#baldur's gate smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leftoverdinosaurbones · 5 months

Text

Chapter 3: The Illusion of Choice

F!Reader (Dark Urge), Spawn Astarion, Haarlep, Raphael - series is NSFW (minors DNI)

[Major Spoilers - Set post BG3]

***

Here is the next chapter of the fanfic I've been working on, featuring one of my absolute favs - Raphael <3

You can read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here on tumblr or on Ao3.

Content Warning: manipulation, power imbalance, kidnapping (of adults) - let me know if I've missing anything here, please!

Summary: As requested, you travel to the House of Hope to see what Raphael wants to share with you. You are a bit worried though, since your last visit there went... much worse than expected.

Chapter 3: The Illusion of Choice

The House of Hope emerges before you, the red hues and shadows from the dimly lit atmosphere, coupled with the unsurprising smells of fire and brimstone, lightly masked by cherries. Anxiety burns in your stomach, feeding on a multitude of worries. You wonder whether it was wise to come here without telling Astarion, or any of your friends. Nervous about seeing Raphael after all this time, how different he might be with his new power. You recall the last time you were here, the smell of the place bringing you viscerally back to the most painful moments of the memory as it fills your senses.

Raphael’s face crowds your mind, his skin red and face adorned with horns. His features are contorted in anger - at you . He towered over you, crowding your space, forcing your back against the wall. Wings flexed and spread menacingly, he made you feel so small, alone, and quite frankly, stupid. His smell, now more sulfur than the pleasant cherries, assaulted your nostrils as you truly started to realize the magnitude of your actions.

“So you tried to come here, to my house, on your own. To what end? For what purpose?” he snarled, pupils blown. “Certainly, you already have what you need from me. And I cannot possibly imagine you’d be so incredibly foolish to try to take something from my home or - even more idiotic- to consider breaking our deal.

“You, with your divinity power” he spit, sneering with disgust, “knowing that it doesn’t stand a chance against me. So if this isn’t the reason why you are here, then tell me, little mouse . Why have you so brazenly decided to break into my home?”

Korrilla intercepts you, releasing you from the vice grip of the memory.

“Wise of you to show up so quickly. This time, you are expected. I imagine you’ve learned your lesson though, am I right?” One side of Korilla’s lips curled up in a vicious smirk.

“Here, take this pass. Raphael will meet you in the Boudoir when he is ready.” Korilla hands you the pass and quickly vanishes from sight, eager to be out of your company.

***

Haarlep quickly catches your eye when you pass through the Boudoir door, as they lounge in the restoration pool in your recently used form. You wince as they emerge, dripping, to approach you - finding it so incredibly odd to see yourself in this way. Haarlep trills at your visible discomfort, energized by a new victim to torment.

“It was so nice to enjoy you again, though this time was a bit different than our last rendevous.” Haarlep’s hands slowly worked up and down your - their - bare skin as they continue to slink towards you. Their gentle caresses begin to weaken your resolve, soothing your own anxious thoughts that filled your head only moments earlier.

Haarlep grabs your hands (how did they get so close to you?) and leads you to the bed. You began to argue with yourself, part of you trying to will yourself to stop while the other was begging you to give in.

Haarlep pushes you down to sit on the edge of the bed as they change into their Raphael form, placing their arms on either side of you to look directly into your eyes. The part of you that protests falls silent, too quickly. Your body remembers the phantom pangs of pleasure from earlier, and aches from missing the real thing. You feel your body start to arch up towards Haarlep, embarrassingly desperate for their touch. Your hands fly up to their chest, the warmth of their body emanating through your hands as you greedily explore their body.

“My, my, aren’t we eager?” Haarlep hums, amused at your reaction.

They bury their face in your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses from the dip in your clavicle up to your ear. A shiver courses through your body and you pull them on top of you, pressing your body flat against the bed. You wrap your legs around their waist, binding them flush against your body with a fierce need. You tangle your fingers in their hair, letting a soft moan escape your lips as they continue to worship your neck.

“Wouldn’t it be so nice to have this all the time?” Haarlep murmured in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. “If you just make one small little agreement with me, we could have so much fun together.”

Haarlep pulled away from your neck to look at you, bringing a finger to pull down over your lips before sinking into a kiss. First, just with their lips but then opening their mouth to bite your lower lip before exploring your mouth with their tongue. You melted into their kiss, arching further into their body, pressing your hips tighter into theirs. For some reason, their ideas were really starting to make good sense…

Haarlep broke away from the kiss, leaving you feeling empty for just a moment as they transitioned back to your neck. Their hand started to dip below your shirt to explore your chest, and you realized you were holding your breath.

“Oh, I would so treasure you, little mouse. Treat you so much sweeter than Raphael would, we both know that.”

This comment jars you out of your delightful stupor. You put your hands against their chest and unwound your legs to try to straighten back up to ask what they mean by this. As you look to get back up, another figure becomes clear from behind Haarlep.

You blink - and blink again. Raphael comes into focus. You aren’t sure how long he has been there, just…watching. But there he sits, looking at you, clearly pleased with himself. Surely it has something to do with how fast you ran to him when summonsed, especially after our last encounter here at his house. A scowl spreads across your face as you realize how far you’ve fallen - at how quickly you’ve lost your confident self-reliance. Now look at you, stumbling over yourself to come when called.

Haarlep releases you so you can sit up on the edge of the bed. Your scowl falls away as you feel the immense power coursing from Raphael, magnified by the crown. You are reminded of when you stood in the overwhelming presence of the Netherbrain, willing yourself to be strong enough to stand up to its force but instead failing, miserably.

Raphael stands, his hands superfluously smoothly his perfect overcoat. He looks wistfully somewhere past you, towards something you can’t see in the distance.

“I am sure you are wondering how my war is going.” He doesn’t pause long enough for a response - he isn’t looking for one.

“Thanks to your renewed support and cooperation in my campaign, things are going so very well. In just a short time, I will be at Zariel’s door to take her down and secure the leadership of Avernus. She is hemorrhaging her supporters by the day.” He scoffed at her weakness. “It will only be a matter of time before she will fall before me.”

His gaze turns back to you, his eyes hot and piercing, like he can skewer you in just one look. You try to hold his gaze, an attempt to bolster your own strength more than to intimidate him. That was challenging to do before, but virtually impossible now. Because of you. He is the powerful monster that stands before you now because of your doing, your decisions. You shut your eyes tight and shake your head, severing eye contact to try to remove the darkness that clouds your thoughts - to shake away the guilt.

A clawed finger traces up from the bottom of your neck to your chin, lifting up your face. Your eyes spring open in response, surprised by the sudden touch and closeness. You’ve never been so close to Raphael and now, he is holding your face in his hand.

“You may be wondering why I’ve invited you here, little mouse. You see, despite everything, I still find our particular...situation… to be quite valuable.” His finger traced back down to the base of your throat.

“Now, of course, when people come to my house to try to make a mockery of me, I don’t tend to show mercy.” His hand suddenly gripped your throat, with a threatening squeeze that took your breath away with a gasp. This was certainly a more direct approach than you were used to in your dealings with Raphael in the past. You weren’t sure what changed him more - the Crown or your escapade.

“But fortunately for you, I find you much more useful to me alive. For now. And you did make good on your promise and delivered the Crown, my most cherished client.”

He released his grip around your throat and brought his hands back to his coat as you took in a greedy gulp of air. Is it possible that... a twisted part of you even liked it? You tried to stifle your arousal. You glanced quickly toward Haarlep, saw his mischievous grin, and knew your secret was out.

Raphael causally leaned back against a wardrobe. “I invited you here to offer you another deal.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Before you throw another one of your tantrums, you might want to listen to this one. Your friends, Karlach and Wyll, have been captured by Zariel.”

You lept off the bed. “Holy shit! Why didn’t you lead with that?!” You chastised the Devil, consumed by a rage that re-ignited your confidence.

Your mind raced, thinking of Karlach back in the clutches of Zariel again. Any Wyll, dangled in front of Mizora, so soon after finally getting free of her clutches. How long would he be able to wait before making another deal with her? Especially if it was to save Karlach? He’s too good for his own good.

