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ravengards-rogue · 9 months ago

Text

[ cage training | astarion ancunin ]

✧ tags : muzzles, bdsm, sub!astarion, gender neutral + dom!reader, reader is strong (offers to carry him), dirty talk, orgasm control, feeding (?), cutting (for blood), anal (m!recieving), service dom reader, petnames (my star for astarion) a lot of alluding to hunger, more erotica than smut but 18+

✧ wc : 4.8k (what if all just kill ourselves)

✧ a/n : i dont even like this guy like this im just mentally ill about submissive men. also this is a very "read whats on the tin and make good choices" sort of fic.. i know this kind of play might be controversial for beloved white boy but they have a very loving dynamic Okay. Alright. its about Love.

ALSO. this is ASTARION FOCUSED. so reader doesn't cum (though astarion makes up for it as implied)

this is a fluke fic i cannot recommend following me for this guy!!!written mostly for a friend. had a lot of fun with this though!!!

✧ synopsis : astarion relearns manners and discipline. he's rewarded for his valiant efforts.

He comes to you wounded. Save from the scar on the curve of his spine, it's not a physical wound.

Astarion approached you like a caged lion, a circus animal - a predator paraded like a house cat who has only just remembered his teeth. That's why your empathy extended to his greed even when it caused him to wear the worst of himself. You don't think Astarion has ever understood the fact that he's hungry. He's always hungry.

He inhabits a body pushed to failure. His hunger cues are almost as ruined as he.

Like an animal in captivity, every choice he might've had to make slipped between his fingers for many years. How to live, how to hunt. Hunger is the hardest to remember, though it leaves the longest impression. It's a condition of a wounded mind. He had long since forgotten a body that knows a need stronger than staying alive.

He always waited for the violent gnawing to set in, the kind that can be ignored until it can't.

And so, his hunger became his ruin, became his new captor. Astarion met you in the midst of that delirium the first time

Once you let a captive predator free, you've damned it. A caged lion cannot become uncaged. Survival instinct has all but degraded to nothing, leaving only a wounded animal in its place.

You must nurse it to health. Care for it as it renavigates the world.

Curb its hunger when it threatens to wreak havoc.

Sanctuary. Regiment. Retraining.

It's easy enough to discern what he needs. All tender with wounds that need to be licked.

The muzzle is fitted. A gesture of glimmering gold adoration among the steely black of whips and chains.

Astarion is beautiful. Tenfold on his knees.

The leather straps pull back slight against his skin, three in total clipped together at the back of his skull. The thickest strap flattens sweet white curls, thinner ones curved around his ears and jaw.

The structured leather cage, reinforced with metal, rests over his nose and mouth. It fits better than you could've hoped. There's a collar around his neck to match it, with a weighted chain in your hand. He's looking up at you with a softened gaze, ruby red and lidded. Needy.

The velvet of the loveseat dips comfortably under your weight as you sit. Astarion stays where he is. He's as pleasant as he's capable of being, hopeful as he scoots in closer to you.

He succeeds in acting cute, naturally talented in the art of being appealing. He scoots himself close to your legs and positions himself to rest his chin on the edge of your knee.

You meet his eyes amused. You let your hand brush along the pointed shell of his ear. Little goosebumps form in the wake of your touch.

"You should know better by now that those sorts of tricks don't work on me, hm?"

He huffs. "Well that's not true. They usually do work on you. Rather well, I would say."

You pause, taken aback, before relenting with a laugh His pout endears you. You let your eyes narrow a bit in knowing.

"Not like this though. You know that very well."

His frown deepens. You really do adore him. He taps his forehead against your leg as you bite back a smile, his muzzle making the touch briefer than he'd prefer.

"Gods. Of course I know but this, this is torture, darling."

Pleasant and noncommittal, your hand cups his nape. You pet him wherever you can reach, his head before slipping along his shoulder and against your lap. You settle at his back, tracing over raised scars.

A sorrowful hum leaves your lips. Neither of you believe it.

"Torture? Perhaps I've gotten too soft if this is torture."

