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littlejuicebox · 5 months

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Mermaid whiskey.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 2 weeks after BG3 final battle, Elfsong Tavern / Astarion has been ignoring you and spending too much time reading for your tastes, you aim to distract him. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers/allusions to events / Overstimulation, Teasing, Bondage, Blindfolding etc Word Count: 4.3K Notes: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off x Whiskey Girl

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Two weeks after the final battle, Astarion is lounging by the crackling fireplace on the upper level of the Elfsong Tavern, a large goblet of red wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Everyone else spent time after the battle exploring the city or downstairs drinking and celebrating their victory as they all prepared to move onto new adventures. But Astarion had chosen nearly every opportunity over the past two weeks to hang back and enjoy some much-deserved alone time. Now that the constant worries about Cazador and the overall impending doom of Baldur’s Gate were all behind him, the rogue threw himself into finding bits of individual enjoyment whenever and wherever he could. He'd fixated himself on hobbies and leisure, and reading had seemed an obvious first choice. He'd easily idle hours away, sometimes reading an entire book cover to cover in one sitting.

Often, you would sit with the elf as he read, snuggled in a blanket or cuddled up against your love, but eventually you always got the urge to get up and do something else. You'd tried on more than one occasion to interest the rogue in another activity, but Astarion remained glued to the couch for those two weeks, barely stepping away to hunt, bathe, or trance. You'd noted, with a bit of concern, that he hadn't even asked to feed on you in more than a tenday.

Tonight, you’d tried more than once to pull him down to the tavern, but the elf quickly refused, barely lifting his eyes from the pages in front of him. Astarion seemed particularly obsessed with this book; you were almost convinced he’d already finished it and had started a second reading.

Several hours passed while you socialized down at the bar and Astarion's perfect nose stayed wedged in a book before a very tipsy Karlach decided to climb the stairs and speak to the vampire. “Oi! C’mon, Astarion! Close that dusty tome and join the fun. We’ll all only be together for a few more days. Me, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Tav are taking shots!”

The vampire’s ears perk up and he furrows his brow at the woman, snapping his book shut in the process. “Shots? Of what, exactly?”

“Mermaid Whiskey!”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Karlach! Mermaid Whiskey practically makes Tav’s clothes fall off!”

Astarion is on his feet now, the book abandoned as he rushes past the Tiefling and down the flight of stairs into the tavern. He quickly spots the silky blue bandana you use to tie your hair up at camp strewn upon a forgotten bar stool. Knowing it’s possibly your most prized article of clothing, the elf tucks it into his back pocket. Scarlet eyes perform a hurried scan of the room and the vampire bristles when you’re nowhere to be found.

The others are still at the bar, where Lae’zel just challenged a bartender to an arm-wrestling competition. The women warriors are cheering Lae’zel on as she’s locked in a stalemate with the man.

“Shadowheart, have you seen Tav?”

Shadowheart barely acknowledges the vampire, too engrossed in the show. “What do you mean? She’s right—“ Her gaze flicks to the abandoned stool as Lae’zel successfully slams the worker’s hand onto the sticky bar, causing the campmates and some other patrons to erupt into cheers. “She was right there a moment ago.”

Astarion runs a stressed hand through his curled hair, inspecting the room for any sign of you. Soon enough, he spots a familiar pair of shoes and hurries to them, eyes already searching for the next clue. A discarded earring floating in a glass of half-drunk whiskey is sat on the bottom step of the stairs. That hadn’t been there when he descended down them, had it?

The vampire’s gaze trails up the stairwell and his suspicions are confirmed. Your navy-blue dress is draped across the back of an armchair he can barely see from his low vantage point.

‘She must’ve snuck around when I was talking to Shadowheart.’

The rogue dashes up the stairs to find you reclined on a chaise lounge, body flushed from the whiskey coursing through your veins. You are strewn suggestively across the chaise, clothed in only your laced undergarments and thigh high stockings. The alluring vision caused Astarion's heart to leap into his throat.

“Darling, what on earth do you think you’re you doing? You’re barely clothed in the middle of the tavern. This isn’t the wilds anymore.”

You’re lying on your side when Astarion finds you, and you pout in his direction as he scolds you, waving a dismissive hand. You roll onto your stomach, bending your knees and crossing your legs. You’re pleased to see the vampire's gaze drag down your body, pausing at the curve of your bottom, before flitting back to your face. Astarion licks his lips as he looks at you, the first sign that your little plan is working. You’ve finally gotten his attention after trying to steal him away from that damned book he was so enamored with all night.

“I know my love, but I’m just so unbelievably hot right now. You wouldn’t believe how hot I feel.”

Astarion quickly crosses the few feet between you two, placing a cool, concerned hand on your flushed cheek. “How many shots did you take?”

“Oh, just two. Maybe three? I kept losing the stupid ‘never have I ever game’ because everyone made all their questions about vampires.” You pout at your lover again before turning your head to press your lips against his thumb, lingering there intentionally, your wide eyes still focused on the rogue.

Astarion was no fool. With your mouth holding his thumb in that suggestive manner, he soon realized what you were doing. You adored the vampire with your entire heart, but on your drunken nights, you knew how to be a perfectly tempting, needy little brat. “And why, my sweet, did you keep playing the game if it was so clearly rigged against you?”

You groan, moving to a sitting position, while your hands toy with the laces of your bodice. “Because…” You sharply tug at the flouncy strings and Astarion’s hand catches yours in a tight grip, moments before you’re about to expose your breasts in the center of the lounge. “You’ve barely paid attention to me the past two weeks… and I was lonely and bored and wanted to have fun.”

“Darling, I know what you’re doing... I thought we agreed that tonight you’d go to the bar, and I would stay up here.” Astarion murmurs, nimble fingers toying with the strings of your bodice. He tries to resist the temptation to look down at your cleavage and fails; you see his eyes roll up in annoyance at himself and his inability to fight off his baser instincts in your presence. Inside you’re practically giddy that you’re winning the charade, but you keep the pout plastered to your face.

“We didn’t agree to anything, my Star. You didn't give me a choice.” You huff, pointedly brushing your hair away from your neck to reveal the little pinprick scars made by your lover. The rogue's eyes trail to the marks and he licks his lips again, suddenly quite aware of how long it’s been since he’s sunk his fangs into your flesh.

Gods you were frustrating. Astarion both loathed and loved that you could play him like a lyre; you knew him so well that you understood exactly what would make him tick. Every. Single. Time.

The vampire shakes his head, trying to rattle the fantasies out of his brain and not allow you the upper hand. You were being ridiculous; if you’d wanted attention, you should’ve just asked instead of acting out. Trying to turn the conversation, Astarion asks, “What is it you even like about whiskey? It’s vile.”

You sigh and roll your eyes before sliding off the chaise and sauntering away from the elf. For a moment you think he’s going to let you leave, but then he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy and you know you've got him hooked.

“Excuse me? You’re just going to walk away? Conversation over?”

You shrug and sigh again, stopping just in front of the door to your bedchamber. You turn to face the rogue, leaning back against the door and crossing your arms. Astarion’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at you with some level of frustration and incredulity at your antics.

“If you must know, I suppose I like a bit of edge… and a bit of pain with my pleasure.” Your voice is coy, eyebrow raised, and you're fully leaning into the innuendo of your statement. “And you like that I like it... don’t you?”

Astarion chuckles at this, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Using my own games and my own tactics against me now?”

You’re wearing a mischievous grin as the rouge saunters forward, closing the distance between your bodies. He firmly grasps your chin in his hand, scarlet eyes studying your face. Just as his lips brush against yours, and you're thinking you've won this little game, you murmur, “I guess the apprentice has become the master.”

Astarion pauses and draws back for a moment, the darkening of his gaze and his raised eyebrow causing you to shudder where you stand as he grips a bit tighter on your chin. “Oh darling. You’re cute. But now I think I have to teach you a lesson and remind you who the master truly is here.”

And then his lips are on yours, fangs clashing roughly into teeth. He feels for the knob behind you and turns it, forcing you both into the room before unceremoniously slamming the door closed. Your mouths are melded together as the vampire effortlessly guides you to the bed and shoves you into the mattress. Quick, pale hands tug at the strings of your bodice and your breasts are released from their confines, spilling out in front of the vampire’s eager gaze as he drags the undergarment off your arms and throws it aside.

Then Astarion grabs something from his back pocket — your blue bandana — and dangles it in front of you with a mock-condescending pout on his lips. All you can think about in that moment is how you want to take that pout into your own lips and bite.

“Darling, you left this downstairs and I had to retrieve it. I think I may need to teach you to take care of your belongings. You only have two of these, my love, and I know you would be so desperate to find them if they were permanently lost, wouldn’t you?”

You nod as you reach for your bandana, but Astarion is faster and pulls it away just in time, smirking at you all the while. “Come to think of it… where is your other bandana, my sweet?”

"It's in here." You murmur, lips already swollen from the rough kiss he'd pulled you into. You turn to the nightstand and withdraw your second bandana, an identical twin to the first. Astarion quickly takes it from your hand and grins mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as the silken fabric glides from your fingers.

“Good girl. Now, give me your hands.”

You oblige and the rogue deftly binds your wrists together with an expertly tied knot. He tugs at the bindings, testing their strength. Astarion lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of one before taking the second bandana and folding it into a long strip. Your eyes are fixated on his lithe fingers. Then he presses forward, face mere inches from yours. His eyes are dark and intense, but glimmering with adoration all the same, in a way that floods you with the overwhelming sensation of excitement and safety all in one.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, won't you, my love?”

“Y-yes.” You whisper, almost breathlessly and wholly impatient for what is coming next. Your body still burns with desire and Mermaid Whiskey. The last thing you see is Astarion’s eyes before the second bandana shrouds you in darkness.

Cool hands guide you to lay back onto the mattress and soon enough long, nimble fingers languidly trace their way down your body. You feel Astarion’s hands ghost over your arms, down your collarbone, and then trail circles around your breasts where he gives both nipples a gentle, teasing tug before moving on. His fingers brush your abdomen, around the curve of your hips, down the tops of your thighs, and finally to your calves. Then his lips press to your foot, and he works at pressing feather light kisses up your leg.