You scowled, pacing the floor in front of Raphael in quick steps, your rage threatening to bust through the seams of your skin. The injustice of it all pained you to your very soul, resonating with your nearly dormant values as a vengeance-sworn paladin. You would simply do anything for the people you loved, who are trapped in this cruel and twisted way.

“Hmm,” Raphael nearly purred with content at your response, though you barely registered his response as your mind raced with violence and plans of escape.

“I, of course, feel so terribly sorry for you.” His voice was thick with feigned concern, practiced throughout a lifetime of manipulating mortals. “Unfortunately, I can’t just go out there to directly save them from their fate. I’m in the midst of a war, as you know. However, I do see a very interesting opportunity for both of us. And we do make quite the team together. How can I pass up the opportunity to work with my most favorite client?”

“Let’s get on with it. My friends are suffering while you are playing this self-indulgent mind game with me,” you fumed, fully consumed by your own plans for revenge.

“Tut tut, dear. Please, I have been so anticipating us meeting again. I would hate for you to disappoint me, again. It would be good for you to remember who you are speaking with, and your place.”

With a snap of his fingers, you felt a tremendous force pressing down on your entire body, shoving you to your knees in front of him. Your racing thoughts immediately came to a halt as you attempted, in vain, to twist back up to your feet. Your face turned a deep shade of red, though you were sure if it was from embarrassment, anger, or…something else.

Raphael smiled and ran one of his hands roughly through your hair, yanking your head back to look at him directly in his eyes. Your scalp was sensitive from the rough treatment only a few hours earlier (from the same hands? no, that’s not possible). Tears sprung to your eyes but you blinked them away, willing yourself with every fiber of your being to maintain eye contact.

Somewhere in the near distance, Harleep laughed darkly, appreciative of how much you clearly enjoyed this treatment.

“Mmm, much better,” Raphael laughed to himself, releasing his hold on your hair. “It is good to see this fire back in your spirit again - we hadn’t seen it in a while. And you will certainly need it in order to save your friends.”

Raphael took his place back, leaning against the wardrobe. “I can help you take on Zariel. I know you’ll need help, since you know how ineffective Divine damage will be.” He sneered down at you, proud of himself.

You held eye contact. “And you are just doing this out of the kindness of your heart, yes?” your voice full of malice.

“Well no, of course not. It’s only fair that we should both gain something from our arrangement, right? But I won’t be sharing details until we have an official agreement.”

You sigh. He’s right, you need all you can get for support. Still, you try to clarify - “My soul…?” You leave the rest of the sentence hanging.

“No, I don’t have to ask for that yet, my little mouse.” He bends down to meet you face-to-face, then moves to whisper in your ear. “Though I have a feeling you’ll be begging me to have your soul sometime soon.” The words send a shiver down your spine, a foreboding mix of curiosity and… desire? No. That can’t be it.

“Okay” you sigh, “I’ll take the deal”.

“Excellent!” Raphael claps his hands as a contract appears in mid-air for you to sign. You feel the invisible weight disappear from your shoulders, allowing you to stand and sign the agreement.

“I am so glad to be working together again, my dear. Remember what I told you back in Sharess’ Caress? I do like you. How could I not? Even with our ups and downs. Maybe a future deal could be worked out, and I can give you something else you need - perhaps a cure that you’ve been looking for?”

Your breath catches in your throat. A cure - for Astarion? Before you can say a word, Raphael continues with his speech, barely letting a beat go by.

“Now, I would be quite interested in hearing what you’d be willing to exchange for something as valuable as that…something you can think about.” Raphael turned on his heel and walked out of the Boudoir.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air. You didn’t realize how much space Raphael squeezed out of the room with his presence now, how much pressure he could create in the atmosphere. You were also completely overwhelmed by the news of your friends, the deal you just made, the weight of your ever-present guilt, Astarion…

You pressed your hands against your temples, massaging, trying to find some relief. You were reminded of Haarlep as they slipped their hands on your shoulders, thumbs pressing circles into muscles bound tight by tension.

They lean in to purr in your ear. “You know, Raphael did so enjoy using your body earlier today. You could think about that as inspiration for your future agreement with him. Or, of course, you could make an agreement with me instead.” They spun you around and kissed you, giving you no time to think or to push them away. They open their mouth to devour you in a deep, hungry kiss.

You can read the next chapter here.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #Raphael bg3 #bg3 Raphael #haarlep x reader #Raphael x reader #baldur's gate smut #bg3 post game #bg3 the dark urge #bg3 astarion

31 notes · View notes

larvasmoon · 4 months

Text

Portrait of the pale elf (2) - Rough sketches of a stranger

Chapter Summary : Who is a painter if she cannot paint anymore ? Selene has reached a dead-end, she is uninspired and despaired, wandering aimlessly in the streets of Baldur's Gate. But it is without counting on the fact that one fateful encounter can change anything and everything, and set in motion the wheel of fortune.

Warnings : Abuse. Mention of past abuse. Teasing. Pining.

Word count : 3,6k

Authors's Note : In this chapter I'm introducing my OC, Selene, a shy little painter. Tav will be part of this story too, but not yet :) You can also find this story on my Ao3. I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it !

How strange it is to lose something you thought you’d always have, Selene thought, as she sat in front of a blank canvas.

As far as she could remember, she’d always had fingers stained with paint or charcoal. It had came to her as naturally as her first breath, or as the first clumsy steps of a child.

There was a silence now in her mind, an absence that she didn’t quite understand. As if a long lost version of her past self had packed all her belongings, and left her to rot in a world devoid of beauty.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t inspired, she could’ve painted anything and everything. She’d only have to take few steps outside to find a pretty view in Baldur’s Gate.

She was simply terrified to do so, after that one incident.

Come back, Please come back to me, she silently prayed to Déneïr, or to any other god that had once taken an interest in the follies of artists. How am I supposed to live this way ?, she kept begging, night and day, day and night, but no answer ever came, either from the sky above, or from her own paralyzed psyche.

Weeks after weeks, months after months, torn pieces of paper after torn pieces of paper, ripped canvases after ripped canvases, she wasted away. She grew thin and sickly, sleepless and with no appetite for life.

It would have been fine if she was the only one to suffer from this peculiar affliction, but Selene wasn’t free to paint when she felt like it. She had responsibilities, paintings to finish in time, and a master painter to please.

Damian Fallheel, was an acclaimed and renowned artist amongst Baldur’s Gate nobility. She was nothing but an orphan, an half-elf little girl with no prospects and future, when he’d taken her in.

One day, he’d walked by the steps of the orphanage she was sitting on, furiously drawing on a stone with chalks. Even after all this time, she still remembered how dazzling he looked to her children’s eyes.

He stood tall above her in the declining light of the late afternoon, cladded in dark blue silk and golden jewelries. His long blond hair was tied by a red ribbon in his back, and he had the most beautiful golden eyes she'd ever seen. Everything, from the way he was dressed to the way he moved, reminded her that they should not have been breathing the same air.

If the sun had been graced with a body and a face, he would've looked like Damian, so the little girl guessed that he was a sun elf. He could only be a high ranking nobility one, like the pretty people that she sometimes saw when she dared to go to the limits of the higher city, just to get a glimpse of the "toffs" as the other kids would say.

His bright eyes curiously followed the motions of her fingers, the swirls and the scratches, the halts and the continuations. Crouching down to be at eye level with her, he then stared at her drawing intently for a few minutes.

What he saw in that unskilful drawing made by an eight year old girl, she would never know.

Selene’s small heart hammered in her chest, because it was the first time someone had ever taken an interest in her at all. It was as if she suddenly realized that she existed. Her whole life she’d felt as though she was an invisible spectator, sitting on the side of the stage of life, waiting to be given a role to play.

Strangers usually passed by the streets without a glance, cats curled up by the plants pots behind her for a nap, couples giggled and kissed arm in arm. But no one ever went out their way like this. Ever.

He softly traced the colorful butterfly wings she’d drawn with his fingertips. "Do you like to draw, child ?"

"It’s the only thing I’ve ever liked", she shyly replied with an adorable lisp, hiding her blushing cheeks behind her black hair.

"Drawing is akin to magic, you know. Things that are real, things that aren’t, it doesn’t matter. You will always have the world, and beyond, at the tips of your fingers. It’s a gift."

