening in the wall, his legs dangling as he looks at the mountainous, dimly lit landscape of villages in the distance, the rivers that cut through the land and the moon in the sky.

The boy sighs and hugs his knees, he was always curious about his father, what he was like, his appearance, his personality and his mother had always been honest with him: he was identical to him and that his father was a cruel vampire master... It wasn't really his mother who told him that last part.

"You know that when she finds out that you are running away at night she will ground you" says Alec, approaching through the shadows and Astarion shrugs.

"She won't" he says and the vampire sits down next to him.

Astarion looks at Alec, he is an elf, he appears to be no more than 30 years old, with long black hair, pale skin, bright red eyes and wears dark, unrefined clothes, very different from his father.

"So, how it was?" Alec asks him and the boy clicks his tongue awkwardly.

"I didn't like him."

Alec lets out a low laugh.

"I knew I wouldn't like him," the spawn says. "Maybe it would be better."

"Yeah,"  Asta responds with a pout. "Mom could hate him."

The vampire laughs and puts his hand on the top of the boy's head.

"I think that's very unlikely," he says. "Is that why you ran away today?"

"I know she..." the boy's cheeks blush. "She was going to sleep with him."

"So it was a wise choice," said Alec, laughing. "Don't worry, it's just for tonight."

Asta nods and Alec looks at him, analyzes him. The spawn who became a great friend of the boy takes a deep breath and gets closer to him, puts his arms around the boy's shoulders and strokes his hair.

"You're not condemned like me, you can be in peace, Asta," he says and the boy looks at him.  "You're not stuck with him."

Asta nods, he knew that Alec was a spawn, he had explained well what it was like, how lucky he was to be living near the boy and his mother's house and not in Astarion's palace, but that he was still trapped by his will and orders from the Vampire Lord, and how lucky the boy was to only have Astarion's blood in his veins, to be only a half-breed and free.

***

You wake up with sunlight hitting your eyes, you feel a sharp pain in your neck and a weakness that you know is from lack of blood. You open your eyes and look down seeing that you are only covered with the sheet, there are stains of blood, probably yours after last night with Astarion... You look at the empty side of the bed, he is gone... At least they didn't have to say goodbye.

You sit down on the mattress, you're a little dizzy, but nothing worrying. You put your feet on the floor and taking courage you get up and go to the closet, you put on your underwear and a simple dress. You find the courage to walk and know you have to go up the stairs to wake your child.

You open the bedroom door and walk towards the stairs, but as soon as you get there you are startled to see Astarion sitting at the kitchen table with upur son on the other side of it. The boy's face is serious, closed, his gaze is at least deadly at his father who looks at him with amusement.

"What are you doing?" you ask, getting closer and Astarion looks at you, his son doesn't take his eyes off him.

"Ah, good morning to you too, dear," the vampire says, getting up and walking towards you. "You are radiant."

He puts his hands on your waist and kisses you on the cheek. You put your hands on his shoulders and look at Asta who looks at you with visible disgust.

"Astarion," you say, pulling him away from you and looking at his face, seeing his mischievous smile. "Why are you still here?"

"Ah..." he says and looks at Asta over his shoulder and then at you. "I decided to spend some time with my wife and son. You know, a vacation from Baldurs Gate."

You swallow hard and look at your son.

"Asta, can you go outside for a bit?" you ask the boy who, without saying a word, gets up and leaves the house.

Astarion laughs briefly and you push him away.

"Have you lost your mind?" you say. "Stay here?!"

"What's the problem?" the Vampire Lord says.

"You know..."

"I won't do anything to the boy," he says. "I won't manipulate you or him, if that's what you're afraid of, nor show my cruelest face," he approaches again and caresses your face with the back of his cold fingers. "And I won't try to get closer to him."

"He doesn't want you here..."

"He doesn't have to want to, love," he says seriously, holding your face in his hands. "He's a child, we're his parents and we want to spend some time together, not too long since I can't let the rats run wild."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Let me have the pleasure of having you by my side, having you as my wife..."

"No consort?" you ask suspiciously and Astarion opens a wide smile.

"Regardless of the word used, love, my consort, woman, wife... In all of them, you are mine and will be..."

"Until I'm covered in wrinkles" you say, taking his hands and removing them from his face.