He continues kissing up your right leg for what seems like forever, fingers still moving tantalizingly along your calf and thigh. By the time the vampire makes his way back up to the top of your thigh, you are wiggling and keening in anticipation. He hovers over your still-clothed mound for a few beats before shifting slightly and returning to kissing down your left leg. You whine in disappointment, your bound hands straining against the fabric as you try to grip your lover. A dark chuckle is all you get in response as Astarion continues to kiss your opposing thigh, nibbling here and there, at a rate that seems somehow even slower than the first leg he worshipped.

By the time he’s placing a kiss to the top of your left foot, you’re writhing wholeheartedly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to give yourself more stimulation. You don’t dare use your bound hands, knowing the punishment would be further binding and teasing. Astarion unhurriedly runs his hands up your legs once again, stopping to draw leisurely circles at the apex of your thighs before tracing one chilled finger along the waistband of your underwear.

“A-Astarion!” You choke out with another whine, just as the vampire runs that same finger down your still-clothed slit, feeling the wetness now soaking through the fabric from his torments.

Your lover chuckles in dark delight. “I’ve barely even touched you, my needy little love, and yet here you are, positively soaked. Your lesson is far from over, darling.”

There is a moment of silence apart from soft rustling; you cannot see anything, but your ears pick up the sound of Astarion’s buckle coming undone. And then you feel his weight on top of you. You can tell he’s still wearing his briefs as he presses his groin against your sex, legs straddling either side of your hips. Suddenly you feel a sharp pinch on both your nipples. Your back arches in response to the sensation while a pleading groan shoots from your mouth.

“Mm… I think you quite like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” Is all you can reply as you feel Astarion's cold hands kneading the flesh of your breasts before he resumes pinching the swollen buds.

You try to buck your hips, but the bastard knows what he’s doing, and he’s got you pinned perfectly beneath him in a way that renders you all but helpless. Your bound hands search for Astarion’s body, and you barely graze against his abdominals before the vampire rips your hands away with a little tut, laying nearly all his body weight atop you as he raises your hands up over your head. You can feel his breath against your ear before he takes the lobe in his mouth and nibbles. Gods the torture was becoming unbearable. You buck again, another frustrated whine escaping your lips.

“Shhh now, darling. Shame we don’t have a third bandana or you would be gagged. We are quite impatient today, aren’t we?”

You whimper as he continues the abuse to your ear before trailing his tongue down to your neck. “My little whiskey girl…” His lips hover over that familiar little spot on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. Your pulse jumps to greet your lover. “May I?”

You barely nod, “Yes. Please.”

Astarion groans at your response, thrusting his hips forward to press his rock-hard bulge into your folds. You feel a sharp, icy sting in your neck before your body gives way to the delectable ripples of pleasure. The vampire laps from you lazily, rutting against your mound, the still-clothed underside of his cock sawing torturously between the folds of your still-clothed but now dripping slit. He continues suckling, not really drinking for sustenance but more for his own pleasure, his hardening member abusing your swollen clit. You’re keening again, and one of his hands moves to tease your nipple while the other gets lost in your hair, holding you in place as he takes his lazy laps.

“A-Astarion. Astarion! Please, I’m gonna—“

But before you can finish, you feel the wave of pleasure crashing over you and your legs are trembling as you find your release. The elf groans again as you orgasm, now suckling and rutting with more fervor as the taste of your ecstasy courses through your veins. When the crescendo wanes and you’re left panting, Astarion retracts his fangs from your neck with a pleased little hum.

Suddenly the bandana is pulled from your eyes, and you blink, adjusting to the light. The vampire is still straddling you, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face as he wipes the final rivet of blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “Satisfied, darling? Have I paid enough attention to you now?”

You groan and buck your hips again, your drenched undergarments barely rubbing against the rogue’s stiff cock. “No!” You shriek as your bound hands pound back into the mattress.

Astarion’s lips are on yours anew, swallowing your protests as he delves his tongue into your eager mouth. You taste the iron of your own blood and groan, writhing against him and desperately pulling at your bindings. When the rogue pulls back he chuckles before easily delving two fingers inside your ruined undergarments, curling his fingers to barely strum against your swollen clit. You try to arch to meet his digits with a desperate, pleading moan, but the weight of him on your legs keeps you pinned, and you cry out.

“Please, please, please.” You whine in a soft chant coming from your lips, still using all of your strength to barely buck your hips. Your hands are twisting desperately in their bindings. “Please, please, please.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, my love?” He coos, continuing to barely tease your throbbing clit with expert fingers. “What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want!” You hiss through gritted teeth, your frustration bubbling over as the rogue torments that sensitive nub between your legs.

“Hmm… perhaps I do. But you need to ask for the things that you want, my sweet. The parasite is gone and I’m no mind reader.”

“Please put your cock inside me! Please.”

“Hmm... there we are. That’s my good girl. Now, was that really so hard, little love?"

Before you can answer, Astarion’s mouth is enveloping yours as he works to quickly remove his own undergarments. The feeling of his barren member on your mound renews your desperation and you keen into your lover's mouth, causing him to smirk into the kiss. He quickly maneuvers his knee to the inside of your thigh, hitching his own leg up to spread you wide, granting him full access to your sex. Deft fingers slide the thin, arousal-soaked cloth of your underwear aside and then you feel the head of his cock pressed just against your entrance.

“Who do you belong to, my love?” The vampire asks when he pulls away from the kiss, scarlet eyes peering into yours. He’s rocking his hips just slightly, the tip of his member barely teasing in and out of your desperate pussy. He brings his hand to the side of your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“You, Astarion.” You whisper, so entranced by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his cock pressing into you that you can barely think or breath. You try to thrust down to meet your lover's miniscule ministrations, but his other hand has your hip pinned in place.

“Give me your hands again.”

You oblige, and the rogue quickly undoes your fastenings, gently pressing his lips into the angry red marks around your wrists. He takes one of your hands and interlaces your fingers in his. Astarion pins one hand back above your head, but allows you the freedom of the other hand, which you bring to the side of his neck.

Then the vampire kisses you once more. As his lips press into yours, his cock slides into your eagerly awaiting cunt. Every ripple of Astarion's thick shaft makes your body sing in delight, and you're groaning into the elf's mouth as he begins to make fervent love to you, hips snapping with vigor as he sheaths and unsheathes himself in a steady rhythm.

“You are… entirely infuriating… and vexing, sometimes. Do you know that, little love?” He purrs between his lips enveloping yours, tongue exploring your mouth. The vampire plunges into you with steady determination, slowly picking up his tempo.

You’re breathless, rolling your hips to meet the rogue’s. Your eyes are shut as you smirk at his comment. “I know.. I just think you’re so sexy when you’re frustrated.” You respond between panting breaths, and that earns you a rough thrust that hits your cervix and knocks the air from your lungs as you moan in surprise.

Astarion’s hand that isn’t intertwined with yours comes under your chin and takes a firm hold, pressing just enough on your windpipe to create the delicious feeling of breathlessness without actually preventing you from breathing. Your eyes snap open from the sensation.

“You. Are. A. Naughty. Girl.” He hisses, eyes boring into your own, face mere inches from yours, and each word punctuated by another forceful snap of his hips. You moan at the feeling of his length slamming into your cervix. By this time, he’s panting and the flush on his ears is rising, and you know he’s close to his own release. One of Astarion's fingers is lingering dangerously close to your mouth as he clutches your neck; you take the digit between your lips and begin to suck.

As the vampire sees your tongue snake around his finger, he’s done for. All resolve is gone, and your lover fucks into you with reckless abandon as you moan around his hand. The grip on your neck tightens as he starts to emit his own cries of pleasure, and your hand wraps tightly onto his neck in response, nails digging into cold flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He asks through gritted teeth as his thrusts become sloppy. You’re seeing stars, and the friction of his pelvis paired with the intense throbbing of your abused pussy is sending you towards a second climax. As your body reaches its crescendo, you release Astarion’s finger from between your lips and cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The rogue hears your beautiful cry and feels the pulsing of your sex, which finally pushes him over the edge as he spills into you, cock twitching with every new stream of seed.

His mouth is on yours before you finish your strangled cry of release, and Astarion’s works to kiss you down from your incredible high. The vampire releases your neck, and the passionate force of his lips slowly ebbs into a gentle, lazy kiss. Eventually, with both of your bodies fully spent, the rogue rolls onto his side, sliding himself from you and spilling the evidence of your love making across the silky sheets.

Astarion rolls from the bed, and you whine, but he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he promises he will be right back. He slips his trousers on and exits the room for a minute, only to return with the book he seemed obsessed with. Part of you is annoyed when the rogue settles back into bed, opening his arm so you can nestle yourself in the crook.

You give him a little pout. “Do you not love me more than you love these books? I’m beginning to worry I’ve coupled myself to another Gale. I was sure that tonight would distract you and I would have you all to myself.”

Astarion chuckles, shaking his head slightly before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “My sweet, surely you know the depths of my love for you far surpass the pages of a book. And you are always distracting... even when I am thinking of something else, I am also thinking of you.”

He shuts the book and taps his hand on the cover, lithe fingers moving to trace the embossed words of the title. “I apologize if I’ve been consumed and you’ve felt neglected, my darling. This book is just… intriguing.”

You turn your head and for the first time, read the title: ‘The Creation of Dhampirs: A Guide.”

Oh.

Your brow furrows as you turn to look at Astarion, and you see a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. This look was different from his unfortunately familiar one that he displayed during flashbacks and night terrors… this one contained hope.

“Are you imagining your future, Astarion?” You ask, sitting up just enough to place a kiss on your lover’s cheek and brush a few wayward curls back into place. “If you are, then I’d better be there by your side.”

The rogue snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at you again, his expression laced with love. He extends his long arm backwards, dropping the tome on the nightstand before placing his hand on your face. Astarion’s thumb strokes your cheek and he sighs happily before whispering, “Yes, you’d better be.”

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astarionancuninslittlelove · 3 months

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When Darkness Falls

“Every single time I looked at him, it felt like the first time.

My body came to attention as my eyes found his. Every fiber in my body knew that I was unabashedly his for the rest of my days.

And he knew it too.

He didn’t need a tadpole to know that much.”

Find my new Astarion x Tav (F) fanfic here!