As he was talking to her about the beauty of art, she felt as though he was part of the things she’d like to have at the tips of her fingers. At night, when all the other children would be asleep in the dormitory, she’d slip away by the kitchens, and light a candle in secret. While the whole world would be dreaming, far far away, she’d draw him by memory, to never forget this moment.

Sad days weren’t scarce in orphanages. Some kids would cling to a book, a toy, or a small object left with them by their parents, to survive in the hardest of times. Selene cherished her drawings instead. Not because she’d made them, but because each one of them was a memento of a particularly happy memory.

"Yes, but I need to see more of it to paint it", she wistfully added, "And children like me don’t go anywhere."

His long and graceful fingers caressed her cheeks, wiping away a tear that she didn’t know was there.

"What is your name ?"

There was nothing in the blanket Selene was wrapped in, when they found her at the doorstep of the orphanage. No jewelry, no doll, just a crumpled piece of paper with a name hastily written in black ink.

"Selene" she mumbled, as he gently tuck a few strands of her dark hair behind her ear to properly look at her.

"Would you like to come and see the world with me then, Selene ? I’m a painter myself, I could teach you."

Such offer could never be refused, of course. She had willingly taken Damian’s hand, and he’d her made her his student and apprentice.

She didn’t know it then, but she had been caught in a trap.

To this day, she couldn’t tell what Damian truly was to her.

A teacher. A master. A father figure. An unrequited love.

These days, he was, above all, a thief. An indebted clown, that signed her own paintings with his name.

If someone was to learn that Damian Fallheel was a liar and a farce, what a tragedy it’d be. For him and for her. Her name would forever be soiled and associated into every mind with his scam.

How unfair it was that he could drag her with him in his fall, when he’d always made sure that his rise to fame would never rub on her.

For the past ten years, all his best works had secretly been painted by Selene. She’d always had to endure the torture of seeing people congratulate him, praise him, worship him, in her place.

It’ mine. It’s all mine, don’t you see ?, she wanted to scream, but always remained silent and poised instead. Damian’s good little apprentice, the docile and gifted child he’d generously saved from a life of misery.

He had indeed given her a role on the wide stage of life, but she’d been fooled. Her master had promised her that she would be one of the main actors, but he’d made her a bit player instead.

All of this she could endure, somehow.

But to lose the sole purpose of her life ? To be stripped of her art altogether ? She could not.

Sometimes she even wondered if this was a form of divine punishment. She thought that the deity that had once been looking over her, had forsaken her, because she’d given up on her own paintings.

Because she had given them away so easily to Damian for scraps of love, just to hear him say that she "belonged".

You have given up on yourself, child, so I shall give up on you in turn, the god would sternly say, weighing in their hands the gravity of her crime.

And yet, right when she had started to lose all hope, she crossed path with him.

The breathtaking stranger that she saw almost every night, sitting and reading at the Black Cat’s Delight.

It was a small tavern, in the very last streets of the higher city, that only artists visited. Some came to discuss, to exchange ideas, and sometimes to find an understanding shoulder to cry on. Others came to read and enjoy the unusual books that the owner collected and shared with her guests : grimoires of scatty enchantments, encyclopedias on all the fashion trends of the last centuries, memoirs of famous painters and sculptors of Faerûn …

That man belonged to the second category.

He came to sit on his own, near the library nook, and read silently on his own for a few hours, with a glass of red wine by his hand.

At first, she’d just cast discreet glances at him, her eyes ever drawn to lovely picture his presence created in the dimmed atmosphere of the tavern.

He would always sit by the windows, and the streets lights that came through it made it look like his white curls were made of star light. The diffused silver hues made it look like he had a halo about him, one that she’d only imagined gods, angels, or otherworldly creatures would’ve been blessed with.

Shadows and gleams of light moved across his focused face, with each coach passing by, with each silhouette walking past the storefront. Chiaroscuros danced around every one of his sharp lines and soft edges, as if even the darkness and the light were fighting the right to touch and covet such beauty.

What a marvel his symmetrical and delicate features were… She would’ve argued that his visage was more bewitching, than those of the marbly statues of angels she’d admired in the estates of some baldurian nobles.

His eyes were, probably, the part of him that she observed the most.

Two rubies, shimmering in the candlelights. They looked identical to the rings on his fingers, adorned with big red stones she’d only seen in the jewelleries’ window displays of the richest neighborhoods, where Damian’s manor was.

One night, her hands moved on their own and grabbed her charcoal stick.

It felt like she’d been possessed, and she quickly entered the familiar trance of a painter at work.

Fingers moving on their own. Eyes glazed over and frantic.

On some corner of a page she drew one of his low set eyes, and the shadow cast by his lashes on his cheek.

On another one, she traced the graceful curve of his long hands around the binding of his book.

And then in the middle, she meticulously drew his side profile. The soft and almost imperceptible curve of his straight nose. His barely opened mouth, as if to draw a sigh. The intricacies of his jawline, neither sharp or round. The shape of his pointy ear, picking through his thick hair. The pale column of his neck, barely visible amongst the rustles of his pussybow shirt.

It went on like this, night after night. Her sketchbook all but filled with parts of him, glimpses of his beauty, she felt like she couldn’t take enough time to do justice to.

"His name is Astarion" the owner, Lara, had once whispered in Selene’s ears as she placed a cup of brewed tea by her side, "He is a very famous tailor … Well, I should probably introduce him first as one of the heroes that saved us ten years ago, before deciding to sew dresses for the riches."

She’d settled beside her on a stool, and leaned closer to mutter the next part, as if it was too scandalous to risk other people hearing it.

"They say he is a vampire. Rumors has it that a lot of his clients like to indulge his needs… and do many other vulgar things",she giggled, quickly getting up and about to serve the other clients.

Selene blushed, flushed from her neck to the tip of her ears. A vampire … It explained his mystical aura for sure. An image of him with blood smeared across his perfect lips flashed in her mind, and her fingers tightened around her pencil, as if they itched to draw it.

See it, etch it, trace it on the blank paper.

She liked to admire him from afar, to simply pay tributes to his magnificence without him being aware. It probably would’ve gone on and on this way, if he hadn’t been the one the creep closer.

Selene didn’t know it then but, one cannot really observe a vampire without him being aware. Such sharp senses wouldn’t allow it.

Especially not Astarion’s.

"Are you drawing me by any chance ?", an enchanting voice had asked from behind her shoulder one evening, and she nearly wailed in terror.

"N-No", she stuttered, and her words came out hurried and muffled like a child surprised by their parents while doing something naughty, "I'm definitely not."

When she turned around, there he was. So regal. So close. So … wonderfully… himself.

Her hands instinctively shot up to slam her sketchbook close, and a dangerous smirk settled on his delicate lips.

A single lose piece of paper had escaped her rushed hands and was flying away, slowly falling at his feet.

When he bent down to pick it up, her heart was in her throat.

It was just a barely finished drawing of his hands, and yet she’d never felt that vulnerable when showing her work before.

Don’t look at it. It’s messy. It’s ugly. I’m far too out of practice.

"Oh come now darling, are you lying as well as prying on me ? Those are unmistakably my own dainty fingers, I’d recognize them anywhere", he chuckled before showing her his index and the jewelry on it, "And I haven’t seen anyone wear that one ring in all of Faerûn either…Apart from me that is."

Darling, he’d said to her. She thought she might combust right then and there.

"I’m so sorry I should’ve asked-", she started but, he gracefully walked closer, and leaned on the back of the empty chair next to her own.

"Don’t apologize. Being a source of inspiration is hardly offensive, on the contrary."

His perfume softly drifted in the air. Astarion supposedly was a creature of the night, but she’d never met someone that smelt so much like the sun. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture a hot summer’s evening in a garden full of herbs and flowers, the way their earthy scent would be pugnant after a day in the blazing heat.

Bergamot. Rosemary. And a hint of alcool, that she thought came from the drink he’d left by the grimoire he’d been reading that night.

"I’m sorry if I seemed creepy, staring so intensely. I needed to practice and, the scenery just looked so lovely.",she softly muttered, her hands still tightly clasped around the cover of her sketch book, as if she feared it would fly open on it’s own.