"Oh you're so awful," He huffs, biting his tongue and choosing to rest against your leg in frustration for a while longer. "Sure, fine - torture is too perfunctory. But it's been terribly difficult! Where is your sympathy."

"What's difficult, Astarion?"

You're being cheeky asking him. After all your rules have been clear and reinforced well for the two tendays that have passed. You've been working hard on reteaching him patience. He used to be so patient, back when you were exploring and unsettled but you've let him take too much and now he'll interrupt you at any moment just to get what he needs.

(Astarion leans on you for guidance. Of course, he has himself - has his freedom that he took with bloodied hands and a broken heart. There’s many choices that he’s able to make for himself, some of them he can’t explain even to you. Whatever they are, they’re his to make and yours to support.

It’s different though. Not having a choice, and someone making choices for him out of something inscrutable. You don’t bed Astarion until you fulfill the promise of killing his master. More accurately, you don’t lay so much as a hand on him. Only intimate, sparse touches. Only love. Only patience.

You’re disinterested in only having his body. His heart, and his mind, and his very soul - all of it. You want to grasp them so firmly and never let go. The chains and leashing and discipline are testament to what you want most of Astarion - and that’s all of him. You want to enrich him in every conceivable way. Astarion deserves the granular finery of thoughtful guidance more than anyone. He's brighter when he feels special, after all.

You’ve broken down the walls between you with a closed fist for this purpose - a not so quiet ask to love him by opening your hand. He’s given you the honor to let you think and act for him so he doesn’t have too. Duty binds you to reteaching him virtue.

It's a privilege to think for him. To wipe his bloodied mouth and care for his appearance prim and his mind sharp. No longer a matted beast but a loved, loved little vampire in the crook of your arms

You’re not strict to no end. You'd rip the Astral Planes apart in search of what he desires, should he ask it of you, after all.

Only the best for your immortal love. )

His neediness makes him more misbehaving. He’s been scaring away anyone who looks at you too long for business and otherwise, unable to keep his hand away from between your legs or his head in your lap.

"Not letting me drink your blood for two tendays is unreasonable enough but on top of that," He's exasperated just explaining the dilemma to you. His muzzle is cool against your pant leg. "On top of that I'm not even allowed any relief. Despite all of your cruelty, you wicked thing. I never took you for such a sadist."

He scoffs. There's poorly masked lust in the last sentence. You stop yourself from smiling.

"Sadist? Really? I don't see it that way. Seeing you act so desperately all this time and keeping my hands neat at my sides... I'm a paragon of patience." You pull on the leash in your hand but don't pull him forward - though you tighten your grip. "It's…good to lead by example."

Excitement flashes over his face in a short burst. It's so brilliant you swear his eyes look white instead of red.

"You cheeky little—" He huffs at you. You smile warmly as he starts to curl in on himself. He already knows how to get himself what he wants.

He gives up on pretenses. Briefly, just to beg, a monumentally hard thing. "Please. I can't take a minute more of this."

There's a croak to his voice. He has a hard time covering its tracks, even with his propensity for theatrics.

His throat is so thick with want. Something ripping at the seams of him and begging to be released.

"You've done well if it helps, but" You praise. He preens. Instantly. He squirms and wiggles around but doesn't move much more than that. "You act like I don't feed you."

"It is not the same, my love. You're well aware."

You ignore him.

"I even bring you human blood, don't I?" You tease, and his frustration darkens him. "I brought a beautiful and fresh body to drain just yesterday."

"Yes but," His hands turn to tight fists. He isn't sure what he wants to do with himself. You pet him a little more. "It's not the same, damn it. I want yours. Just yours. Just you,"

He adds the last bit quieter than the rest. Your expression is unchanged and cool though your heart might give you away with how hard it pounds.

"Just mine?" You tease. tugging at this leash a little. He makes a face like he's infuriated, a poor mask for embarrassment that endears you even more."Is that flattery?"

You're being a little mean this time. You'll make it up to him. He almost panics before he realizes just that.

"Gods you're insufferable," He complains with no bite. He's hoping for mercy you truly have no desire to give him. "You know that it's not."