Astarion's jaw muscle twitches, his gaze sinks into shadows.

"There is a way to make sure you never grow old," he says and you shake your head.

"I will not become your spawn" you say.

"You won't be a simple spawn"  he says and you look at him reprimandingly.

"We already had this conversation" you say and he nods.

"Well, whatever," he says. "So I have to make it counts now", he gives you a long kiss on the cheek. "And put another child inside you"

"What?" you laugh nervously and look at him, to your surprise he isn't laughing. "Really?"

"How many do you think we can make?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"No... I don't think we should..."

"Why not? Look at our beautiful Astarion II," he says. "Some brothers or sisters would be great for him."

"Astarion" you say laughing and he hugs you, hiding his face in your neck.

"You are the only one in my cold heart" he says. "The one I chose to have my prole... The only one I can have the privilege of saying I love."

You close your eyes, giving in to the hug, you know that he could be manipulating, using your feelings against you, but something deep down tells you that it's not the ascended vampire speaking, but rather the one you love deeply.

"We can play house for a while"  you say and he nods. "Now, regarding another child... We have to talk."

He laughs and looks at you, your noses touching.

"Okay," he says. "Wife."

You laugh and kiss him, both of you with a smile on your face. You know that this moment, that the days to come would just be a fantasy, a dream, with an expiration date, but you could dive into that dream and live an imagined life with the one you love and would always love.

[starcunin]

@weavesick

Redraw of screencaps from When A Man Loves (1927) I saw on twitter

[bolyde]

Astarion has terrible claustrophobia, and I don’t think I will elaborate on that.

[bolyde]

Astarion thought himself a lot of things considering he could not remember anything about he looked. He knew facts, of course, that his hair was white, his eyes were a stunning shade of red according to one or two marks (an easy feature to compliment), but what he thought he looked like? He must be monstrous in spite of what his conquests insisted.

Tired however, was not one of the things he thought he'd look like. "Tired?" he scoffed at the concept, though a smile twisted over his lips at the opening for teasing. "You're staring long enough to know how my eyes move?" there was a giddiness at the base of his skull at the thought that just maybe Anais was staring already... it'd be so easy to twist that into something he could use.

"Usually people only stare when they see something they like, darling." he chuffed a little pleased noise as he tucked away the last few useable arrows into his own quiver and spotted a shiny among the dead necks around them to go lift.

With his luck, of course it was a magical trinket. If it was on a goblin, it couldn't be too useful and would best be turned into a snack for their Wizard. Better alive than blown up. He held it up from his crouched spot for Anais, rummaging through the rest of the body for anything else to be used.

        Anais straightened, pocketing another handful of gold coins. Her head canted slightly to the side as they eyed Astarion for a moment. There were plenty of reasons they were sure they would remember running across him in the city. The eyes. The hair. The way the sunlight moved over his ivory skin.

        No, that wasn't right. They never would've seen him in daylight. Not back then. For some reason, it made them almost...sad. She tried not to think of her sketch of him with his face turned up to the sun.

        Moving on to search the next corpse, Anais shrugged. "I'm sure the insufferable arrogance would've made an impression, if nothing else." They cast him a sideways look, lingering this time before her eyes returned to the task at hand. "And your eyes. They're tired. But intense. Always moving. I'd remember that."

[tadfools]

bee hello!! <3 <3 do you have any hcs for astarion's birth family? supposedly if they're elves they could still be alive...

This is longer than I meant it to be but you said my name so I love you anon and have unlocked an info dump that I've been sitting on for 2.5 years. This got away from me but the tldr is his mama's are named Aneirin and Juliana

I actually have a fic cooking right now about after the game's epilogue with his parents in it. Not to get too sidetracked, but my Tav is a necromancer, their son is dead and yet apparently saved all of the gate so... they come a knocking under the pretence that necromancer brought their dead son back as a thrall, pain comedy ensues (it'll be great i promise)

Astarion's only about 240 years old if we're taking the time he's been dead into account (high elves reach full maturity around 100 if you go by 5e rules and can live up to an average of 750)

I think his birth mother is on the soft side of 500 and with him being a magistrate, the Ancunín's come from money. Despite him having a grave in Baldur's Gate, I think his family resides in Evereska (its a big elven city) I've seen a few people ruminate over the possibility of him being a moon elf but... I don't know, there's something about him being ripped from the sun in every possible way that means so much to me. There's a part with the dark urge where he talks about not giving up freedom for all the gems in Evereska (i'm paraphrasing from memory here) I used that as an excuse to have him be from that city

Aneirin is the name I'm using for her in the fic and I think before he was taken from the sun and put under so much stress that his hair greyed, that he looked just like her.