" I’m used to people staring at me, but usually they end up making a move at some point’ he picked his nails as he talked, and Selene couldn’t help but follow each and every one of his motion with awe.

She noticed how his hands gracefully moved around each time he talked, or how his muscles flexed under the pale skin of his veiny forearms. "I saw you lurking for weeks, and I was wondering when you would."

It would be a mix of yellow, white, beige, and perhaps a hint of purple, or blue, for the cold undertone. Just thin layers of paint, repeated touches of colors, until she’d have managed to translate the "translucent" quality of his skin on the canvas.

"Patience isn’t really my thing, so my curiosity got the best of me and I talked to you first."

He gave her the first ever smile she’d seen on him then, all dimples and sharp teeth. The color of his pouty lips should be a cold pink, slightly mauve, maybe a rose de bois.

"I understand now, you were not just admiring me for the sake of admiring me, were you ?", Astarion seductively implied, and it’s only then that she picked up on the conversation. The rest of his words had somehow been lost to her, as if for a few seconds, she’d been too busy painting him on the walls of her mind.

Imagining the right colors to use, and the right way to apply it on the stretched fabric.

"To be honest, you are the first person I’ve been wanting to draw in quite a bit of time.", she finally confessed, quite sheepishly, and as soon as she’d said it, she regretted admitting to her pitiful state.

"Could I see ?", he asked and there was an edge to his voice that made her look at him straight in the eyes for the first time since they’d started talking, ‘Your drawings, I mean.’

She was met with a smoldering look, his irises shining up close like the dying embers of a fire. There were no traces of deceit or mockery in his gaze, he truly meant it.

Or so it seemed.

"It’s nothing spectacular really, just a few unimpressive sketches. I’m no great artist, just a nobody in a city full of maestros."

"Please", he sensually begged, his voice swiftly dropping a few octaves. Liquid smooth.

He slowly bent over, bracing his hands on the table, to come closer. The devious smirk that she'd seen him wear before disappeared, and his molten gaze intimately followed the lines of her features. This almost painful scrutiny had Selene squirming on her seat, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

From this new angle, she could see the scar on his neck. The ghost of a gruesome puncture wound emerging from the frills of his fancy silk shirt. A crack in his mask of glamour and seduction.

It was but a somber reminder of the fact that he indeed was a being who forever belonged to the darkness : a vampire.

The painter in her almost reached for it, unknowingly eager to have the more sinister parts of him at tips of her fingers, and at the tip of her paint brushes. She wouldn't only draw the sublime parts of him, she'd embrace everything that he was.

Every scar. Every fang. Every dark urge. Every blood stain.

His pale ringed fingers reached out to toy with the end of her dark curls, gliding and tugging, mere inches away from the open collar of her shirt that she had unbuttoned earlier.

"Don’t be so ridiculously humble. I can already tell just by looking at this", he tapped on the drawing with his index, before whispering in her ear, "that you are quite the accomplished artist."

Delicious shivers ran down her spine.

Astarion then glided his fingers through a strand of her long hair, and his hand gently brushed against her cheek when he tucked it behind her ear.

"So indulge me, darling."

She felt his cold and sweet breath on her cheek, and he was so close that it almost seemed like he would kiss it.

He was perfect in every possible way, the most magnificent man she’d ever seen in her entire miserable existence …And yet, something felt wrong.

His gesture had reminded her of something. A painful superposition.

The sad memory of the day she'd met Damian flashed before her eyes.

She stared at Astarion's fingers, and all she could think about was the way her master had touched her hair at the orphanage.

Let it be a warning, she'd vowed to herself, a reminder of the fact that pretty words and a soft hand are often used to blind and abuse the trust of others.

Do you like to draw, child ?, he'd asked her, and she knew with certainty, that her answer to that question had changed.

And just as she was thinking about the master painter, the doors of the tavern were violently thrown open.

An elf furiously emerged from the darkness of the busy streets, and Selene suddenly wanted to throw up.

Talk of the devil and he will appear.

"There you are ! I have been looking for you everywhere !", Damian exclaimed, his boots stamping on the wooden floor as he quickly got to her table.

His amber eyes nervously darted to Astarion, but he did not introduce himself, like Selene would’ve expected.

No handshake, no bow, no curtesy. No fake smiles or disgusting flattery.

How peculiar… Fallheel wouldn’t usually miss any chance to sell himself, or to "extend his social circle", as he would say.

Damian simply looked at Selene once again, with a scolding look that she’d seen too many times before. It made her shudder with fear as much as it did when she was still a child.

"Obey me. Or I'll put you back where you belong, in the streets you were born.", he would always say when she grew untamed.

She instinctively gathered her belongings, and put on her coat, before apologetically smiling at Astarion. He had a strange and guarded composure, one similar to the way his face looked while he read his books. Now that she’d seen him being so animated, it felt impossibly wrong.

Gracefully handing her sketch back to her, he kept his claret eyes trained on her.

"Oh no, please keep it... As an apology."

Before Astarion could answer, her master suddenly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along with him towards the exit.

"We have much to do, Selene. Do hurry up, will you ?", he reprimanded her with an exasperated sigh.

"Thank you" she quickly blurted out to the vampire, and the corner of his mouth perked up slightly.

"For what, darling ?"

"For giving me back something I thought I’d lost."

He furrowed his brows, looking at her with a face full of confusion. But there was a softness in this expression too, something she had not been expecting to see.

"Selene !", Astarion called out, and she resisted the tug of her master’s tight grip, to look back at him one last from the threshold she’d almost already crossed.

Sounds of the busy streets of Baldur's Gate, loud at whatever hour of the night, poured from the open door, and into the silent and hushed atmosphere of the Black Cat's Delight. Each and every other client looked at the little group of them as though they were the most annoying people they had ever seen in their entire life.

Selene didn't care though, she was starstruck. Her name on his lips sounded so unfamiliar, so strangely beautiful, like it had never been said the right way by anyone before him.

"If you are ever in need of a dress, come to Carmine Red. It will be at a bargain price, and we could explore each other’s full portfolio of talents, so to speak …"

And with that, she was dragged out into the night.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x female oc #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate smut #tailor astarion #astarion angst #Portrait of the pale elf

11 notes · View notes

cheezits4lyfe · 4 months

Text

Strings of Fate - Table of Contents

Chapter 1 ... Overture

Chapter 2 ... Interlude

Chapter 3 ... Crescendo

AO3 Link (entire work)

Last Updated: 12:14 PM PT // 11 Jan 2024

1 note · View note

pickel182 · 3 months

Text

I wish I was sorry

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #plus sized tav #smut #shadowheart #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #halsin #lae'zel #karlach #jaheira #minthara #bg3 #hyperfixation

6K notes · View notes

riseatlantisss · 8 months

Text

Careful, he bites

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader around 900 words.

morning sex. in bed. with the most amazing vampire. that’s it that’s the plot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW : 18+, shameless smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, tiny bit of fang kink

I love him a completely normal amount

You open your eyes slowly, savouring the blissful, heavy fog of sleep that still weighs on your mind. The voice that greets you is one you’re sure you’ll never tire of.

“Good morning, my sweet”, Astarion whispers against your ear. The bed smells of night-blooming flowers and cold winter air, just like him. His body is a comforting spoon, the nice coolness of his powerful chest sends shivers down your spine.

Your eyelids are still heavy and with a smile, you settle back in and bury your head in your soft pillow, eager for just a few more hours of precious sleep before starting a new day in the underdark.

Astarion, of course, has other ideas. He exhales and you can feel the light puff of cold air against the back of your neck. Icy fingers skate down your bare arm, dragging the strap of your night gown with them. He dips his head and nuzzles the junction of your neck and shoulder. He toys with the hem of your night gown before slipping beneath it to caress the curve of your hip. You revel in his low groan of appreciation as he discovers you’re wearing nothing underneath.

“Gods, the things you do to me,” he growls, voice muffled slightly as he breathes your scent. “Let me take care of you.”

Wordlessly, you nod and he wastes no time. He gives you a sloppy, hungry kiss that is all tongues, teeth and fangs, and then slowly lowers himself. His fangs leave burning trails across your skin, and you love every bit of it.

You can feel his erection grow next to your thigh and you raise a hand forward to touch him but he grabs your wrist and stops the motion.