"You speak so beautifully it sounds like it. Such sweet little noises you can make."

You let the heel of your boot press along Astarion's crotch. He makes one for you, involuntary - skin pink and sinful.

"See? How pretty."

Astarion is easy to bring to ruin as is. His own snark and disobedience is a poor disguise for that truth. A little tenderness and honesty makes him fall apart. Flirting back with Astarion goads him, though. Fuels his desire to win one over you. If you meet his cheekiness with more cheekiness, he won't relent at all.

Normally that kind of response would make him nip at you. It speaks to his desperation that it doesn't. That instead of making his own snarky remark, he tenses. A deep, shaky little breath. You could tip him over the edge through his clothes at this rate.

You're not so cruel. Not for today, at least.

"Sit up straight."

He does so without protest. You place a hand on his shoulder, the other one tight around the chain of his leash. Carefully, you drag your sharp nails down the front of his chest - leaving light pinkish marks on the pale skin. Over and over and over in light drags. His chest raises under the gesture, your nails scratching soft against his nipples.

"Hng," His voice is feather light. He's trembling at the slightest touch. His spine arches like he's trying to get more friction. "Don't you think you've proven your point?"

You let your palm drag down the smooth plane of his stomach, stopping at his pants. His cock twitches hard against the seam of his pants. You let a finger pull into the waistband, but don't go any farther.

"Not sure," You let the leash drop into your lap. You threaten to pull them down, but don't. Expression blank, you tilt your head to one side. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"My lesson," He repeats sarcastically. You feign innocence as you nod. "Really, darling?"

"I'm not so much of a tyrant," You let go, letting your hand cup the outline of his hard cock. "To torture you without reason, right? So what have we practiced?"

He stares. It must really be getting to him. "Patience."

"Yes. I ask you to be patient. Never kind, but patient. Because I'll give you anything you ask for if you wait. Things are better when you wait for them, right?"

He frowns in annoyance and disbelief. He's exasperated, rightfully - because you are messing with him. Just a little. "Right."

You squeeze his cock tighter. He hisses immediately, grinding into the touch. You blow hot air against his ticklish skin, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"So, have you learned your lesson?"

Your grip goes tight. Astarion craves the touch so badly. You doubt he's ever gone so long without anything at all - if the desperation he's rutting his hips with is anything to go by. His head drops heavy from his shoulders, his hands on the edge of the couch gripping for his life. Manicured nails digging into the cushion like it will save him. His voice is weary.

"Y-," He shudders but you don't let go. "Yes, I'm very sure I have."

"Oh, you're sure."

You enjoy bullying him. At a certain point, it bares itself out against all your own evading. Astarion knows it well enough, though normally it's through less truly intolerable means. Keeping him inside you soft or scraping orgasms one after another until he's too stupid too talk are favored between you.

Astarion likes being given a hard time, in general though. You're made for each other.

"Pretty little thing aren't you, my love?" You tell him, suddenly warmed. You miss the tadpole sometimes. If you could touch his mind right now, you would. Violate his thoughts with your own wants. You settle for a long stare. "So sweet,"

The anticipation makes his breath hitch. He goes completely limp in your grasp, weak and desperate. The weight of it all cracks and he looks up. His eyes glass over.

He shatters under his own need. "For the love of—please. I c-cant, I need to-"

"Shh." You quell him with a tender pet to his head. "You're looking at me so pitifully. Is it starting to be too much?"

He just nods. Your smile widens.

"You've been very patient for these two tendays, haven't you?" You lay it on thick. This is the part you like. You watch as Astarion goes boneless, the words reaching so deep into him he can do little more than collapse himself into your lap. You release all grips of him and let him hold against you soothingly, cling to your legs. "A very, very good boy for all this time. You're quite capable of it when you need to be, aren't you?"

He doesn't reply, but you can feel him melt into you further. For a minute you think you've broken him until you hear him mutter the softest yes you've ever heard.

(Astarion is not so easy to break, of course. And not so keen on opening up the softened wells of his heart to any stranger.