Photo by @astarionposting

#astarion fan fiction #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion #astarionxtav #tav #dom astarion #soft dom astarion #archive of our own #ao3 #bg3 fanfic #smut and fluff #smut #astarion ancunin

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astarionfixation · 22 days

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Chapter 9: “Would you like my tongue first, or my fingers, darling?”

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

Rating: EXPLICIT SEX (fingering, cunnilingus) Continuous Consent Check-ins

CW: vague mentions of sexual abuse

Word count count: 4.8k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/139400101

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

“I have never been given the chance to… explore… I don’t know how to… ask… how I want… what I want… but I do know I want… you.”

“You have me my sweet… If I could show you how… would you want me to?”

“Please Astarion…. show me, and I’ll follow you”

His mind races back to the first night they spent together, after she found him lost to his demons on the staircase. Even though he couldn't find his voice she began with her own, heralding and announcing her actions before they were taken, in a way that made him feel safe, finally with a full vision of the situation he was in at such a vulnerable moment.

And so this might actually work? He knows he can do this, he can guide her and himself and this might actually become a way to get closer rather than hoping the mechanical practicality of being inside someone or having someone inside of him would also bring closeness. He wants to do this.

“Then lie back for me my darling, I’m going to take this shirt off of you to begin with, does that sound good?”

Every word is measured, it gives him a path to follow whereas he has always had to follow someone else’s imperatives and demands. It also helps that words give him structure before the mess of his needs, his hunger, his own desire and anger can take over. Once they leave his lips he knows he’s committed to them, he knows there’s something to follow through.

She nods again and this time he has to be clearer so that both can be on the same page.

“If we are to do this I need to hear your voice darling, I need to know that’s what you want. Can you do that for me? Can you tell me if this is ok?”

Because if they need to break patterns by relying on what they have left of the abuse, they need to work towards each other and away from the mould others created for them.

She swallows emptily and he can tell, they are both finding their pace in this new kind of vulnerability.

“I’m not going to do anything other than what you tell me, but I need you to tell me, darling”

She’s finding her voice for the first time, for him, and that is giving him another rhythm to follow beyond the one of his own words. It feels like another layer of safety and he can follow, they can follow each other and know where they are going, together. Her words come to his pointy ears as such relief

“I… please, yes, you can take my shirt off, you can… you can take all of my clothes… off”

He can’t help but smile and that is… new… in a situation like this…

“Thank you sweetling, you’re doing amazing, let me help you out of this then”

And his fingers have to be willingly slowed down but he can do this, he can savour this, he needs the pacing, and she clearly needs it too.

When he pulls the shirt off her head and her torso falls back on the bed, chest finally completely bare before him, he does not realise he must have been staring for longer than expected because her arms are slowly going towards sheltering her breasts from him. His hand quickly reaches up to cup her cheek. He doesn’t touch her arms but a soft plea leaves his lips

“Please don't, you are so beautiful, I just need to commit you to memory”

And he was right, it was all she needed to feel safe again. Her arms rest on her sides as she allows him to take in the sight of her. It takes him a moment to recollect his thoughts, remember he’s there to guide her. Both of them.

“I’m going to take off my shirt as well, so you can feel my skin on yours, still with me?”

She begins nodding but then before he can remind her, her voice follows, even though it seems like there’s a true effort to get past her throat

“Yes…”

As the fabric brushes against his skin he feels lighter than being this exposed has ever felt for him. He bends down so that his upper body is now gently pressing against hers while she parts her legs to let him crawl on top of her. There might be a slightly sharp intake of air from his nostrils as the warmth of her skin assaults his senses along with her scent. His head buried in the familiar crook of her neck, maybe the last place he should be to taunt his hunger, but it’s just a second and the thought is pushed away as he suddenly feels her hands tentatively caressing his shoulders before they start to find their way to explore his back and

*No I can’t! not yet…*

He’s up in one swift move, back to kneeling between her legs, her eyes are searching his and one too many flashes seem to happen in a part of his mind he cannot quite visualise. He gathers her hand in his and brings it to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist

“I’m sorry sweetheart but I need you to tell me… ask me if you’re going to do something like that, I am not… Can you promise you won't touch my back again? For now…”

The tips of her fingers still close to his mouth begins to softly dance on his lips

“I promise, I’m sorry”

“It’s alright my darling, we’re both learning aren’t we?”

Her head nods slightly and He can feel he’s back in control now. His gaze roams on her bare chest and he knows what needs to come next. His entire body hovers upon her so he can whisper in her ear now

“Can I kiss your nipples my sweet?”

And it's hard for him to just breathe her in as his fingers trace lazy circles around the mound of her breasts, inching closer but not quite close enough, not until she says. He can feel her head nod against his own as the words escape her lips in a whimper, just loud enough for her plea to reach him

“Yes… please”

There's a strand of hope wandering his mind, he finds himself warning her

“It will feel cold, just for a moment…”

Then his lips trace a wet trail, from her neck to her breasts, and he can feel her breath has come to a halt, the anticipation trapping the air in her throat. He lets his cold breath hit the spot first as he murmurs

“Keep breathing, darling”

Her sharp intake of breath comes at the same moment his lips are closing upon her soft peak. The warmth of her breast feels incandescent to his mouth and not even his cold tongue and spit seem to contaminate her skin. There's a soft, muffled sound rhythmically present, coming from her throat now, something that she's not letting her lips relent to, and as his mouth is sucking gently at her nipple he can tell his own tongue is the director of it and *hells!* if for once it's good to know he's the cause of her unrest. His eyes close for a moment as he concedes to his own feeling of torturous bliss. His fangs barely graze upon her sensitive skin and the blood blooming just under it makes him swallow around the now hardened peak, and that was all she needed to let that melody of pleasure escape her lips and reaching his delighted ears

“That’s it my sweet, It's just you… and me, you don't have to hold back… Let me hear you sing for me”

His fingers reach for the other sweet peak that has already grown harder, his cool tips gently pressing and pulling at the same rhythm that his mouth still sucks softly at her nipple, and his ears are rewarded by the most sensual music she has yet blessed him with. He’s tempted to just follow her reactions but a flash of awareness comes back to him as he pulls his lips from her nipple whilst he keeps softly playing with the other between his fingers.

“Does this feel good sweetheart? What else would you like me to do?”

He knows it’s a challenge but she is set to surprise him, as her eyelids lift from her dark pupils, she lets out a delicious moan before uttering most delectably

“I felt that right between my legs”

She is learning fast about her wants and needs and how to communicate them, how to recognise and say what she likes. He’s only too happy to follow that lead…

“Is that where you’d like me to go next?”

And she might still need more time to find her pace, her eyes get lost in invisible patterns

“I… I don’t know… I…”

*it’s ok, slower then…*

He can lead the way, he can bring her back to this moment

“Well… I would like to go there next… will you let me, my darling?”

She nods before something akin to a prayer leaves her lips and

“Yes… yes please…”

His nimble fingers are grazing at her sides when his voice reaches her again

“I’m just going to undo the laces here on your trousers, I need you to raise your hips for me so I can pull them down, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

She’s nodding again and he can see a quick flash of her pink tongue moistening her lips, his fingers are already working on the fastening but once they hook under the waistband he stops

“With your words, darling”

At that she raises her hips just as a barely breathed out “yes, please” reaches his ears, and in one slow movement he starts to peel the garment off of her trembling legs, until pulling at the last bit he has her foot so close to his face he plants a sweet, soft kiss on her ankle before releasing her.

And that’s the moment when he shouldn’t but he needs to take a breath, just as his eyes are feasting on her body, laid almost completely bare before him. Only the lace covering that sweet spot where her legs meet. He’s never been one for religion but he imagines the only way to describe her body must be goddess-like. He’s reminded of his own needs when his eyes linger for a moment too long on what seems to be a slightly wet patch on the last piece of fabric on her, almost touching the inside of her thigh and inevitably he finds his hardness stretching the fabric of his own trousers beyond what is comfortable. But it’s become irresistible to drive and address her pleasure now that *for once!* he is the one in control of their needs. The way she relies on him has become a source of pleasure itself and he can’t wait another moment to finally see her

*all of her*

He lowers himself so that his fingers are now pulling at the edge of her underwear, his chin resting below them on her soft thighs

“I reckon we need to lose these too, don’t you think my dear?”

And it’s such a sweet torture to wait for her words and see her scramble to find them

“I… yes… please Astarion… take them off”

His movements might be just a tad bit quicker then he wishes he could be, but to finally have his nostrils and throat hit by the sweetness of pomegranate that emanates from her now bare, glistening lips, is something he’s been restraining himself for far too long to seem unaffected. He’s torturing both himself and her and he knows it but there is just something so enticing about his nose, his lips being so close yet not touching her, his cheek now resting on her inner thigh, while both his hands are caressing her hips ever so innocently and yet so close to absolute perdition. She must be feeling it too because, before he can even come up with his next line, a mewling plea leaves her lips and her body arches ever so slightly

“Please I… can I feel you… please?”

And he doesn’t have the heart to push it, he could coax more out of her but this is only the beginning after all. He doesn’t realise how his lips must have pulled into a smile until he tries to speak again

“Would you like my tongue first, or my fingers, darling?”

And the words alone make her hips jolt, the tip of his nose now brushing against her folds

“Don’t make me choose Astarion, I just… please”

He’s pretty confident he’s got the correct answer as the most enticing whimper resonates from her throat to her lips when the tip of his tongue begins to follow her slit, softly pushing her lips apart and getting rewarded with the most intoxicating flavour of unadulterated pleasure. Of her. The tip of his tongue is not nearly enough and he needs to savour and taste her, to possess that sweetness until there’s nothing left. His long, greedy fingers spread her for him and when his tongue traces back to the source of her sweet wetness he has to push through her entrance and taste her from the inside, pressing softly but inexorably until all he can taste and feel around his tongue is Her.

Her hips jolt again at that and she arches. That gives him an instant of unnecessary breath to place a hand on her lower stomach and keep her in place.