“No, darling,” he grins, “it is all about you today.”

“But –” your attempt to argue is cut short as Astarion disappears between your thighs, wraps his wet lips around your clit and starts sucking. You let out an unbelievably loud whimper of pleasure and he smirks against your body.

Pinning your thighs apart, he works his tongue in an up-and-down motion on one side of your clit and then the other. You grind into his mouth shamelessly as his tongue continues working its magic. Without interruption, he slips first one finger, then two inside you, and pushes them up against your G-spot. You’re already starting to see stars as you feel his fangs settle in the soft mound of flesh above your clit. He applies just enough pressure for it to deliciously sting without ever hurting. Those tiny pinpricks combined with the sucking of your clit and the impossible rhythm of his fingers inside you made you cry out.

“Astarion – I’m– “ you try to articulate between two heavy breaths.

“I’m right there with you, my love,” he mutters and presses his fangs slightly deeper into your skin, as to urge you to stop fighting the wave of pleasure trying to make its way through your shivering body.

His tongue slips across that one spot on the tip of your clit that always sets you off, and suddenly you are coming on his mouth, grasping fistfuls of his silver hair and moaning and moaning and moaning. He pushes his fangs deeper and deeper into your skin as he rides out your orgasm with you, using his free hand to hold your hips steady. Your core spasms longer than a pulsing heart, each beat making you thrash helplessly on the bed as he pushes his fingers deep. He waits until you come down from your high before slowly sliding his two fingers out of you and into his mouth to lick them clean. The rest of the world begins to come back into focus but you do not care for it. You only have eyes for him.

"You are absolutely exquisite when you come," he chuckles in that ridiculously arrogant way he has.

He licks his lips as he rises, expression as lazy and smug as a contented cat. You haul him up and into your arms and kiss him hard. He wraps his strong arms around you protectively and takes a moment to listen to your breathing, still shallow from the love explosion. He finds infinite comfort in the repeated rise and fall of your chest. It proves to him that you are real, safe and here, right next to him.

Before you, Astarion had never known true bliss. Sex – even when it’s mindblowing – doesn’t fix the part of you that’s broken. Good sex soothes, but doesn’t cure, and Astarion, who’s been using sex as a valium substitute since he’s been free from his former Master’s control, knows it better than anyone. But with you, it’s not just sex. It’s safety. It’s intimacy. It’s respect. And it’s all he’s ever wanted.

8K notes · View notes

angelltheninth · 7 months

Text

Karlach Gets Possessive and Protective

Pairing: Karlach x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, growling, shady inn people, protectiveness, tail use, fingering, clit stimulation

A/N: Karlach will be the (little) death of me.

"Who the hell do those fucks think they are?! Who did they think they were talking too?! Treating like that! They're all lucky I didn't chop their-" Karlach's rant was promptly cut short when you kissed her, tongue pushing hers back until she moaned.

"Babe, I know, and thank you, really, but they're just random losers, I don't want to think about them while I naked under you." Not just naked but wet too. How could you not be after seeing your girlfriend stand up too that shady inn keeper's son and his friends. No one would talk to you with disrespect, no one.

Karlach tilted her head, almost like her horn was weighing her down, "You're right. You shouldn't think about them, only about me."

You were about to say that you do, you would never dream of doing this with anyone else, but Karlach interrupted you with her fingers plunged inside your pussy, moving them fast, like she had something to prove to someone who wasn't you. That was absurd, but you couldn't tell her that, it wouldn't do any good when she was in a state like this.

All you could do was reassure her by getting as close to her as you could. She still flinched when she felt you press against her so completely, "It's okay love, it's okay. I'm here because I want you, not anyone else, no matter what anyone says."

"You... you love me. Despite everything that... you still love me. You will always be my one and only as well." Her tail wrapped itself around your leg, secure, holding you close as the heel of her hand, warm and rough yet gentle, pressed flat over your clit, moving every time she flicked her wrist and curled her fingers inside of you. "I love you, please stay by my side, always."

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate x reader #bg3 x reader #karlach #karlach x reader #baldur's gate karlach #baldur's gate smut #karlach smut #smut drabble #smutember 2023 #x female reader

586 notes · View notes

thewritetofreespeech · 11 days

Note

For the NSFW post in regards to Gale Dekarios:

B, C, F & Y? ^^

Hope you're a having a lovely week.

NSFW Alphabet

B = BODY PART (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As cliché and PG as it sounds, he loves a person’s eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. They can tell a person so much about what they are feeling, what they want, what they want to say without even saying it. Gale loves to look into his partners eyes when they make love to see all of it. He also likes when they look up at him when they do….other things…. C = CUM (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Would never dream of cumming on his partner (on purpose). Even if asked. Accidents do happen, but when they do Gale is quick to be embarrassed and apologizes. Once he got so frazzled he summoned Created Water on accident to hose his partner off.

F = FAVOURITE POSITION (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Coupled with his love for his partner’s eyes, his favorite position is missionary or really any of them that are face to face. The lotus is also a personal favorite because it almost feels spiritual.

Y = YEARNING (How high is their sex drive?)

His drive is fairly high. His ability to act on said drive (aka initiate intimacy or sex) is very low. It is an issue.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate headcanons #bg3 headcanons #headcanons #bg3 smut #baldur's gate smut

145 notes · View notes

skiitter · 9 months

Text

low key very obsessed with sex-adverse Astarion. like he's The Thirst Companion. The fucking Only Fangs joke. All the smut fan content. And then it does a total 180 and he's like "actually my sexual identity was weaponized against me and i was forced to use it to lead hundreds of people to their deaths". It's just such a compelling and interesting twist on his character. I love it.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #the way he reacts to the hug almost broke me #just like so??? touch starved??? for genuine earnest kindness #also no shade to the astarion smut fans y'all were doing the Lords Work

14K notes · View notes

astarionfixation · 30 days

Text

Chapter 6: "It won’t hurt but a moment, darling"

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for mentions of sex and blood

CW mentions of sexual assault, sex trafficking, panic attacks

Word count count: 6.5k yep, I was away for a week but at least I come bearing gifts words

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/138874459

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

The scene at the inn looks extremely familiar and he's sure some corners of it resemble quite accurately the night before. Except his delusional hopes to find a solution to his current parasite predicament have all but dissolved, yet maybe shape shifted towards an unlikely alliance with her. Small, insignificant human that she is, yet each and every one of his companions seems to have a fascination with her.

And indeed, he catches her eye from across the room, as their accidental mutual friends are buzzing around her, certainly grateful to have their health and strength back without apparent consequences from the night before. And he is sure it's just gratefulness but from the way he sees the wizard getting closer and familiar to her, hand on her shoulder that drops to her hip, certainly with the excuse of the crowd around her, surely he lowers his head and gets his filthy mouth way too close to her ear to make her hear whatever he thinks will impress her.

He finds his teeth gritting and he swears it's just because

*No one gets to tamper with my food!*

In that instant it is almost too convenient that this lovely, smiling barmaid seems intent to care only for whatever he is going to ask, forgetting every other shouting creature that demands her attention for another pint of anything.

“How may I serve you, my lord”

And he has to bite his tongue not to laugh at the epithet, despite how convenient his looks have been in gaining him access to every place -and person- he has ever set his eyes upon.

“Well sweet thing” he begins with his mellifluous tone set to persuade fairies to give up their own light for him. A long, delicate finger reaches for a strand of her straw like hair and wraps around it, inviting her closer so he can whisper to her.

“I would be so, very very grateful if you could get me two glasses of the most precious drink you offer in this fine establishment”

His movements are studied and rehearsed and his brain might as well focus on the corner of his eye, searchin for Her and considering options to send back to Waterdeep different pieces of the mage in different boxes if his excuse for a flirt does not promptly focus on someone, anyone else but Her. He's not jealous, of course not, *of him?!??* And he knows, from her lips, from her mind how all of herself is pulled to him.

*It was my name on her lips last night! My name on her darn little book! Not any wizard from Waterdeep or otherwise!*

He's brought back by the clinking sound of two goblets that are definitely more elegant and rich looking than anything anyone else is holding in the tavern, and he knows once again how far his simple charm can get him. The girl is smiling at him, full of hope, pulling herself closer from behind the bar so that her bosom is almost obscenely exposed in front of him. And he would be lying if he didn't admit to the flattery it always was to see people stumble upon their own feet in an effort to please him, to be chosen by him for the night, blissfully unaware of how that meant their luck had turned on them forever.