Beautiful brown eyes that shine like copper under the sun but meld into a rich earth in the night. Her suntan skin is covered in freckles head to toe, her long curly hair is always kept within a neat braid which is coiled into a bun at the base of her neck. There’s a streak of grey woven through the curls

She has always been a kind woman, born into the higher echelons of society, she married an older elven man quite young named Tiberius at her parent’s behest to secure a business merger. Aneirin refused to take his last name. While they were always cordial to one another, there was no love shared between her and Tiberius but the son they had, Astarion, was the light of her life. There was no greater joy than hearing that of her son’s laughter. He loved her dearly and had promised to answer the sending spells she would toss his way after leaving Evereska – until he abruptly stopped

I think the Ancunín’s are skilled wizards, though Astarion falls into the arcane trickster category for me. If during the game his last name was ever mentioned, I fully think Gale would have had a wash of dread flow through him. The family keep to themselves yes, but that name is known through higher arcane circles

Tiberius died when Astarion was just a boy, there were never any memories to solidify him as Astarion’s father. But there was a wood elf woman named Juliana who always had a mischievous smile that kept close to the side of his mother. She was the one who taught Astarion on how to pick a lock, to balance on the heel of his foot as to not be noticed. She was the one who showed him how to wield a bow – much to his mother’s chagrin

Juliana has wine dark hair and is hardly ever seen without a ring on each finger. Tall and lithe, she glides through the room as if she were a shadow. Mischief incarnate, little Astarion took to her like a duck in water

Juliana and Aneirin met in their twenties at a ball - or a banquet (the two can never remember) Juliana’s family ran a renowned winery, Aneirin always fancied wine. And while Aneirin’s title forced her to marry Tiberius, the two women were never far from each other. After his death, she became a patron of the winery

I have a story beat where at the Last Light Astarion picks up an old bottle of red wine absentmindly and in gilded font it reads ‘Aneirin Red: dagger sheathed bow no longer notched; may the sunlight guide you home’ It *failed skilled check* strikes no chord in his mind

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 23: Rescue

Death tastes like blood.

Like hot blood that splatters thick and sticky across your face, coating your closed eyelids and hollow cheeks, filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with a force that makes you choke.

Your eyes snap open. Fresh blood. Lifeblood. Your greed for it almost drives every other thought from your deadened brain. Through a red mist, you see the flash of a silver blade, a headless body collapsing to its knees at your feet, a dark object that could be a man's head thudding to the floor beside you. Shadowy figures crowd in through the doorway, bringing with them mutterings then shouts then screams. A pale, delicate hand gestures in the air in front of you, and with a rush of magic - my magic, rages a whispered voice inside you - the room lights up, every candle and fireplace dancing to life to illuminate the grisly scene before you.

Marshall Bormul’s beheaded corpse is sprawled at your feet. Astarion stands a step behind where the Marshall had stood, one hand still raised from casting the spell, the other clasping a bloodied silver blade by his side. His handsome face is blood-splattered in a way you haven’t seen since you adventured together all those moons ago, and something about it - the desecration of something so flawless and white with something so dark and inherently violent - makes your newly found breath catch in your throat. Beautiful, rich red blood spills from the Fist’s neck, seeping into the carpet. Wasted. The exquisite scent of it drives you wild, and you let out a voiceless keen, falling to your knees, needing to put your lips to the gaping wounds that continue to pour forth the blood that you so desperately crave.

Astarion's arms are around you before you have a chance to press your lips to the still-warm corpse. You writhe in his hold, feral with hunger, until he whispers a command to you:

“Be still.”

Your body goes limp; your thoughts quieten. You settle in his arms.

“Good gods, man, what have you done?” exclaims a man from the crowd by the door.