“Can you stay still for me, my sweet? I don’t want to accidentally nip at you”

“I… I’m trying”

And he knows it’s true, he knows some of the reactions her body has are as involuntary as the way he can feel her pulse accelerating, just under his tongue. He plants a soft kiss just where her lips meet and that little bundle of nerves gifts him another involuntary jolt of her beautiful body, just for him. He pulls back slightly, just enough for his fingertips to graze at the junction between her thigh and the centre of her pleasure

“It's just my finger… Can you take my finger sweetheart?”

At that, her answer comes out in a prompt gasp she can't seem to get out quick enough

“Yes! please, yes!”

And now finally the tip of his index finger can follow the edge of her lips, from top to bottom, so the moment she is holding her breath in anticipation… he slowly thrusts it in. Her soft wetness almost pulls him in, and he can already feel her clenching around his digit. Her head thrown back *neck exposed* and her heartbeat is almost concerningly raised now. A fleeting thought comes through, telling him he should give in and just devour her, but quickly as it came it goes and he remembers: this is to pace both their needs.

For her to learn and choose what brings her pleasure, and for him to feel close to another creature without having to relent to their commands.

He can tell she's trying to stifle her moans as his finger has slowly found a rhythmic pace, sliding in and out of her and coaxing out her sweet nectar to a point the obscenely wet sounds are now almost distracting him and he can't help himself: he pulls his finger completely out, eliciting a sigh from her, and with a flick of his wrist he is now sucking and licking it clean, tasting and savouring her flavour on his tongue again. As his eyes open he can see hers are fixed on him too and he can’t help but smirk and hold her gaze till his own finger pops out of his own lips

“You are just so exquisite my sweet, I had to taste more of you. Can you take another finger for me darling? Would that be ok?”

And when her eyes hold his own he knows how hard she is trying, and still he's not prepared for what comes out of her lips next

“Yes… please… but can you… please… can you also touch… above… on my… on my clit”

She's sweet and hesitant and he can tell her heartbeat has taken off again, because putting those words together cost her, but she trusted him enough to dare and ask, and so he will certainly oblige her

“Of course my darling… how about I slide two fingers inside of you… like this”

And as his two digits now thrust and slowly disappear inside of her, coated in slick honey as she is, he moves them in and out of her, steadily, his eyes never leaving her face and as she begins to close her eyes again, her breathing getting more laboured, that's when the tip of his thumb brushes lightly at her entrance, just enough to be coated in her wetness

“And I bring my thumb to press just… over… here…”

He grazes her folds until it reaches her clit. And the deep moan it elicits in her fills him with pleasure, his two fingers still slowly thrusting in and out of her while now his thumb is pressing in a circular motion that repeats itself over, and over, and over again

“Does it feel good sweetling? Tell me what you need…”

Her hips are now following the rhythm of his hand, meeting his thrusts as her back arches so that his fingers press further against her silky walls, curling just at the tip and pressing against that spot that he knows is going to drive her to the edge.

He hardly has to move his hand at all now as she grinds against his fingers, tightening the muscles in the walls of her entrance and beginning to meet resistance even against knuckles as slender and delicate as his. There's a tinge of pain now in her exaltations that gives pause to his dedication

*I've heard that sound before…I've made that sound before…*

“I need you to relax for me darling, can you do that… for me?”

Her body freezes and the silence of the room is deafening with not a single breath between them. Her heart pounds harder as it screams for oxygen until now he can feel every single vein and blood vessel in her sex tracing out her pulse in an intricate network of pleasure around his fingers and for a moment it's as though he can't tell if the pulse on his fingers is hers or his own heart beating for the first time in over two centuries.

“Breathe, my sweet”

Her chin dances in tiny rapid nods before finally letting go and as the warm sweet air leaves her collapsing chest the muscles finally relent, flooding her wetness around his fingers inviting him in.

“That's it sweetheart, you're doing so well, just let go…”

For a moment his instincts take over, feeling no resistance from her body he lets his own excitement set the pace

“Just… please… slower… but don't stop… it feels… good… so good”

And he's only too happy to indulge, he could spend hours watching her beautiful body come undone just on his hand, but the way she is now writhing tells him that she's close and he just needs to push her over the edge… while his fingers keep pumping excruciatingly slowly in and out of her, his thumb still drawing deliberately pressured circles around the centre of her pleasure.

“That's my good girl, let me hear you… just tell me how you want me to touch you… I’ll do everything you tell me to…”

A sharp sting traverses his mind as the words leave his mouth and he realises he might have involuntarily shared more than he meant to. Thankfully she claims his attention again, immediately, as she lets out a frustrated whimper before finally releasing a strained “m..more…” that reminds him how he’s the one in control of this. Of her.

Thoroughly. Entirely. Wholly.

Her body straining and begging for his touch while he’s the only one at the receiving end of each and every prayer she articulates with her sensuous movements before they can escape her lips. He’s the only one that can decide whether those prayers will be answered or whether she can be taught to ask for more. The thought paints a smirk on his own elegant features and the power he holds +in the tiny bone of his own wrist+ as she eloquently put it, truly feels as such, with every tiny fibre of her luxurious body answering and reacting to any minuscule movement he decides to inflict upon her feverish sex.

*You can ask for more, sweet thing, but you need to do it properly, and that? That won't do at all…*

“More of what, my sweet? Come on… be a good girl for me… use your words”

“M..more on my..on my clit…please”

*That's better, you’re learning the rules, and that I can most certainly do*

With the hand pressed firmly on her stomach he pulls ever so slightly on her soft, gleaming skin, pulling back on her vulva and exposing the source of her pleasure. Such a pretty unassuming little thing, transfixed by his gaze he starts to move the very tip of his thumb excruciatingly slowly and deliberately around the edge of her completely exposed glans. So soft at first that it's impossible to tell if he's actually touching her or if the electricity between them is creating imperceptibly small sparks of racing pleasure between them.

“M..more..please…harder”

*Now we're getting somewhere, my precious little love*

His thumb presses ever so slightly closer, allowing the friction to slowly increase guided by the rhythm of her moans as she assumes the role of both conductor and instrument in the orchestra they've both become swept up in rising to a crescendo. With every thrust of his fingers he pushes ever so slightly deeper into her inviting warmth and her lips kiss at the knuckles where his fingers meet the back of his hand, fitting so perfectly around everything he has to give her.

That's when his entire body moves to be on top of hers, his hand still tormenting her, slow but relentless just as she requested, chest pressing on her soft breasts as he brings his head to the crook of her neck where his lips can whisper directly into her ear

“Are you going to come for me sweetheart? Are you going to come all around my fingers? I want you to come, can you do that for me darling?”

And he knows that was what she needed because he suddenly feels her whole body tremble under his, her legs close shut around his hand and he can feel her pulsating and clenching repeatedly around his fingers, yet he doesn't stop his own measured movements, which after a moment of complete silence elicit a delicious groan growing from her throat into a scream onto her lips that carry his own name.

“Ah… Astarion!”

He finds himself smiling whilst his own body unexpectedly twitches as her climax washes over her.

A pleasure he caused himself.

A pleasure she let him direct which makes control feel like power after centuries of escapism.

As her body stills and her breath finds a more regular pace he slowly moves to retract his fingers from her, but no matter how delicate he tries to be, her sensitive flesh makes her whole body twitch still. He pulls himself up, kneeling between her legs and

*I could lick her clean of every bead of sweat on her skin*

The thought alone reminds him of the sweet slickness coating his own fingers and he doesn’t care if the way he takes them in his mouth makes him look starved, because in a way he is, and concerningly he’s now doubtful that, after this, he could ever take his fill of her and say that’s enough. He swirls his tongue and sucks his fingers, closing his eyes to focus on the flavour that even under oath he could not swear comes second after her very own delectable blood. His bliss gets interrupted only by her soft voice gently reaching his ears once more

“What do I taste like?”

*The kitten is quickly learning how to become a temptress*

He can’t help a tug at the corner of his lips and promptly moves his body gracefully back onto hers, lowering his head so that his lips are almost brushing hers but not touching, still bending to her own rule as he whispers

“Would you like to find out?”

And before he can move any further she's arching her back to press her own lips against his so that the tip of his tongue can softly demand access to share her tangy sweetness with her, from her lips to his and finally back to hers again.

And right now he's elated. It's beyond the bliss of the senses that overtakes him as his insides fill with fresh blood, it's more encompassing, more… complete. He is keenly aware of the needs of his body but to finally kiss her after accompanying her discovery of her own pleasure is its own kind of egotistical gratification. For the first time in any life he remembers he didn't have to clutch to the shreds of control he could delude himself he had, no, he was the beginning and the end, this scenario existed only because he willed it so. Because whereas everyone always demanded his performance and service for their own pleasure, this time his own skills, his own talents were to his own service, working through his own desire to give her back pieces of herself in the only way he knew how, which prodigiously happened to be the one way she needed to.

He knew everything there was to know about physical pleasure.

She was never given the chance to learn about it before.

He's losing himself in this kiss that still tastes like her when it occurs to him…

*I'm her first too. In the only way that matters…*

There's a tinge of pride in the idea he's the only one who ever made her feel good in her own skin, who ever guided her to reach her climax. He's losing himself in the thoughts caressing his ego and now the kiss has moved to a softer, sweeter pace. He pulls away just enough so his lips can leave a soft peck on the tip of her nose and then his eyes can find hers.

Some part of him is dying to speak, to proclaim what it means, viscerally, that she's his first blood and now he's her first true lover, how that binds their flesh and fluids in a true implication of mutual ownership. He wishes he could tell her *show her* exactly every which way he can make her discover new peaks of pleasures until all she remembers is his own name and all that she feels is the complete and utter bliss of their bodies, mingling together without solution of continuity to be ever found again.

And maybe he can find ways, in time, to push past the invisible hand that seems to grasp at his throat any time his words threaten to betray his vulnerability for how much he wants her. He needs her. He depends on finding ways to keep her interested in him because he will never accept to go back to a life without her flavours -all of them- coating his insides.

His cock suddenly twitches involuntarily, straining against his trousers, reminding him his need of control masked as generosity has left him still desperate, the vague reminder of the pomegranate essence from her dripping wet sex now slowly fading from his tongue with so much hunger still to be sated. Yet all he can muster is just

“Thank you, my sweet”

hoping that his eyes betray the thousand devotions screaming to escape the facade.