A dark flash threatens to take away his attention from the scene and he knows it's much better not to linger on memories. In one of his exaggerated movements he finds the hand of the girl to bring to his lips, his eyes fixed on her cornflower ones. He plants a long, wet kiss that holds so many promises, none of which he will keep, and he lingers a moment longer so she can have her fill of his attention. As he slowly pulls away his index finger goes to tuck a strand of her hair just behind her ear, brushing lightly on her skin and he can tell already: a word and he would have her, she probably wouldn't even make it upstairs. He holds her gaze and her trembling lips just barely audible let him know that

“Not to worry my lord, it's on the house”

*Of course it is, why do you think we were playing this game, darling?*

His hand swiftly abandons her hair to grasp at the glasses, his work done. As he turns around to find in which ways he will have to skin the mage, he realises his lips are way too close to her ear, but her eyes are fixed on… himself. And they are somewhat even darker than usual? The look on her face he would have called imperturbable yesterday reveals something akin to disturbance today.

*Maybe I will actually have to skin the wizard tonight if he's the reason of her bother*

His head moves slightly towards the stairs to give her a sign and immediately he sees her wriggle out of her company and towards the path that leads to the upper floor.

*Still such an obedient little thing*

And he is only too happy to follow.

—-------

“What was that? What did you tell her? Did you give away your secret so easily just hoping she would let you drink from her?!?!”

He's genuinely confused, it takes him a moment to realise she must be referring to the barmaid that he already barely remembers. What did she have the impression was happening? Doesn't she know how he speaks and addresses everyone? How his charm is the one thing he has to keep in control of every exchange?

*Or is she actually Jealous?*

And as he closes the door of her room behind him, the glasses resting now on a surface, he begins to slowly circle -stalk- her just as he just did that afternoon at the glade, his eyes and smile focused completely on her agitated self, the soft traits of her face trying their best to look upset, yet all he can think is just…

*How adorable…*

But this time she's following his movements and turns around to look at him, her back now to the door, and the corner of his lip might be pulling ever so slightly as he considers the possibility of this ruse being just that, that familiarly naughty side of his brain already envisioning her throwing herself at him as they both fall on the bed and

*I might actually let her ride*

“If this is your way of offering yourself instead my dear, I thought we were already clear on the matter. But don't let me stop your plans of persuasion. In fact…”

He takes a step closer and his hand knows already where to find that sweet, pulsating spot just behind her ear, the idea of tearing at the skin and finally finding her sweetness without the need to imagine any longer makes him swallow emptily in anticipation, and his fingers are almost tingling due to the warmth of her skin being so close now and his muscles tense ready to pull her in, fangs almost bared when… she takes a step back?

*What is she playing at? We both know she wants this, she wants me…*

“Come now darling, there's really no need to play coy, at this point it would be only be a waste of time considering what we already shared”

The honey in his words betrays a slight irritation at the distance she put between them, his tone every bit the charming one he has rehearsed thousands of times and has never once failed him.

And thankfully! Thankfully, going through the pages of that little insignificant book allowed him to fill the gaps in ways he truly had no idea.

But now he knows, he has seen it in her eyes, transfixed on him despite the blood, or perhaps exactly because of it.

“But if it pleases your wounded pride you can tell me all about your protestations from your sweetly plump lips while I relieve you of every. single. piece. of clothing. that stands between my mouth and your lovely skin. Because that's what you want, isn't it?”

He knows how to punctuate and accentuate every word to paint an image.

And not that the mere idea isn’t inviting, he feels his own reaction both in his stomach and his crotch. The notion that, for once, he would actually enjoy taking something -He- wanted, -He- needed, for -himself- and not for anyone’s command or amusement, is almost reason enough to make this the version of the story he committed to.

“Don’t tell me that is not exactly what you envisioned whilst you…. How was it?”

And consequences be damned! Let this be a good use of that little vexing book, to cut any avenue she might think of going up to escape her own desire for him.

“ ‘Lay yourself down with my Voice pouring honey in your ears?’ No need to imagine my dear, in fact let me show you…”

*I will not be denied, and I won't let you deny yourself either sweet thing*

This is as good a version as any if it will get him access to her blood, maybe even her body because surely…

“I can't believe the privilege that has been afforded to you to still behave like a child and have people find it charming!”

He is so used to leading the game that this interruption comes too abruptly to leave her unscathed by his anger at seeing his plans crushed.

And if throwing her own words at her didn't make her confess her own desire for him, there is certainly more to use and hurt her from what he can remember of the little insignificant book. Something they share even. His voice comes out as sweet as the choice of words is cruel

“Oh you want to talk about childhood, do you? Do you want to go over how incredibly wise and mature you were “for your age”, darling? How that clever little mind of yours justified every kind of attention you were at the receiving end of because you were just… too enticing”

He inhales to punctuate the next words

“and how flattering that felt for you.”

He went too far. He knows it before he spits out the last word. He can see her jaw clenching and the deep inhale she takes, seemingly vexed whilst really, her heartbeat is telling a different story about the exquisite way his words were just the extension of his dagger at times.

Quick scenarios flash in his mind's eye,

*Is she going to cry? Is she going to storm out? Can she have anything in her arsenal to hit me back with?*

and to that his body stiffens like a spring ready to jump and react, as if any words she next throws at him could physically hit him

*Because isn't it just what I've done to her?*

It was right, it was fair, and he stood up straight with a hint of pride on his face because no stepping down now could mend her from the hurt his words just inflicted on her. He knew exactly what it had touched, he remembered every single *fucking* word he had committed to memory that night he first had his hands on her book. On her mind. He will not admit he even considered the idea they could have bonded over their shared trauma…

“Get out”

*No. No no no! This is all wrong! Where's the attack? Where are the words I can sneak around and throw back at her?! I need to build her up to crush her down! No!*

The fear of losing her anxiety-inducing presence fills his thoughts with venom, and if whatever this was has to come crashing down now, she can be sure she'll get as much damage as the loss of her brings to him.

“Well fine then, I'm sure it won't take me long to find someone kind enough to share their bed and blood with me tonight, in fact you're right, I might just go looking for that lovely barmaid again, she was so eager to please. Believe me darling, I won't be left out in the cold”

Her eyes narrow.

“You're delusional, as if you're the gods gift to every pretty girl who would open her arms and legs to you”

And that's it, that right there is the space between words that he knows will hurt just right, a cold sharp hit from the throat to that spot just above her heart that decides where her lovely colour and warmth will spread next. His crimson eyes narrow and he moves closer to her and when he's just about to move past her and grab the door handle he whispers with his head just slightly bent, so that his breath can hit her skin as much as his words will her heart

“Well… looking at you darling… I thought it was fairly obvious: she doesn't have to be pretty”.

He can feel how her body tensed up. How a strained sound gets trapped in her throat and a sharp inhale through gritted teeth have her swallow. The light of the candles is strangely reflected slightly more intensely by the corner of her eyes and that is how he knows the blow has hit just right and a strange satisfaction takes over in his chest, making him walk just a bit taller, just a bit prouder because all those decades using his body to get what his master demanded turned him into the perfect offering to anyone's desires and the least of his problems will indeed be to find someone, anyone, ready to take him in, if only he's available to give them anything and everything they might want that his body can provide. It doesn't even matter, he won't even have to think, his body has been marked and bent sinuously so many times his mind doesn't have to be there to give anyone anything they might want. Tonight won't be anything more or less special than that and the price for a warm place to sleep *maybe warm blood to drink* is something that comes as second nature to him.

He's out of the door and his feet guide him automatically towards the stairs, his mind trying to focus on the faces of any of the patrons of the inn whose sight might have already lingered a moment too long on him because that's how he knows, how he has always known that his job will be easier, his elegant form already paving the way towards a comfortable place to spend the night in as soon as he gives them what they want, and they all want the same thing anyway. His head shakes as if his mind better not dig further at that thought, and as he takes the first step down he finds his body slouching down instead, coming to sit on the step as his head bends down between his own knees, his long delicate fingers shaking as they pull at the back of his neck so that his head falls just lower and lower.