Astarion whips around with you clutched to his chest.

"I have rescued my wife," he snaps at the man. "You all saw it. The man was all over her like a rabid dog. I had to put him down."

He speaks with such authority that none dare oppose him. Meek murmurs of "Yes, lord," and "Of course, Lord Ancunín," are the only responses he receives. He turns his attention to the scattering of servants in the crowd.

"Someone tidy this up. You, bring the councillors to my receiving room. I'll meet them there shortly. Everyone else, back to the ballroom. Now. This… unfortunate incident is no reason to ruin a perfectly good party."

Having given his orders, Astarion strides out of the room, pushing past guests dressed to the nines, carrying you with him. Behind him people begin to drift slowly back towards the ballroom, buzzing and humming with uncertainty and shock, while the servants among them spring to act on his commands.

“I warned him,” Astarion mutters, seemingly more to himself than you. “I told him that what is mine to share is still mine.”

You are still frozen by his earlier command, but he doesn't seem to notice until he's carried you all the way to your bedchamber and laid you, lolling, on the bed. Suddenly noticing the state you are in, he sighs.

“You may move.”

At his words, a chaos of feeling and movement floods through you. You are wracked by breathless, wordless sobs, though whether they are caused by fear, relief, or disappointment, you do not know. You curl in on yourself, trying to force your shuddering breathing back into order, and slowly the sobs subside into deep, shaking breaths. Astarion, standing by the bedside with a slight frown on his face, gives a nod at your newfound composure.

“I’ll send servants to tend to you. You need cleaning up.”

With that, he turns to leave. 

As he walks away towards the door you sense the quiet and the darkness gathering, ready to settle over the room the moment he leaves. While earlier in the night the gloom was a place of solace, the thought of being within it alone now fills you with a deep sense of dread. It is no longer an escape; rather, it is an obscurity filled with strange and unknown terrors that are only waiting for your husband to leave before pouncing.

Unable to call out to him, you let out a panicked hum, pausing him in his tracks. He turns around to look at you questioningly, and you beckon him back over to you.

“What is it, my sweet?”

You beckon again, more forcefully this time, ignoring the confusion and dismay in your chest. Dreadful though he may be, you do not want to be alone. He cannot leave you.

“You want me to stay?”

You give a single reluctant nod, blinking away the hotness in your eyes. A smile twitches at the edges of his mouth, and he walks back to the bed, sits on it, and pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and try to find comfort in his embrace. He brushes the blood-matted hair from your face, hushes you, and whispers soft things into your ear as he rocks you gently.

“You are mine, my treasure. My darling love. You are mine. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to take you from me.”

There is a threat in his comfort, just as there is an edge to all of his kindnesses these days, but you cannot bring yourself to mind it. He is an evil that you chose, not an evil that is being forced upon you, and tonight that somehow feels like it means everything.

[tugoslovenka]

Fanfiction Build-list

It's been 84 years since I've written any fanfiction but my god did I get a craving for it ever since venturing into Baldur's Gate 3. I too dabble in the art of smut and depression. So here's my little list of creations you can visit!

ko-fi link

Astarion:

Warding Bond (in progress)

Longfic, explicit, action/adventure, slow burn, lots of angst

TW: includes SA/non-con!

The Feast of Heroes was meant to celebrate the efforts of common and special champions who took up arms against the threats that dared target the city of Baldur’s Gate. It would always include mention of some spectacular individuals that gave life and limb for their home. However, the legendary six were always at the forefront of these tributes, led by none other than the self-proclaimed leader of the group, pivotal in taking down the mind flayer threat. Lord Astarion Ancunín. Owner of the Ancunín Estate. Member of the Council of Four. All-powerful vampire ascendant.

Available on AO3 or tumblr.

Sanguinans (complete)

One-shot, explicit, blood and gore, blood play, porn without plot

Tephraxa had never thought of blood afflictions much, not until a pale elf by the name of Astarion came into her life. She now craves the feeling, and longs for the full moon when the vampire is at the height of his bloodlust.

Available on AO3 or tumblr.

Halsin:

Flowers & Honey (complete)

One-shot, explicit, size difference, porn without plot

Halsin tries thanking his companion Edith for helping him in the fight against the Shadowcurse, with a bath, of course.