He can see her features truly blissful now, and for the first time he realises that every calm moment she painted on her face before does not live up to this, so how much practice did she have at keeping her emotions in, to even fool him? Her voice is mellow, still high from pleasure, and it’s just another reminder of how much his own body has been affected by what just happened. She gently whispers

“I think those are my words”

*You devilish little minx, you’re going to be such a delightful pet for me*

“Yes my darling, you've been very good with your words, you catch up so quickly I already know… you're going to be a wonderful student”

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tieflingsfingers · 1 month

Text

Foraging for Ripened Fruits

What and who: Soft Dom Astarion smut, Character Study, Half-Drow Bard OC. Summary: Thomasin goes off to forage for a meal for camp, but Astarion pops in to remind her of a bet she lost. Realizing he's rehashing an old promise, she reluctantly agrees in hopes of enjoying his company. Warning/Content: 18+, Reimagining of first sexual encounter. Post bite-scene, part of series. A lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. Partial mentions of past traumas that inform their current actions. Word Count: 4,174 Ao3 Link

Thomasin wandered off the beaten path. Unknown thickets and brambles were an easy trek though. From a young age, the half-elf had been taught a labyrinth of knowledge about living off the land. A library of resources left to collect dust with each decade for she’d become dependent on ship crews and city streets with passing years. Now to only blow off those dusty tomes to reread with fondness.

Although, camp was just thankful she could identify a meal.

There was escapism in placing a floral handkerchief and guidebook in her wicker basket. Buckling her skirt at the waist to watch the length sway at her feet. Perhaps she’d find the same little blue flowers dancing along its hem. Handfuls of berries. Bitter leafy greens. Hidden roots revealing hearty starches to soak in broth. Dirt, crisp and cool, compressed beneath her boots. Patches of grass where plants raised their heads to the sky, bathing in sunlight and twisting at its joints.

Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a leaf whose colors were difficult to distinguish.

She narrowed her vision and wracked the encyclopedia embedded in her memories.

Poisonous markers found themselves hazier and hazier as the years went on. Rhymes recited to know danger by its features. Whether speckles and lines were meant to be fine. Whether pinks and blues sent you praying at the pews. Or was it yellows at the tips? Spikes and spines? The longer this troubleshooting ran through her filters, the more she felt the urge to laugh. What a thing to have a lapse of judgment on. Poisoning the camp on the off chance their stew was more savory than usual.

Just as absurd stakes set in, the leaf was flicked away from her fingertips. The ball of her foot spun in the dirt, twirling in whimsy to head another direction. Skirt in tow. Light dramatics to match the melody humming from her lips.

That was, until the sight of another in her presence. Astarion had created a habit of startling her for his own entertainment. Knowing the windows of calm and isolation meant her propensity to be skittish. Thomasin scowled, immediate embarrassment melting into frustration.

“In the gods’ names, Astarion! Make your presence known or I’ll start sharpening every shard of wood in our vicinity.” She took a deep breath to calm herself from offering more creative threats.

Astarion couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in self-satisfied laughter. When they approached conflict, Thomasin was no stranger to deescalating those with sharp tongues or unflinching convictions. Her own proclivities for chaos even pulled the group into a few hi-jinks. She always wiggled her way out of things unscathed for the most part, from his short experience.

And so, how could he not take advantage of such a glaring pitfall? A gap exposed in her armor? Only for his own amusement, of course. Each of his steps became looser, bouncing with their weight, partaking in one of his favorite activities. Peacocking.

“Is it not hilarious that you’re more frightened of me than those giant bandits we encountered? Although…” He placed a hand upon his chest. “Maybe it’s a bit of a compliment. Thank you for that. I have felt quite the masculine energy in me with all this newfound freedom.”

Thomasin snickered. “Glowing. Don’t look a day over three hundred years old.”

“Excuse me, it’s not my fault you hop around here like a scared little fawn.”

“Okay, fine. What are you doing out here anyways?”

“It is a curse to simply be, I don’t know. Bored? The woods aren’t as magical as druids like to make a big fuss about. ”

Finding his answer lackluster at best, Thomasin continued to search her surroundings. Like a puppy gnawing at her ankles, he followed her trail, preparing quips to throw over her shoulder. Watching her pluck foreign fruits from mysterious branches. He’d offer an agreeable “hm” and “ah” in half-hearted acknowledgment as she conjured up ways to poison Cazador.

Nothing worth pocketing for later though. Scary flowers? To defeat the reign of vampiric terror? Child’s play. Absolute yawn.

Thomasin turned to be greeted by his eyes wandering about the flora with little thought brewing within. She found his predictability charming.

“You’re not even listening,” she said.

“Bah, nothing but accusatory language. I am immensely interested in what the leaves are up to. Which herbs are the biggest gossips or whatever,” he followed up. Almost too immediately. “I did have something to bring to your attention though.”

“Hm? Another confession? Lycan blood also in your veins?”

“Oh, I’d be unstoppable with Lycan blood in me. Imagine? A dinner of champions– Although I wouldn’t want to spoil my snack.” He inched toward her, keeping just enough distance to offset potential rejections.

Thomasin arched her brow, leaning back and compensating for the closing quarters between them. “Are you going to kill me now?”

”This is a peaceful coup, on my heart, I swear it.” One hand raised, chest puffed and proud. “Consider this a midday snack. Don’t be a sore loser now. A deal is a deal.”

Thomasin slipped into momentary bemusement, attempting to recollect what bet they made. The prize seemed obvious at least. His glances failed at subtlety and she’d catch his eyes dart to the clavicle peeking from her neckline. Not the most bizarre way she’d been objectified, but it still took some getting used to.

It was all uncharted territory. Even if she felt flustered, she had to press it down. Blushing admitted defeat. Docile defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary nor her nature.

He twirled his hand about, gesturing to matters as casual as the weather. “You cannot tell me my winning hand at cards is suddenly incorrect, Thomasin. I love delusion as much as the next man, don’t get me wrong. I mean, Karlach and Wyll could read you the contract as if straight from Avernus itself. Just a light nibble of thy neck.”

Thomasin wanted to retort. Yet, she had been around the campfire those long nights. She was aware of exchanges lightening the load of their gold pouches. The glory of riches on the line. Opportunity to watch Karlach drunkenly arm-wrestle Wyll or Astarion throw daggers at glass bottles with precision. Irresponsible banter around the fire was prime for it. Even if the night was hazy at this point, vague stipulations of a retired magistrate couldn’t be disputed. He was right. She didn’t think her hand was that bad, from what she could recollect, but he was right.

If anything, the length he waited was more of an oddity. The bet went unredeemed for a long while. Weeks even. They had been busy though. Shooing the feistier of goblins and gnolls into early graves, resolving power struggle after power struggle. Hunching over hastily cooked meals and soothing aching muscles in lakes. Perhaps flirtation here and there, but the sweet nothings had been there for comic relief. Cheeky remarks to remind them of normalcy.

“Fine, fine. C’mon,” she said, amused by his persistence.

The half-elf tugged at her skirt, sweeping it into the direction of a cushioned patch of wildflowers and clovers tucked beneath a tree. Her basket slipped from her hands, cradled by clovers.

Astarion grinned at Thomasin, following in suit, pinching at the bow helping fasten her skirt to her waist. He studied her shape like many times before. Quietly, but nevertheless. The drapery of her blouse and how it tucked in along the small of her back. Her sleeves pushed up to her forearm, billowing fabric tapered, cuffed, and buttoned.

She flicked her view up from her under her lashes. The stitches of her linens had folded into themselves to reveal her shoulder, her fingertips pressing into her clavicle as if she’d gather more answers from touch alone. She was a peach, carefully cut into slivers for his enjoyment. To drip and glisten down his palms. To sticky the already unspoken laws of the platonic.

“I caught you staring earlier. I-Would that hurt more? My shoulder?” Thomasin glanced down at the grass for a split second to consider her options, meeting him again with a quick answer. “Actually, that’s a lot more hidden than the neck.”

It’d been ages since one of Astarion’s conquests felt like less of a chore.

He was quick to slip into his role. Rehearsed as often as a shopkeeper stocked their wares, he turned on the “pursuer”. Sexual conquests and their success were a promise of relief. As much as he would never admit, he had dug into his filing cabinet of archetypes he’d approach. Whether she was a romantic, a bookish sort, or looking for sexual wanderlust. The complexities mixed with their constant travels made for rocky waters though. Talking alone wasn’t going to work.

This made him toss and turn at night. Feeling like the ground could crack under his cot every reverie and swallow him up. A man not suited for more than being hung up like a rug, heavy with dust, to be beaten and displayed as usual. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Perfect,” he finally spoke up.

Astarion gingerly pulled her wrist in to close distance once again. The chimes of nervous giggling made his ears twitch. As if it ignited something ingrained deep in the recesses of his mind. Was it an internal monstrous instinct? Was it a matter of preying on vulnerability? The promise of a quick and easy night in most circumstances. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was a positive emotion he couldn’t distinguish yet. No matter how benign.

He scouted out the landscape of her skin, although it wasn’t long before he noticed how quick her breathing was picking up. Despite her best efforts, his sense of hearing betrayed her act. The cold touch of his hand slid up under her jaw to guide her attention to him. “Your heart is beating out of your chest.” He asked, his words quiet but tentative for her response. “Does this frighten you? Shall we not keep going?”

Thomasin couldn’t answer with honesty. The anticipation of stinging pain brought forth memories of their last exchange. As much as mild affection was as sought after as a hot meal, she couldn’t deny the way his last bite felt. The half-elf bounced between its warm embrace and its cold isolated depths.

“Oh? Maybe a little…I don’t know. Go slow. Remember how Karlach said she’d throw you to the goblins if you accidentally kill me,” she said, downplaying her racing thoughts.

She knew to keep her wits about her. A woman grandfathered into the art of being a commodity. Her hands had been adroit at distraction en masse or individual consort. Easier dealt with when jaws slackened. Those equally alert, still capable of negotiating. Those were the ones to take with caution.

Astarion debated his next course of action. The consequences of a plan diverged gnawed at him, but luck had been on his side. Divine intervention that he might be able to leech off one more day. He forced himself to commit to the move, nestled in the crook of her neck planting his lips upon her skin. A kiss. Tender and hesitant. He could feel her process the change, an inkling of a whimper escaping her.