But he does break for you, and gods haven't you worked hard for that? It's a testament to all you've poured into him. Like you know all the right buttons to split him open tenderly.

And he lets you look. Touch and feel and cover your fingers with blood. He trusts you to stitch him closed.)

"Yes, that's right. You've learned your lesson now, and you're going to be proper and well-behaved because that's what good boys do. And Astarion is a very good boy. My very, very good boy."

He picks his head to look at you properly. He's darling. His face is flush, mouth turned into a soft pout and utterly, utterly desperate. His mouth is bitten, indented holes in soft lips.

"Yes, I'm. Please. I want you to touch me."

You aren't sure what you want to start with. He's being needy and you could almost feel guilty.

You pick up something from your side. A dagger from your days of travel. You unsheath it quickly, and let the blade cut along the tip of your middle finger. The blood comes quickly after, ruby red and thick.

Astarion goes wide eyed. He’s hungry, so hungry - like he always is. But there’s something defeated in the ways he hesitates that make you relish. You push your finger through the cage of his muzzle and tilt your head. There’s mirth in your eyes.

“Go on,” You say, tease, mock maybe. “Eat.”

He abandons restraint. All of it. You don’t make him work more for it. You push your finger down close enough for his mouth to lick at your wound and let your hand rest on the cage. He can’t get what he’s craving like this. The bone deep sensation starts to claw at him, a soft whimper tucked in the back of his throat.

More. He wants more. Of course he wants more.

“You look drunk.” You say, and there’s sharpness to your words. The ways in which Astarion is erotic have nothing to do with his theatrics. He is appealing when he’s giving up on everything but what he wants, always has been. “Have you missed it that much?”

“Yes.” He supplements, letting his tongue run over “More.”

You pull your hand away. “Take your clothes off.”

You watch Astarion scramble to stand. You bring your dagger with you then reach over to the table beside you. Scented oils roll around in the drawer. You’re careful with the blade as you fish out a bottle of it, taking it in your hands. Astarion stands naked, the heavy chain of his leash brushing against his skin.

“Kneel and lean on the couch, my love.”

Astarion is the picture of obedience. He leans on his elbows on the couch seats, with his legs spread apart, leash in a pool next to him as he folds his arms and tucks his face. You stand on your knees behind him, admiring his back in the lowlights.

Your hands rest on his thighs as you kiss up his spine. Small, short kisses all the way until you’ve reached the back of his neck. Your lips brush his nape, nose nudging against the metal of his muzzle.

Something overwhelms you. Addicting, euphoric as your clothed body drapes around Astarion, free hand on his waist - moving up his stomach to toy with his nipples. It thrums through you, listening to the ragged anticipation and distraught way he moves. Against you, against everything. Aching for touch.

You feel it overwhelmingly as you close in on his ear. Astarion huffs, long panting breaths. He needs this.

“Look at how naturally you yield to me now,” You all be coo. Astarion groans. Shuddering, your hand slides around his narrow waist and wraps a fist around his cock. He gasps. “You’ve become so pliable, so needy. But you know my star, I quite like when you’re needy.”

He hiccups and shivers and whines. “You’re the prettiest when you behave like the sweet little thing you can be, like I know you are. When you listen and yield and let me adore you in all the right ways. Such a sweet boy you can be, if only you let yourself.”

“Darling,” His voice cracks. There’s a helpless quality to it. A little more, that’s all you need. “I — you —”

You pull back and straighten your voice out, taking off Astarions muzzle after the valiant efforts he’s been making to wear it. It falls onto the couch unceremoniously.

“I’m saying, well done Astarion. I’ll reward you for all that effort. I’ll slash another scar in my hand for you to drink from and then again in the evening when I’ve recovered,” You lean back on your legs as you make promises on your own words. “I’ll bleed for you until you’ve sated yourself and let you get drunk on it. Then, when you’re malleable, I’ll fuck you. Again and again and again until you’ve all but forgotten yourself. All but forgotten who exactly you behave for.”

You open the oil and let it drip onto his back, watching mesmerized as it slips against every curve and crevice. When there’s enough to make opening him up easy, you stop and reach for your dagger.