Available on AO3 and tumblr.

Ducks & Revelations (complete)

One-shot, explicit, size difference, choking, porn without plot

Halsin apologizes after a particularly rough coupling. Though, his methods may not be as gentle during mating season.

Available on AO3 and tumblr.

Markings & Firsts (complete)

One-shot, explicit, size difference, bear (?) sex, animal anatomy, monsterfucking, porn without plot

Mating season brings with it many firsts for Edith—most of all, fucking the bear man as an actual bear.

Available on AO3 and tumblr

Safehaven (complete)

One-shot, explicit, hurt/comfort, porn without plot, size difference, plus-sized Tav, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus

You have felt a little insecure in your situationship with Halsin as of late. Fortunately, the druid seems to have taken notice—and takes some steps in consoling your fears and self-consciousness.

Available on AO3 and tumblr

[starryjuicebox]

Beloved (9) - Interruption

Summary: Halsin finally enters the scene.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist | Ao3 Link

Kythorn 1495

Our wedding festivities have begun at last. I was very surprised when Astarion announced that we would have a royal Silevrenian wedding. I had resigned myself to never seeing my kingdom again. Thankfully, Rolan was more than happy to send us to Silevren, so long as we promised to bring back a wedding favor for him. Astarion said we could have just forced his hand, but I would much rather be in the Ramazith Tower’s good graces.

Before we left, I disguised my eye color and hid my fangs with a simple spell, but I think Aelia caught on that something was different. I suppose we aren’t twins for nothing; I just have to make it through this tenday.

My family is wary of Astarion. Mother pulled me aside on the first day and commented on his crimson eyes and sharp fangs. The concern in her eyes wounded my very soul. I reassured her that I would be fine, but truthfully, I don’t know if I will be. They have been very cordial in his presence so far, but I cannot help but worry. Astarion will not hide who he is from them and I’m not sure how they are feeling about his…nature.

Nevertheless, it is too late to turn back. We will make our vows before our loved ones, then we will make our vows before each other, Corellon Larethian, and the Oak Father. I cannot falter.

I overheard a servant gossiping that Astarion had spent time secretly embroidering the blue roses into my dress. I had assumed he had commissioned a seamstress to do it, hearing that he did it himself…I was beside myself with joy. It is such a shame I can never tell him I know the truth. The blow to his pride would be far too great.

Baby’s breath, heliotrope,and irises made up the flower crown he gave to me as part of the first day tradition. I am sure he just had a servant pick out flowers; after all, he had once said, “flowers are so overrated. They’re bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons.” Surely, he couldn’t have known what their meanings were, but I cannot deny that my heart fluttered. After all, everlasting love, devotion, and trust - things I thought the Rite had taken from us were woven together in a symbol of our union.

For my part, I placed atop his head a crown of red roses, honeysuckle, and amaryllis. Though I dare not hope he is familiar with the language of flowers, it was imperative to me that I at least express my feelings on what will be the most memorable days of my life.

I had just hoped they would be the happiest ones.

Stella Ancunín

“Forever and always, I will stand by your side. With the Moon, Stars, Oak Father, and Corellon Larethian as my witnesses, I will be with you until the sun itself burns out. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.”

“Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever, until the world falls down. My consort, you shall want for nothing. We shall be together, forever. Anything you want, you need only ask. We will be sovereigns - this I vow to you.”

Such were the vows they had shared over three centuries ago in front of his consort’s family and their friends, upheld for three centuries. True to her word, while she seemed to have grown more and more withdrawn over the years, she never attempted to actually leave his side. There was only one incident early into their marriage where he hadn’t been able to find her. She had explained that she had been deep in trance, not hearing him arrive home, and that was why she didn’t greet him at the door. He still wasn’t sure he believed her, but she had dutifully met him at the threshold the moment he returned every single day ever since. Even when she barely looked at him.

Astarion tightened his hold on his consort, trying to shake free of that terrible memory. He would see her back to her old self. She’d come back to him, fully. It was an inevitability.

Of all the tools at his disposal, his body had always been the most effective…and the only way he really knew how to express himself. When words failed him, surely he could get his feelings across another way?

"Astari-" he cut her off by crushing his lips to hers, pulling her slender frame against his own.