Another, applying slight pressure this time. A pause to gauge her reaction and then another. The affection felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders, clicking something in his brain. Until his sleeve was strained by her grip, sudden and uncertain. He glanced up at her, suppressing the urge to express his fear. That be may have muddied the waters of what ethics were left in him. That he may have read her body language wrong and he was still swimming rigid circles in an overwhelming ocean.

”Thomasin. Use your words,” he said, rising to meet her gaze again.

She let the silence linger, not knowing exactly what would be the best answer. What would be the most appropriate. And so, in times of high stress, Thomasin did what she knew best. Impulsivity was at least one answer.

Thomasin reached out for the nape of his neck. Sometimes giving into the soma, rich in delights and vices, was the only means of relief. The corporeal body hungered for finger foods and bite-sized delicacies. To imprint oneself into another’s skin. To find solace in desire.

Before she realized, they met in a kiss.

The half-elf’s cheeks felt the buzz of his laughter against her lips. One of the few displays of pure joy she had ever witnessed, not born from slaughter or rightful revenge. She could feel him relax for only that brief instant. Rare was a chance to enjoy sins without the looming threat of vampiric lords, and so Astarion had latched on. Twisting and shifting, subtle yet effective at slipping into the lead. His hands veered off course, groping at every curve, tender flesh hidden away under thin linens. Grumbles and mumbles. He exchanged his thanks for her body heat and traced along her thighs in their clumsy shuffle. Finding the hem of her skirt was only half the battle. The urge to toss her into the grass felt like a warm haze throughout his skull. Never let yourself sink too deep though. Always have one foot in the door of composure.

Thomasin tilted her hips forward out of instinct. Fidgeting against greedy hands and the covetous cursed pressed up against her undergarments. He had crept his way to the delicate floral embroidery lining her underwear. Whose stitching was preyed upon by his touch. Pulling the cloth aside to slip digits right against her clit, he felt her grasp around his arms for support.

Their foreheads were mere inches apart, exchanging inaudible but palpable tension. One couldn’t avert their focus from the other. But why would they? He was reveling in his victories, the way he locked her into a vulnerable position, finding himself enraptured by the noises that left her lungs. A surrender in her panting.

“You should have told me it would be this easy to break you down,” Astarion teased.

The satisfaction from any inkling of power was powerful in itself. His mind, clear and direct, whilst hers wavered. Thomasin welcomed alleviation though. She would strike down his ego with the fearsome sword blow of one thousand men another day. A safety net was being created in ribbon. The same tied precisely at the ends of her braids, flowing wherever their rhythm took them. What a strange feeling that welled up in his chest. Over a woman he could compare to thousands of others he slept with before. Surely, if he tried. She was half-elven of no noble blood.

Perhaps it was the promise of a bloodletting. A high he continued to chase after their last exchange weeks prior. Regardless, his eyelids grew heavy. That was, until he felt a tug at his waistband. Between the two, she had begun to untie his trousers, earning some pause.

”Now, now, hey.” Astarion’s words would've sounded casual if there weren’t for the tinge of concern in its abruptness.

His fingers slipped from her thighs, index and middle sneaking their way to her mouth. An act of indecency graced upon her tongue. Although Thomasin had not a single hesitation. Her own jaw had slackened. Her own mind clouded by the undivided attention. Sampling the fruits of his labor, attentive to his next move.

“You get distracted far too easily, darling,” he managed, despite his own voice at the edge of devolving, betraying him with his own lust. “All you need to do is tell me when you’ve had your fill. Until then, I’ll have mine.”

His eyes dialed in like daggers to the plum-stained lips wrapping around his fingers. The thought of succumbing now screamed at every aspect of his being and enveloped his loins. He blinked the interference away, a string of her saliva ever so delicate in the way it clung and snapped upon his exit.

He followed Thomasin's quiet desperation. One that spoke up in a whimper as his knuckles found themselves tucked under her jaw once more. The pressure was light, but firm, wrapping around her neck and bracing her against the tree. Just enough give to allow her shallow breaths.

”Would you like to lift your skirt for me?”

Light glinted off her cheekbones as she smiled, struggling to remember the last time she felt such an intensity coloring her cheeks. Her posture wobbled and waned, but the weight of the realms were no longer her responsibility. Fistfuls of linens were balled up in her palms as asked of her. Simple instructions. She clutched them against her chest, bare and adorned in the same blush.

Her compliance meant he was onto the next act. With a great thud, Astarion planted his boot upon one of the many hearty roots growing from the oak. Thick and sturdy, weaving throughout the soil. Using his now elevated knee, he positioned her for leverage. Her freckled thigh to be placed atop his and help widen her hips.

“How could you have traveled all these years? Met so many people, played so many silly little games, and yet you’re so bad at cards.” Astarion’s snuck back into her waistband once more, interrupting the scoff Thomasin let out by her heavy breath. “All those folks out there? Falling for your feminine wiles, no? Letting you win?”

Without warning, Thomasin felt the undeniable pressure of his fingers inside of her. He had positioned his feet in a firm stable stance and balanced her body with the weight of his own, pumping into her at a steady pace. She was locked in place, but couldn’t fathom a complaint.

Time lingered. Her legs began to tremble. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Or are you losing bets on purpose?” he said. “It sounds like you should take your own advice. What was it you told me? ‘Watch out for men with sharp tongues and charming dispositions.’ But, alas, you’re not a woman of your word.”

He leaned in, quickening his pace. Such feverish passion that even Thomasin had to continuously acclimate to whatever he decided was her next venture. One of the bundles of her skirt fell and draped the two, her free hand opting to grab onto the back of his head instead. Her rings intertwined with his curls in aimless desperation. A gesture that made him let go of the powerplay upon her neck and join in the embrace.

“A sound that could lure a million sailors to their deaths. I could listen to you whine for centuries,” he purred, keeping the half-elf at bay whilst refusing any mercy. His name stretched its syllables from her lips, thick like honey. Urgent and stifled, yet strung out like another composition. It made Elvish infiltrate his vocabulary. Internal needs even he had never been allowed to unpack. “Hinual sreea, tell me. Your body belongs to me.”

Thomasin cracked a smile through her fatigued disposition, throwing her head back and fighting the urge to shout every Drow profanity she knew. “It’s yours— by sweet Eilistraeens. My body is yours. In the name raggath, please.” Thoughts consumed by the curl his knuckles and each stroke punctuating the last.

Little was left to upkeep in his performance. He had dissolved Thomasin’s intuition and judgment, free to shed his own anxieties. That was, until he realized what he was having trouble steering his own motives. Astarion simply watched her in a sort of awe. The way her body writhed. Scarred, freckled, silver tinted skin glistening from exhaustion. There was beauty in the crass and resilient. Something breathtaking. Like unattainable dusky silk, admired through storefront windows, awaiting to be torn into.

Needle-point teeth dug their way into her shoulder. Scraping under epidermis and into her veins, Astarion indulged, zeal twisting itself around her like ropes of sprawling ivy. Nothing more than waves of confusing ecstasy and questionable faith for the two. No god or goddesses in existence, only the light headed leap of faith toward her orgasm. Eilistraeens would want this, surely.

Before Thomasin could figure out his next move, she was riding every wave that crashed. It made her gasp. An audible panic as the puncture startled her. But the emotions were quick to mellow, pain much more manageable this time around. The intensity of blood purging seemed to be dampened by its coinciding pleasure. As if each corresponding sense knocked into one another, overlapping and tripping over themselves.

From the corner of his eye, he watched streams of blood spill down her shoulder, pooling where their bodies met and settling on her chest. “Decadent little thing,” he whispered in Elvish, as if the comment were more of an internal monologue leaking out. If fate would allow it, if the stars aligned, he would’ve kept going for eons. Dinner and a show. Her body lent an intoxication that made colors brighter. Sounds enticing, words processed as if eternally wading through molasses. Her yelping in pain and its subsequent laughter of thanks. The way her thighs tried to cling upon one another as his fingers buried deeper inside.

The conflicting sensations pummeled her nerves, shocking through her limbs in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Every movement became involuntary and overstimulated.

“Astarion, please. Enough, enough, enough!” She couldn’t help but choke out each word.

Astarion swallowed the last of his meal, licking his plate clean in such a primitive manner. Being fed after fasting for ages unlocked a rudimentary part of his brain. The elf swallowed hard, lips stained with the taste of copper, a thin red veil coating his mouth. Per her request, he gave her mercy from his selfish play. The bombardment simmered into a kiss to exchange their spoils within a sloppy rhythm. The direction of his mind seemed to have pivoted. Now his body couldn’t get close enough to hers, as much as he tried.

The inside of her eyelids shone a red velvet curtain. A shade not unlike the almost blackened hue of blood trailing down her chest. Catching shimmers of its highlights and plush, as if lit by bulbs of light in her mind’s eye. Enveloping everything until she was enraptured by pure endorphins. Cushioning the blow of her feelings until there was nothing more but pleasant horizons and hands to hold. Coziness in the desire of being wanted and the ephemeral homestead created for a bit. Until Astarion tore back the curtains.

Her eyes shot open. Reality rapid in its arrival and sunshine forcing her pupils to re-adjust. Thomasin fell victim to gravity’s disposal. Her body was propped up languid against tree bark. Its surface skid along her flesh until she could lower just enough to ease herself atop a bulbous protruding root.

The conclusion wasn't her untimely demise. Astarion wasn’t dragging her off to the guillotine, but that meant there was a different ending to this. He hadn’t thought that part through. The elf had thrown himself backward shortly after her pleas, taking enough steps away to collect his thoughts, chest heaving with the pulse of vitality coursing through him. Enough to power him into an entire night of mania if he wasn’t careful. With his back to her for these few brief seconds, he could think. His hand ran through his hair, dislodging tangles in the midst of his now disheveled facade.

“Are you okay?” Thomasin eventually said.

Her voice made his ears perk up. The question grounded him, the material realm known for being all too punctual. He palmed his mouth to wipe away any lingering blood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers posthaste. What little grooming he could conjure up before turning around. He grinned back at her, toothy and elated. Polar opposite to the disorientation on his expression not a second before.