The weapon slashes over the same wound. You’ve done this tens of times now. You don’t let the scars heal with a potion or some kind of spell. Astarion is far from the comfort of romance, but it is its own promise. Your scar is his.

The pain is brief, but it’s enough to feel it. You don’t flinch, though. When the blood finally seeps from it, you find yourself over Astarions back once again.

You let your bleeding palms clamp over his mouth. It’s as close to sacred as you can forge between you. Astarion moans. It is shameless. Pitchy, high with want and utterly broken. He laps at the blood like a dog, his tongue sharp against the familiar wound. You can feel his body twitch beneath you, the muffled sounds of his voice.

There is no performance in that kind of pleasure, but the amount of arousal that spikes Astarion’s whole body never fails to surprise you.

When he’s feeding from you, you busy your other hand with fucking him open on your fingers. Your dominant hand slips down the smooth curve of his spine, oiled skin soft and cool under your palms. He’s built like a dancer, beautiful curves. He’s a little softer now that he eats well. It looks good on him.

You let your middle finger brush over his hole, relishing in the soft gasp he lets out as you do. Astarion’s aroused enough to accommodate you as you circle it. The tight ring of muscle is familiar, and welcoming to your touch. You don’t need to teach Astarion to breathe, don’t need to remind him of it. You can feel his whole body push along your hands as if urging you towards him. You’re too delicate about the matter for his time.

Astarion is warmer inside than he is out. It fascinates you, makes your own stomach churn with want as your middle finger curves slowly. You pump in short motions until the resistance is all but gone. When you’ve made it as far as the knuckle of your middle finger, you start to search. You curl and press yourself against soft insides, search and search for what you’re looking for.

Astarion lurches forward when you find it. The most pitiful little moan you’ve ever heard squeaks out from his lips, against your hand.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Right there?”

Astarion makes noncommittal noises as you repeat the process again. Another finger, your ringer - spreading him open. Tight hole giving into your touch, filling him. Your mouth kisses the skin that you can reach. You peck and bite along the curve of his shoulders and all over his back as your ring finger penetrates him. His insides soften as you find your pace.

You see his hands start to fidget, but you chide him before he can do it.

“Not yet. You can touch yourself when I tell you too. Not before.”

Astarion needs more than this. You’ll give it to him, but patience is the virtue here.

You don’t know how long that’s going to stick though. The way Astarion is shaking underneath doesn’t give you confidence he’s going to hold out long enough for you to take him apart like you want. You’ll give him something proper later, when he’s not so pent you think the slight brush of skin could make him cum.

You do, desperately, want to see Astarion cum. But it has to be done the right way, or everything would go to waste in a single moment. You fuck him open on your fingers with a pinpoint pressure and accuracy, gauging his every move with the little gestures of his body. You know perfectly, know every inch of him inside and out like a book you’ve read page to page with the corners turned. The way he sways, lays intimately on the edge of cumming but never quite pushing himself over the finish line, speaks to that.

That, and the way he licks the blood from your palm like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. You can feel it, how messy it is - lapping at the split wound. Sharp unruly teeth digging into your skin, the soft breath of his nose tickling your hand as you cup his mouth. He licks so fervently, like it’s mouthwatering enough to die for.

It doesn’t help the arousal between your legs. It’d be damning for him to know how affected you are by this. By him.

“My beautiful boy,” Your voice is thick with desire. You can’t help yourself, the low possession laced it in. “Fucking perfect,”

“My love,” The words muffle against your palm. You move your hand away to let him speak and his face moves instinctually to bury himself back in it. “P-please. Let me touch myself, it aches,”

You weigh it for a minute, watching his body lurch forward as you fingerfuck him. You make a noise in the back of your throat, dropping your forehead against his spine - adrenaline making sweat drip down the crown of your head.

“Poor thing. Aches does it? Touch yourself for me, Astarion. I want to see you make a mess.”