She stiffened initially, but melted just a moment later into his touch. Over three centuries of lovemaking led their bodies to slot together as perfect puzzle pieces.

He reached up to cup one of her soft breasts, running his thumb over its peak. “My treasure, you-”

Clack. Clack. Clack.

An incessant tapping grated on his ears. The Ascendant gritted his teeth.

With a low growl, he waved his unoccupied hand, parting the curtains. A large brown owl hovered outside their window, rapping its beak frantically against the glass.

“Who…?” his consort murmured from his embrace, raising her head to peer at the bird.

His fingers itched to just close the curtains again, but Stella was already gently extracting herself from his arms and swinging the window open. Astarion clenched his jaw, but forced his body to still. It was too late to stop her.

The owl’s feathers rippled and grew into flesh, Halsin now standing where had once been the large bird.

“Pardon the interruption,” the Archdruid rumbled, rolling his shoulders back.

“I sent a servant to tell you to leave, yet you trespass into my consort’s garden. I allow you to live slightly longer by ignoring you, and now you interrupt us. Tell me, exactly why should I not simply kill you where you stand?” Astarion hissed, a hand flying to Crimson Mischief on his side.

“I assure you, I would not have done so, had it not been urgent. I received word from Francesca of the High Forest that there has been a strange army of sorts marching towards Baldur’s Gate. More specifically, their leader seems to be a vampire by the name of Lady Incognita. I would have sent word by carrier pigeon, but I was unsure how far her influence extends. I feared the letter could have gotten compromised.” Halsin held up his arms in a placating gesture.

Another vampire coming towards his city? Preposterous. This “Lady Incognita” surely had a death wish. Astarion furrowed his brow. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but just where had he heard it before?

“Lady Incognita… Amanita Szarr?” Stella gasped, hands flying to her face.

“...Who?” Though the last name was all too familiar, Astarion struggled to recall an “Amanita”.

“The author of the letters in the attic of the Palace, all those years ago.” she wrung her hands, ruby eyes filled with fear.

Why was his treasure so afraid?

“I am the strongest vampire to ever walk this land. Let them come. They will meet their end,” he declared, arms spread wide.

He had spent so long carefully maneuvering politically. All of Baldur’s Gate danced like marionettes on his strings. Since he had married into the Silevren royal family, he even had his fingers in another kingdom’s politics as well. A bloody battle like this one was sure to be an exhilarating change of pace. Lady Incognita would be no match for his powers. He had spent the past three centuries exploring everything a Vampire Ascendant could do.

Halsin frowned, turning to the Ascendant’s consort instead. “I was concerned for your wellbeing, little bluejay. They will not spare anyone in the castle.”

“Halsin…please, don’t call me that.” Stella lowered her eyes, almost shrinking behind Astarion.

“My apologies. I do not mean to overstep. I simply wanted you to know that danger is coming.”

“Will you help us? Stand with us?” she reached out to the Archdruid, though Astarion grabbed her arm before she could touch Halsin’s.

She froze immediately. “S-Sorry, my lord.”

Something within his chest twisted. Why was there such a difference in how his consort treated them? Did he not shower her with affection? He knew she had once had a romantic connection with Halsin, even permitted it. But after his ascension, she had spent even more time with the other Druid than before. Despite that, after the Netherbrain’s defeat, barring the reunions and other special occasions that would cross their paths once more, his consort had not once left the castle to go visit, nor even requested to do so.

Astarion didn’t understand.

Pulling her into his arms protectively, he drawled at the other man, “Your warning has been heard. Now, leave us.”

Stella remained silent, staring down at the plush crimson carpet beneath her sapphire-encrusted slippers. His most recent present to her, aside from the flower garden outside.

Halsin sighed, running a hand through his brown locks, now speckled with gray. “Unfortunately, I cannot aid you in this upcoming battle. I…”

The Archdruid seemed to be at war with himself, yet ignored Astarion’s demand to leave.

“There is… a natural order that I am duty bound to protect. Lady Incognita seeks to re-establish this natural order. Thus, I cannot interfere. But alas, I could also not sit idly by without warning you of her incoming attack.”