And among the flashes his mind offers of all the times he had to offer his body as the matter of an exchange for his own survival, a corner of his brain screams at the door now closed behind him and

*how could she let me go out in the cold again??!?*.

His shoulders shrug as he tries to make himself smaller. Maybe spending the night on the stairs is just as acceptable, easier, safer for everyone and safer for him, and how deep his mind must have kept him, attempting to avoid memories of useful seduction techniques coming back to him, to not hear her steps, if not her heartbeat, until the warmth of her hand is once again scorching his neck and he flinches too suddenly for his unaffected facade to remain unbroken.

He tries to turn around, his arms still protecting his face, wrapped around his knees and just his crimson eyes and dark circles peek through, looking at her in a way that might seem unthreatening enough that now her arms have gone circling around his shoulders… and it all suddenly feels warmer and there’s also something… weird, something he can't quite pinpoint, but something that feels like there’s no requirement for each and every one of his senses and instincts to be ready to react.

She breathes loudly, louder than even her need for air requires, and the noise alone should be annoying but after a few breaths he realises his own body is following her rhythm even without the need for it, but the slow, measured breaths are bringing an unexpected calm that washes over his tensed muscles, his jaw unclenches and the grip of his own arms around his knees, so tight he didn't realise it made him tremble, is now getting flushed.

*Because if she has her arms around me I don't need to hold on anymore*

The thought is fleeting and he will deny thinking that, but in the next exhale his body finally relaxes into her warm embrace. She hasn't said anything, done anything but holding him and guiding his breath with her own, and while a slight fear crosses his mind -because if she is to hit him with any word now, he would certainly dissolve- he’s also so tired of the charade by this point he can’t hold onto his persona anymore. It comes as a whisper that a part of him still feels betrayed by sharing, because it is the truth and how will that not be ammunition for her to use at a later time?

But his breath is not his own now, following in unison with hers and so the words escape his pale bloodless lips anyway

“I'm sorry, I couldn't do it, I'm sorry”

She leaves the silence holding space in the air for what feels like an eternity after his shameful confession, but he can suddenly feel her arms pulling him tighter to her. Crouching next to him, his head finds a way to nestle in the crook of her neck where he instinctively inhales deeply and the scent of mulled wine and flowers fills his entire being once again, and besides bringing back a hunger pang down in the depth of his stomach, there is now something almost soothing about what's become so familiar and intrinsically associated with her. He must be so stupid to allow himself to feel what seemingly resembles safety, if nothing else because he never knew what that actually meant, but he's so tired. Tired in a way no rest or trance can bring him peace and so even if her warmth is a lie he's making his peace with it, he'll pay the price in time, but for now he can just slightly rub the tip of his nose on that pulsating spot just behind her ear, her scent emanating from it as a sweet siren song for the beast his fangs belong to, but not without an unexpected and reassuring comfort to some other side of himself, something he hasn't felt stirring in such a long time that he had no reason to believe was still there.

The silence, filled only by their breaths, has become so familiar he might be convinced the stairs could be a welcome spot to spend the night if she keeps holding him like this, but that's when his own train of thought is interrupted by her low whisper

“Come on, come back, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry too”

And at that he shouldn't feel the warmth radiate from every spot their bodies are in contact with each other down to the centre of his stomach, but it does and it's as unfamiliar as it is pleasant. His body follows hers as her arms still circle him and help him to his feet, his head still following her scent, by convenience that also means his eyes don't have to raise from the floor to meet hers and that makes going back to her room easier.

She helps him to sit at the edge of the bed and that's when her arms retract their support and the loss of warmth feels incredibly wrong. With furrowed brows his eyes look for her to understand what he's done wrong to lose her embrace but they find hers as they seem to be just roaming across his shoulders to the leather atop his shirt. His shoulders move almost of their own volition and the leather is quickly discarded on the floor. She suddenly crouches down on the floor and the movement catches him by surprise, not sure what he should brace himself for until he realises her hands are reaching for his boots.

She might have sensed his discomfort because her next movement is announced by her voice before it happens

“I'm just going to help you out of these so you can lay down and rest if you want, is that alright?”

And he finds himself nodding before the end of that sentence makes it to his ears, the finesse with which her fingers are pulling and undoing his old boots is not something that aligns with a thing that has been broken and torn down too many times to repair and yet the careful way her hands find the way to undo them make it seem like she's dealing with something of invaluable worth.

He's slightly transfixed looking at her movements that only when her eyes meet his again, only then he realises she's done, and with a bit of uncertainty she's back up on her feet.

“Rest here, I will be on the chair and we can talk more tomorrow if you want”

But his hand goes immediately to grab her wrist because the idea of losing that safe feeling her warmth gives him now just isn't something he's ready to do without. He pulls wordlessly until she's sitting next to him on the edge of the bed and that's when he scoots back until his back hits the headboard and then his arm extends towards her in a silent invitation.

He can't read her expression but within seconds he doesn't need to because she's removing her own boots and

*surely she didn't mean to crawl across the bed to reach me in any way other than functional*

but another part of his brain seems to stir now at the sight of her on all fours moving slowly *languidly* towards him, until she's taken the invite and nestles her body between his extended arm and chest, her own arm now circling at the back of his neck.

“Is this…? I can't… nothing needs to happen, we can just rest, I am here for you”

And that sounds way too much like a challenge for his body not to stir, pulling her closer so that his nose can finally trace her hairline down to her ear again. Until the memory of her words make him shiver

+He holds a grace in the tiny bone of his wrists that clerics cannot give on freedays+

And it's both consoling and disappointing that the moment he can lose himself in her scent again, feeling her body so close to his, the words she chose to describe him come back to his mind, blessed with the curse of an impossible detailed memory that in this occasion lets him know, beyond what she could say out loud, all the ways in which her body, but most importantly her mind, have been devotedly dreaming of him, in a way that lets him know for the first time in his whole life and undeath, that someone other than himself cares about his existence, not only his survival.

*Maybe just as long as I can grant her immortality too, but still, she needs me now as I need her*

He nods as his head is nestled between her jaw and her shoulder, certainly agreeing but also to spur another whiff of that delicious scent only her skin, hair, sweat and blood could conjure, and that's when another side of him replies in a low, trembling tone coming from his chest

“I promise I won't go too far… but please…”

And with that plea his lips part slightly, his teeth now brushing against that pulsating spot with a rhythm that's been hypnotising him since the beginning of this game. His lips closing upon it in something it would surely resemble a kiss and at that moment, with a wonderful whimper escaping her lips, her head turns just enough so that she can look at him with the corner of her deep, dark eyes, her lips barely parted with a slightly faster breath coming and going through them and now he's almost overwhelmed because it was easier to focus just on that one little spot that meant finally knowing what bliss it could be to feed his deep seated hunger, and yet now the same wonder takes hold when envisioning her lips giving way to his, how easily they would part to give him access, how soft would her body truly be, pliable to his every need and desire, truly begging to be his and sate any and every hunger of his, because he knows, she said it in so many words, all circling in his mind and

+I will skip, stumble and fall, he’s the blinded fool and I’m content to stand by

I’ll be the conspicuously deranged lover of the air he walks past+

And he has a right at that to concede to the delusion that she might actually be infatuated with him for no other reason than his existence. For a moment he will believe whatever she saw in him was before she could realise anything about his immortality. For a moment he decides to believe her words, committed to paper in that little precious book that was never meant for anyone else's eyes, and that she is head over heels for him just because he's a worthy creature, just like every one of his conquest wanted to believe they were special to him, whilst he hardly remembered their name the morning after.