He groans, hands moving immediately to fist his cock. You can hear it, the sound of him fucking his own fist like a wet, welcoming hole - cock wet and dripping with prespend. Astarions whole body starts to fall limp. His face pushed into the seat, little wet sobs spilling from his lips as he swears over and over.

It doesn’t take any time for his body to give into the feeling of being pleasured from all angles. You feel his face nudge against your hand for blood as his muscles start to go tighter and tighter.

“Shit,” He huffs, pushing himself back into your hands. “I’m going to cum.”

You keep your other hand in place, pace steady.

“Cum for me, baby. That’s it, easy does it.”

It happens so quickly you’re not sure if you should be impressed or if you should laugh affectionately. You can feel it, the way his hips stutter to a stop, his whole body grinding against you and holding tight to whatever he can cling to for purchase. His body weakens under the weight of your own, going completely tight like a bowstring before falling utterly helpless. Astarion moans loud when he cums, thick white ropes of it dressing the upholstery of the couch and falling to the floor. It’s an impressive amount. Save for what lands on the velvet, it pools thick and heavy. There’s so much, it’s like he can’t stop cumming. At least a minute passes before the twitching ceases.

He lays there, ragged and weightless and limp. You take your hand away from his mouth and slowly ease yourself out of him as he stays and catches his breath. You press soft, warm pecks up his spine.

You move away from him to give him some space to breathe, sitting back criss-cross on the ground. Astarion has no intention of getting up on his own, though. Before you can make sense of it, he crawls over to you. He must be worn out, given how willingly he’s coming into your arms in pure exhaustion. His cock is spent, soft against his belly and pink. He’s still naked and leashed.

Still needy, but the lust has subsided if only a little. Astarion seats himself between your open legs. You laugh lightly, letting him rest in your side - face in the crook of your neck in utter exhaustion.

“Hero of Baldurs Gate this, savior of the city that. I know evil when I see it, darling. Just outright cruel.”

You break out into a laugh at the change in behavior as he pulls away to look at you. His eyes are remarkably watery.

“That claim is undermined by that mess you’ve made on the floor there. Did you enjoy yourself?”

He almost looks embarrassed by it, a pinkish tint turning the tips of his ears bright.

“You’ve given me two terrible choices. I say yes and you think it’s a clever idea to do it again or I say no and I never experience whatever that was again in my life. A lose-lose situation.”

“So you did enjoy it,” You say warmly. Astarion scoffs but doesn’t protest. “I’m glad. You’re very attractive when you’re pitiful.”

“What despicable taste. I’m beautiful irregardless.”

You let your head bump against his, and Astarion half-heartedly returns the gesture. “That’s true. A sight for sore eyes as they say.”

“If you’re true to your word then I’ve earned a little more than just one,” Astarion purrs. Before that, he examines your (still bleeding hand) and picks your palm up to kiss. You grin wildy at his tongue lapping over the wound. “And you’re properly pent up, aren’t you? Let's get this cleaned up and let the real fun begin.”

“Aren’t you insatiable today? As you wish, my prince. We can move upstairs.”

He bemoans this. “You’ll have to drag my undead body up there if you’re asking me to get on my own two feet.”

“Or I could carry you like a bride.”

“A bride? How ostentatious. I’ll allow it.” Astarion says, then adds more quietly. “But we can stay… here a little longer first.”

You hum against his skin, peppering his face with soft kisses; he doesn't turn you away from the skinship, which you’re pleased by. “Of course my love,”

He lays in your arms quietly and the thought reaffirms itself. You’d do anything for him.

✧ a/n : no one is more upset by the length of this than me. trust and believe this. also sorry for the yapping i just... posting this is so foreboding. it feels like that picture of spongebob who puts his hands up so a car doesn't fall on him. i am Afraid.

maybe ill write a part two of him eating box or something. we'll see. anyway thanks for reading </3. please do rb if you enjoyed. so scared to be in the tags for this.

#rogues love letters #bg3 x reader #astarion x reader #astarion smut #bg3 smut #baldurs gate x reader #what other tags..idk..#this fucking thing cooked me to death i hate this guy BOOO throws tomatoes at him #zeros.dr #sub astarion

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