Annoyance coursed through him, though he couldn’t quite fathom why. Nonetheless, he knew he wanted Halsin gone from his castle. “If you aren’t here to help, then leave,” Astarion snapped.

The Ascendant could sense his wife’s objection to his words through their bond, but still she said nothing.

Halsin nodded. “I will take my leave soon, but there is one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

The Wood Elf leveled a gaze at Stella.

“I had once told you that I wished for you to be able to spread your wings, if you so desired. It seems it is as I feared. He has caged you. The harmless game has become all too real.”

How dare he? In a flash, Astarion’s hand was wrapped around Halsin’s throat and slamming him against the wall. The surface cracked from the sheer force. He bared his fangs, fully ready to rip out the larger man’s throat.

“Starry, please!” Stella cried out, rushing towards them. Her cold, thin fingers gently curled around his arm.

“You dare barge into our home and then accuse me of mistreating my consort?!”

Crimson filled his vision, and he couldn’t hear anything over the cacophony of his thoughts shrieking out the deepest fears he’d always shoved away.

Halsin was trying to take away his treasure. His Stella. His consort.

He would not let that happen.

The roaring in his ears turned out to be his own shouts.

His eyesight cleared.

A mangled body lay still before him.

“N-No, Halsin…”

[larvasmoon]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @purdledooturt for tagging me, it motivated me to start writing the pirate AU Astarion fic that had in mind for a while already ! I don't know yet if it'll be a one shot or something lengthy, but today I'm sharing a little glimpse into what this story will be like.

While she was filling new jugs of beer near the wooden barrels, she heard the clamor in the tavern abruptly die down. The front door squeaked and heavy steps echoed in the nearly silent, yet very crowded room. 

Intrigued, Beatrice bent over and peeked over Blayne’s shoulder. She only needed one look to know that a small group of pirates had entered the Sea Bounty. 

They stood still in front of the entrance, dressed in luxurious fabrics and armed to the teeth. The steel of their scimitars menacingly shone in the dim atmosphere, barely visible in their leather scabbards. 

The man at the center bent down in a lithesome curtsy, more fitting for a ballroom than a stinky tavern, and took his red feathers adorned tricorn off. His long silver curls cascaded down his forehead and shoulders, pale and shimmery like the moonlight on a cloudy night, shining through the windows of her decrepit rented room. 

Iridescent pearls glowed amongst the soft waves of his hair, delicately dangling from his pointy ears. Countless chains and trinkets trickled down his milky neck like an opulent river of gold.

And Beatrice knew, for sure, that they were souvenirs from his many fateful raids, stolen from innocent men and women. 

She shuddered at the thought of their dark silhouettes, stripping valuables off of bodies that would have yet to grow cold after their gruesome demise. 

She had seen pirates at work with her very eyes, afterall, many years ago.

Tearing ancient family heirlooms from the necks of their rightful owners.

Sliding wedding rings off the fingers of dead newlyweds.

Undressing limp women to drag their silky petticoats down their legs. 

Before happily witnessing the sinking of yet another ship, and graciously gifting all that flesh to hungry sharks and other ungodly inhabitants of the blue abysses.

The man’s cherry-red eyes, roughly circled in black khôl, were gleaming with malice and ill-intent when he looked up. 

 “A very good evening to you, ladies and gentlemen”, he finally uttered with a voice that was as melodious as it commanded respect. 

Yet, in response, a series of hearty and hoarse laughs echoed from all parts. 

The hands of the two women behind him instinctively found the hilt of their weapon. A githyanki and a half-elf with hair as black as the night, whose piercing eyes thoroughly inspected the gloomy tavern for any signs of threat. They were as beautiful and terrifying as him, all clad in leather pants, linen shirts and majestic hats. 

“A big fish if I have ever seen any,” whispered a woman behind Beatrice, “the infamous captain Ancunín from the Moon Raider.”

Another beat of silence as the little group of ruffians walked away to sit at their table. 

“Wanted, dead or alive”, she said again, “ten thousand gold coins granted to whoever will deliver him to the flaming fists and the umberlant clerics who work under their orders.”

I'm tagging @purdledooturt again because I just can't get enough of her 9 INT Tav, @cinnamontails-ff and @davenswitcher if they have little bits of their ongoing projects they'd like to share ❤️

Here's my Ao3