“it's alright, you can feed”

the words bring him back and carry a rush to his head filled with a million visions of her body, soft, supple and compliant, all the ways his hands and lips could roam those curves that gave him vertigo at the mere thought of, every way he could make her moan and coax pleasure out of her until she could feel as desperate for him and he did her now, every image fights for dominance and

*does it really matter where I start as long as I can explore each and every inch of her that’s covered in skin?*

his lips trembling, tracing closer to her and he’s finally about to taste the gates of her breath when her words hit him again

“but we can’t kiss”

His teeth have to clench because he will not lose his mind over this mere mortal toying with his needs! His eyes tighten to mere slits and his fingers are gripping so tightly to her shirt that surely in a moment the tearing sound will be echoing through the room. She has been playing him all along! She’s just doing this to mortify him and she doesn’t understand what she’s done to him! As his hands release the grip on her clothes he finds his nose trailing back to her neck, now tracing her collarbone with his hungry lips and

*If it’s a challenge you want, a challenge you’ll get love*

He nods so that his soft curls are now certainly tickling her jaw and neck, and he can tell from the way the breath has now escaped her lips that his plan is already working. His fingers roam to find the hem of her shirt and disappear beneath that, finding the stark contrast of the warmth of the skin on her sides, slowly tracing with his tips and nails to her bellybutton. Another sharp breath through her lips and she swallows emptily, and he can feel that just under his lips as they are tracing at her neck still.

“Astarion, did you hear me? You can’t…”

“I’ll do you one better darling, I promise I won’t touch any part of your body, for any reason other than feeding”

*two can play at this game*

He feels her swallowing again against his mouth and now he knows he can gently move his entire body to fit against hers. A leg between hers so that she can surely feel the response of his body, but even with half his chest pressed against hers, his fingers keep roaming her sides, down to her hips and disappearing again under the shirt, halting and changing their course just a moment before they are to brush against the soft underside of her breasts.

He can almost trace the curve and he can tell from her heartbeat that, despite her words, he’s not the only one who's hungry for the other

*but you wanted to play and gods I can make this a torturing little game for you too, my sweet*

An audible gasp escapes her lips now that his lips have locked onto a spot for a moment longer, and she might be expecting his fangs now, yet her body does not stiffen in anticipation for the pain, and that is all the more encouragement for him lo leave a soft, long, obscenely sounding kiss just where her neck meets her shoulder. The sudden jolt that travels her entire body confirming what he already knows

*your body is aching for me*

and so his lips keep leaving a soft and wet trail of kisses everywhere on her skin, coming down her shoulder and arms and back to her collarbone, while his fingers trace her sides still, and in a moment, when her back arches to meet his lips, he swiftly goes to pull her shirt down past her shoulder leaving her left side exposed, her breasts almost visible but her nipple still covered by the strained collar of the shirt.

*I need to taste you, I need to have you*

At that sight his body betrays him, as another unnecessary mouthful of nothing gets swallowed and he feels his cock twitch pressed against her hips, heaving at the rhythm of her breath. Part of him knows he needs to get this over and done quickly or he won't be able to keep his promise, but at the same time he loves to coax out that side of her that spent all that time thinking

*dreaming of me*

The part of her that is now, surely kept prisoner by whatever silly, self imposed rule she decided to lock herself behind.

*let’s see how long for*

When his hand reaches up, under her shirt, his nails start to trace the skin just around her breast and a deep moan erupts from her lips carrying his name in a way he never before loved as much

“Astarion!”

The corner of his lips pull just enough, because no matter what she said, he can feel she wants him in more ways than one, and as his nail dig just a hint too much in that delicate area just on the valley between her breasts, she exhales sharply and now he finds her breath to breathe her in, his face so close to hers that nothing is in focus, the tip of his nose grazing hers and he is now making an effort to keep enough distance between their lips yet she is likely unaware of how her mouth is reaching out to his.

*your rules, my love*

His lips trace back to her cheek and down to her ear to whisper as his nails trace her skin from the centre of her chest to that soft area south of her collarbone but still not close enough to her nipple

“Your blood just reaches out to me and blooms every time my nails press and trace just… like… that”

And the way her body arches at his words brings that soft, supple spot just atop of her breast too close to his lips to refuse now. He finds himself surprised at the idea that the first time he’s tasting her is not to give in to the delicious tempting bit behind her ear, but his mouth is now watering beyond anything he has ever experienced, his lips just sucking at that speckle of skin just south of her collarbone, where he can feel the rhythm of her heart so loudly that the distraction is almost enough to ignore that her nipple is inexorably poking through the shirt, just against his chin

“It won’t hurt but a moment darling”

and then two runaway words follow with

“forgive me”

barely breathed out.

Both words escaped his lips like traitors that were not meant for her ears, but that's quickly out of his mind when finally his fangs can break the thin resistance that the soft skin of her breasts was valiantly putting up.

The warm liquid hitting his tongue sets off an explosion in his mind, makes him realise he has never learnt enough words to describe the absolute perfection that the taste of thinking creatures could bring to his lips, it would take a poet rather than a thief like himself to describe the complexity and richness of the thick liquid that caresses his insides, from his mouth and down his throat where finally the thirst is quenched, and when it fills his stomach every single part of his body feels… relief… every muscle fills with renewed vigour he didn’t know his body could posses, and suddenly he feels his own cheeks, his own fingertips still digging in her softness, getting closer to her warmth, and the flavour is so inebriating that no part of him seems to remember anything that ever happened before her blood traversed his own veins and so feeling his own hips thrust against hers feels just like the most natural consequence of that bliss that's permeating every single part of his body. The softness of her body, even with fabric still separating their legs, makes him aware of the stark contrast with his own, his hip bones as much as his own hardness relishing in the pressure his body needs now, needs to feel as if she could be all around every single part of him. The train of thoughts is becoming so warm and fuzzy while his mouth is still indulging in a mouthful of the ambrosia spilling from her veins when a low whimper from her mouth makes him realise she's gone limp in his arms.

*shit!*

A shred of lucidity comes back to him and he forces himself to end the first moment of true perfection he has experienced in all of his existence. He plants a kiss on the punctures on her breast, gently closing them, and his hand reaches to cup her cheek, her head lulling to the side with slightly parted lips from which her breath comes in faint irregular gasps.

She is magnificent, the most beautiful creature his senses have ever witnessed, her life essence coursing through his veins maybe makes him more compliant to her and only her but suddenly he wishes he could pour every loving word and sign of affection he ever had to master to give it proper significance. Her flavour is more intoxicating than anything her bouquet tried to announce about her. There surely is no life nor undeath to ever be considered if it has to be without the smooth, velvety liquid that traverses her entire being, and now his as well. He should tell her, he wants to and words are about to betray him again when *thankfully* he manages to keep them all in, while only relinquishing a soft

“Thank you”

and his arms go to circle her torso so he can gather her to his chest, one hand caressing obsessively at her soft curls, holding her, wishing for his body to engulf any reaction that still comes from the trembling limbs. He will repeat to himself that this hypnotic hold she has on him is only due to the fact that her blood is new and fresh to his system, unable to recognise they are two distinct beings. He almost jumps when her hand sneaks on him tracing lightly at his jaw, she feels colder than usual and something akin to panic flashes behind his eyes for less than heartbeat, but then her eyelids slowly reveal her dark eyes once again, fixed on his, and a flash of her pink tongue wets her lips before she can gift him again the sound of her voice.

“you should have told me”

And the slight smirk on her face now makes him realise she’s spent but not in any danger. In fact, the rosiness of her cheeks, the breath still laboured despite her lowered heartbeat suggest something entirely different. Suddenly his nostrils are caressed by the soft tanginess of pomegranate that he now knows to be the herald of her arousal. For a moment he searches his own memories of the night he died and lived forever but he knows better than to linger there. A hint of pride takes root in his awareness as the soft, almost imperceptible jolts still travelling the length of her body tell him all he needs to know about what just happened: Pain and pleasure mixed and merged until the latter won over her.

“And ruin the surprise, my darling?”

He will deny in every way that

*really? I did not know...*

That she was truly his first and nothing could have prepared him for the way she felt. Nor the way he did.

Her eyelids seem heavy as her lips pull into a smile at that, her breathing becoming more regular and he can hear her heartbeat pulsating again enough to sing for him.

He realises he has no idea how to care for a human after a vampiric bite.

Along with the warmth her blood brought to his entire being, there's an unexplained feeling though, just at the mouth of his stomach, that he can’t quite name, as if her sweet reaction is just in preparation for a punishment, now that he has officially broken another rule imposed by Cazador.

*Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures*

He finds his face contorted in a grimace just for a split second at that thought, and while the instinct comes to hold her tighter to his chest, something else urges him deeply through a physical need to get as far away from her now sleeping body as possible.

36 notes · View notes