“You think something is wrong after that performance?” He promptly gave two claps. “Would be offensive to not applaud.”

Despite his avoidance and fidgety demeanor, Thomasin decided to not pry. Her own knees were buckled. Emotion scrambled. What words she had uttered would be her own to contend with later, she proposed and shoved aside.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” she said, humoring him as she buttoned her blouse back up.

Astarion scoffed. “Gods, no. As if your gambling woes are going to become my problem. Encouraging your bad decisions is far more fun.”

Thomasin laughed, weakened by all their efforts, and proceeded to unhinge her jaw to speak. By the time she made a noise, she noticed he was already starting to walk back up the trail.

“Wait, you don’t want–”

“Nothing you’re going to dig up here is of my tastes, love! Still, grand efforts!” he cheered, volume rising as he went further and further along. “Dig up an old bottle of vintage and maybe I’ll bite my tongue! Good luck!”

And like that, she let him leave uninterrupted, rolling her head back and letting out a deep sigh.

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thechaoticdruid · 3 months

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AsTaRiOn Is A sUbBy BoTtOm

Hmmm......I don't believe you.

This man is always trying to pin me down.

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

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✨Fall in love with “The Rogue You Were”✨

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader: “Soft A!Astarion✨power couple✨gothic aesthetic✨steamy smut with some plot✨

Art from Mahtsazizi on X

From Chapter 1: Welcome Me

He is both things all at once, your rogue and your master, your lover in the dirt and on his throne.“That’s what I love about you,” he speaks softly, lips brushing your pointed ear. “My good girl, so eager to take the future, without losing what was the best of me before…”

“Mmm,” you breathe as you turn your head, nestling your forehead against the sharp edge of his jaw. “You can claim the world, but from time to time, you will need to fuck me in the dirt. Keep yourself… grounded.”

Chapter 1: Welcome Me

Chapter 2: Cleanse Me

Chapter 3: Surprise Me

Chapter 4: Hold Me

Chapter 5: Master Me

Chapter 6: Warm Me

Chapter 7: Persuade Me

Chapter 8: Scald Me

Ao3 Link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

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chronicsinner · 2 months

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CW: a lil smutty, a lil 🔥🦇💦

I think I just discovered somethin' bout myself.

#Also I feel the need to preface due to the characters backstory I did get the bots consent #falls over and dies #SOFT DOM ASTARION GOT ME FUCKED UPPPPP #soft dom #suggestive #smut #character ai #ai #cai #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav

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vagueiish · 3 months

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i wrote over 500 words today!!!! and there's still plenty of today left so maybe i'll write more but i have to leave soon for other things, boo, but i did it!!!!

i might also post a bit of it here later when i get enough written idk

#it's my m!tav/astarion #and im not 100 on if astarion actually seems like him or just seems like some dude in a party city astarion wig calling himself astarion #but! i like it so far~#and i mean. post-personal quest spawn!astarion would coax his lover into letting themself enjoy a small thing right?#though coax isnt maybe the right word. im not 100 on the terminology but maybe it'd be more accurate to ask:#cause astarion would lowkey go soft dom and 'make' his partner indulge in something as simple as chocolate if said partner clearly wanted it #but was also clearly denying himself the simple pleasure of chocolate because.... Reasons?#right? right??? bat boy just wants his love to be happy!!!#to the void with love

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wvrlock · 7 months

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// fallahan's switchness is so much fun to write because he can be so versatile but you MUST be paying him absolute attention. That's his only requirement.

#which is why he doesn't vibe with brats all that much #he isn't the rough kind of dom. he's soft and tender and you will submit because he'll make you melt #not because he has to use force or authority #nonono (*astarion's voice) you will be ENTHRALLED by him #suggestive cw #;about ( fallahan )

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vixstarria · 3 months

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Seeing stars

Welp, I wrote more porn.

Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader

18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.

I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.

This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.

Approx. 2,900 words

“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.”

You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets.

Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight.

“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.”

“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.”

“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.”

Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.

“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?”

“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.”

“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”

“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.”

“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?”

“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.”

Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle.

“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?”

"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased.

“I hate dancing,” he said.

“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?”

“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.”

“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned.

“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?”

“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh.

Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before.

“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?”

“I didn’t let him.”

He laughed.

“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?”

You had to think for a moment.

“Are we counting Volo?”

“Sure.”

“Then just Karlach and Withers.”

“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?”

Astarion was silent for a few moments.

“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”

Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth.

“Stop laughing,” he said.

“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.

“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.”

“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered.

Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan.

“That’s not my back, Astarion.”

One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly.

“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?”

“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.

“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.”

His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.

“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.

“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.”

His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.

“You can try,” you taunted him.

Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.

“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you.

It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars.

You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.

“Ast… what..”

You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll.

“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”

His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans.

“Let go, darling... I know you want to.”

It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it.

Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip.

“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.”

“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.

“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up.

You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred.

A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.”

You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you.

You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.

“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...”

He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.

You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t-

“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body.

You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.

“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?”

“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip.

“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.

You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again.

“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?”

He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night.

“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.

Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well.

“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...”

Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you.

“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.”

‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.

“Your what?” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.

Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.

He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.

Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go.

“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his.

“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.

You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.

You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face.

Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear.

“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder.

You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips.

“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.

“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea.

You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements.

“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder.

His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.

“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips.

He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.

“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear.

He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.

You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.

Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke.

“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.

“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?”

“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk.

“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes.

He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.

“Is that so?” he said softly.

You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..?

“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.

Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.

Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.

You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with.

“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.”

Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.

“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying.

“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”

“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled.

“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”

He chuckled at that.

“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.

“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered.

“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”

“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.

“Five.”

“It’s seven, dear, I counted.”

“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-”

Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.

“Do not finish that thought, darling.”

You grinned from behind his palm.

“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.

“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.

“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly.

“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.

You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.

Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.

~~~~~

Follow up bonus scene

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

Next in series - Confession

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 smut #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction

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littlejuicebox · 3 months

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Milk.

Back again for the third time today, this time with some porn with a plot.

I'm really on one with the Dadstarion fics. Something has been unleashed inside me, people.

I need to edit all these headers at some point.

Warnings: babies, angst w comfort, smut, nipple play, breast milk, breast milk drinking, breeding kink, daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, a bit of soft dom Astarion vibes, 18+ only please

A/N: Most of you already know I'm a degenerate.

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Astarion had been uncharacteristically melancholy this week.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual to witness him in one of his moods of irritation or frustration, particularly when some business deal or another was not going particularly well, or a contract he’d already drafted more times than he could count came back to him with more rebuttals.

But to witness this cloud of sadness around your husband, especially after Gale’s birth, was odd. He’d been the picture of domestic joy and fatherhood, completely over the moon in his new role. He even wore the sleeplessness better than you in the first few months, happy to assist where he could so that his little love could get more valuable rest.

However, just recently, his mood had become detached and distant. Everything he did and said seemed tinged with worry or sadness. It reminded you of the spawn version of Astarion from several years ago, almost always caught in a poor memory or concerning line of thought. That version of Astarion hadn’t shown up in a while. You couldn’t be sure what triggered it.

“Gale’s getting quite good at holding his head up,” You inform your husband as you crawl into bed with him after just putting the three-month-old down for the evening.

“That’s wonderful news, darling.” Astarion replies, with that same distant, pensive air he’s addressed you with all week as he focuses on the book in his lap.

You sigh, and put your hand over the book, obscuring the pages and forcing the elf to acknowledge you, “What is it, Astarion? You’ve been in this… mood all week and I’m beginning to worry you’re regretting parenthood.”

Your husband’s eyebrows crinkle as he places the book on his nightstand, staring at you with a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, “Darling, do you truly think that? What have I done besides absolutely dote on Gale? And on you!”

You realize you’ve misspoken. You see the wounds on your husband’s face as he assesses you, and your hands come to his cheeks, searching his eyes, “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I know you don’t regret Gale… I just. I’m worried, Astarion. You seem… sad. Lost in thought in a way I haven’t seen in years and… I don’t know why.”

There is a moment of silence as Astarion’s eyes flash through several thoughts, filtering through a week's worth of garbled noise within his mind. And then he sighs, “I…” he pauses and blinks, forcing himself to meet your gaze, “I’m worried that I won’t be the right masculine role model for Gale. That I’m not strong enough to show him… to show him how to be a good man.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You cannot even think of something to say, because this certainly wasn’t the direction you thought Astarion would take. He was always quite self-assured in his talents and never hesitant to be the true version of himself after the parasite fiasco over a decade ago.

He continues, “I don’t live in the woods, or whatever it is exactly Halsin does. I’m not an especially talented spell caster like Gale. And I’m fair with a blade but it’s been years since I’ve had use for one and I don’t have the level of training nor regular practice like Wyll nowadays, dear. I review contracts and make investments; I run the winery. I embroider. I’m not exactly the picture of masculinity in comparison to… others.”

There is a moment of quiet between the two of you. Concerned tears form in your husband’s eyes, which he quickly blinks away.

“Astarion… you are the strongest man I know.” You murmur, running a finger along the elf’s cheek as he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes jerk away from your face; clearly, he does not believe you.

You gasp in shock as you cup his face harder, willing the elf to understand how serious you are. You continue, vehemently, “My love. You cannot seriously believe otherwise! You have endured more than any of us could ever imagine. Over 200 years of… horrible atrocities. And then you came out on the other side of that, after having sacrificed so much — and Astarion, do not ever forget how much you willingly sacrificed — to be better. To choose differently. To be so much more.”

You are ripping the blankets away and crawling into your husband’s lap now, wrapping your limbs around his torso. His head comes to the side of your neck as you hold him, hoping to convey the love and respect you have for the elf with the warmth of your arms. Your fingers latch into the curls on the back of his neck as you speak in a reverent whisper, urging him to believe you.

“I watched you endure years without the sun in more stride than I could have possibly thought. And you are perhaps softer than you were when we met, yes. But this version of you gives me and Gale everything we need and more. I cannot imagine someone stronger or more courageous than you, my love. And I think you have forgotten how much strength it took for you to become this soft in the first place. I love this version of you. And Gale has a wonderful, loving, strong father in this version. Please do not ever doubt that.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement comes from your husband, but no other words escape him as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and envelopes your lips in a soft kiss. A thank you.

Your heart is pounding from the passion with which you spoke, and when Astarion’s lips press into yours, that passion and love begins to flow throughout your body. Pieces of you start to wake.

It had been a while since you two were intimate. Not since before Gale's birth. Days and nights had recently been filled with parenthood and left little time nor energy for much else. But as Astarion pushes forward, wrapping his arms around your back, you feel the stirrings of desire deep in your core. A soft moan leaves you as a fire begins to grow where mere glowing embers had been left several months ago.

Astarion must be feeling the same pull, because his hand trails from your back and sneaks under your nightdress to brush along your thigh. He slowly traces up the length of your leg to cup your bottom while he deepens the kiss with a soft, breathy moan of his own. He’s flexing his hips up toward you, the growing bulge in his trousers begging for further stimulation. Your lover’s tongue swipes along your lower lip, asking for entry, and your mouth opens to accept the swirling heat of desire from the elf.

He explores your mouth and caresses your bottom for a while, tenderly, slowly, and in no rush to further things along despite the mutual growing desire between your two bodies. It’s you that finally breaks the kiss before ripping your night dress over your head, exposing two heavy, milk-laden breasts in the process. Astarion brings the hand not kneading into your ass to cup your breast before thumbing the pert nipple.

You gasp, and your husband’s brows crinkle for a moment as he pauses his ministrations.

“Too sensitive?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your other breast.

“No, keep going,” You urge him, closing your eyes and rolling your hips forward to grind into his groin. He bucks forward to meet you instinctively.

He tentatively thumbs the nipple again and you moan in response. Without thinking much about it, Astarion brings his mouth to the other breast and wraps his lips around the bud before sucking gently. You release an ecstatic keen in response when his teeth graze against the tender flesh. You are continuing to roll your hips into him when he suddenly retracts from your chest with a shocked gasp.

Your eyes snap open, and you catch the final glimpse of your husband wiping breast milk from the side of his mouth as his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink. And then you feel your own embarrassment growing as rosy patches flush across your chest and cheeks. You quickly move to cover your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper, “it slipped my mind. I forgot about the…”

You’re thinking the moment’s ruined, and moving to climb off your husband, but he quietly brings his hand to your waist and stills you. His eyes search yours silently for a moment, and you’re still so consumed by your own embarrassment that all you can do is stare dumbly back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

But then Astarion lifts one of his hands to your own, slowly lowering it from where it had been covering your breast. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he once again leans forward and wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking gently. Warm milk flows into his mouth and you inhale sharply, unable to look away as your husband removes his lips from your breast, opens his mouth to show you the white liquid, and then closes his mouth and swallows.

He swallows.

And then he smirks up at you with a self-satisfied, mischievous glint in his eyes that causes the slickness between your legs to instantly double.

Gods, this man.

You are convinced your entire body is flushing red at this point as Astarion slowly brings his other hand up to palm the flesh of your breast.

“Would you like daddy to do it again?” He purrs before his tongue laps circles around the side of your heavy tit.

“I— gods, yes.” You respond, blinking down at the elf.

“Okay. But you have to ask me very, very nicely, little love.” He responds teasingly as he trails kisses to your other breast, waiting for you to say something.

“Please suck my nipple,” You whisper, eagerly rolling your groin into your husband's raging erection.

But Astarion doesn’t do what he’s asked. Instead, he’s teasing the bud with the flat of his tongue and humming contentedly, waiting for something from you.

“Please suck my nipple, daddy.” You amend, and the elf instantly engages his lips around your other breast with a soft groan. He’s drinking with vigor as your hands find the curls at the nape of his neck and take hold. Before long he’s retracting again, his mouth full of liquid gold.

And he pulls the same maneuver. Mouth open, flashing the white liquid as he looks directly into your eyes. Mouth closed. Swallow. Devious smile.

“It’s delicious, you know.” He murmurs as you stare at him, still in shock and still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that you are actually enjoying this. His hands come to either breast, both now significantly lighter, and he fondles the soft tissue.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised that you like this darling, I distinctly remember a time when I made you orgasm by mere nipple play alone.” He whispers, a glint of that cocky rogue playing across his face before he trails kisses up your chest and along your neck.

“Gods, Astarion,” You respond, “I need you inside me, now.”

You’re done with the foreplay. Your husband has you ridiculously hot and bothered, and it’s been far, far too long. You're on your knees, which are straddled on either side of his hips as you urgently tug at the waistband of his trousers, trying to work his pants and underclothes off in one motion. But your husband is purposely resisting and refusing to lift his hips, watching you with that same arrogant smile.

Oh, he's toying with you.

“Darling, why am I always the one dirty talking you?” He asks, pulling back from your neck and cocking his head just slightly as he studies your face.

“I— what?” You ask, still pulling insistently at his waistband.

“I’m always the one charming the pants off of you, dear. In over ten years, it’s never really been the other way around. But you know that I love to hear your beautiful words.” He continues, moving one of his hands to stroke between your still-clothed folds.

“Astarion, please fuck me.” You try as you struggle to keep your composure. The slickness of your cunt is making obscene noises as he expertly maneuvers between your slit, watching your expression attentively as you come undone.

He chuckles darkly as he brings his lips to your breast once again, trailing kisses along the side of the flesh, “I think you can do better than that, my love.”

You groan in dismay as the bastard continues to tease you. Several months without sex and somehow you’re still the desperate one while he’s effortlessly maintaining his cool.

“What do you want daddy to do to you, darling?” He purrs, teasingly, as his other hand that isn’t stroking between your legs trails across your skin to fondle your ass once again.

“I want you to fuck me and fill me with your seed.” You whine as his ministrations on your clit become more insistent. You’re trying to play into his desires, to convince him to stretch you open with his thick cock.

Your legs are trembling now. He’s going to make you come embarrassingly fast. You know it. He knows it.

“Won’t you beg me, my love?” He murmurs as his eyes trail across your chest, admiring your larger-than-usual breasts before his gaze locks back onto yours, fingers still strumming your clit, now adding more pressure, “You know I love to hear your sweet little pleas.”

“Please— Astarion. Please, daddy. Please fuck me. Breed me like your good little wife and fill me with—“

You gasp and then moan as your orgasm rips through you with little warning, drenching your husband’s hand in your arousal. The release causes your legs to turn into jelly, and Astarion uses the opportunity to quickly maneuver you into a new position. You are sitting on the side of the bed, and he is now standing, quickly lowering his trousers.

His cock springs free, and the sight causes your eyes to widen in shock. It’s so engorged that the head is slowly turning from that gorgeous pink to a deep purple, begging for release. Thin rivulets of pre-cum are falling in strings from the tip; much of his shaft is glistening from the same evidence of his arousal.

Astarion glances down at his own erection and then warns, “It’s been a while darling, not quite certain how long I will last.”

“Just get inside me already, daddy.” You plead and that’s enough to make your husband growl as he strokes his own member once, twice, prepping himself. He peels your drenched undergarments down your legs and tosses them aside.

As Astarion’s cock slides between your folds you gasp. Gods, it really has been too long. And then he’s pressing into you slowly, groaning deeply with the amount of effort it’s taking him to not release his spend right upon entry into your tight cunt. When he reaches the hilt, the elf stills for a moment and lowers himself down to kiss your lips before pressing his forehead against yours. And then Astarion is slowly rolling his hips, his mouth hanging open in a gasp at the delicious sensation of your walls clenching around him before he closes his eyes to focus.

It isn’t long before he's losing control. Your husband normally prides himself on being a consummate lover; it’s quite typical that he brings you to orgasm twice before finding his own release. But it has been quite some time and perhaps holding off in an attempt to hear your pleas wasn’t as easy for him as it appeared on the outside.

“Gods, darling. You feel so perfect.” The elf pants, almost breathless, his hips stuttering as he jerkily thrusts into you, trying and failing to maintain some rhythm as the pleasure overwhelms him, “So perfectly wet and tight.”

“Come inside me, daddy.” You whisper as you bring your hand to the side of Astarion’s face.

The command shocks him. Like you, he’s suddenly coming with very little warning. His eyes rip open as he’s spilling into you with a loud groan, his cock jerking inside your walls where he’s instinctively buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck-- gods, Tav--" He hisses through the waves of pleasure racking his body as his eyes roll back. His thighs are trembling as his member continues to throb, spilling several streams of hot, thick seed into you as you watch his face in awe. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed. You love the way he looks when he loses control.

You smile and kiss your husband gently as he comes down from his high, your hand stroking his cheek. And then he’s laughing and pressing his forehead back against yours. A few of his curls fall haphazardly and you reach up to lovingly comb them back into place.

“You are… still full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks as he slowly withdraws from you, causing the slickness from your lovemaking to run down your thighs and into the sheets.

“I thought you would like it,” You offer shyly, now somewhat embarrassed at your own crassness as the tides of passion recede.

“Oh, I certainly did, darling.” Your lover reassures you as he bends down to retrieve his trousers from the floor, "You cheeky little degenerate."

Just then, Gale lets out a sharp cry from the nursery. You move to stand up, but your husband stops you with a gentle hand and a soft, adoring smile.

“I’ll go and get him. Don’t waste the seed still inside you, dear. Give it a few more precious moments to try and do its thing, hm?” Astarion says, partly teasing and partly serious as he shoots you a wink before heading out the bedroom door to retrieve the infant.

This one won’t take, you know as much. You aren’t ovulating. But as you watch the love of your life exit the room on his way to retrieve the other love of your life, you think you may actually be ready to start trying for another one sometime soon. You know Astarion is simply waiting for your cue.

Anything for daddy.

#astarion fanfic #baulders gate astarion #astarion fic #baulders gate 3 #astarion x reader #baulders gate tav #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion reader insert #dadstarion fic #dadstarion #soft dom astarion #astarion fluff #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion smut #smut

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astarionancuninslittlelove · 3 months

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Eyes On Me

“Because you and I both know that none of these mouthbreathing heathens could even satisfy you in one-fourth of the capacity that I can. Your body responds only to me. I do know your tells, after all," Astarion said in amusement.”

Find my new Astarion x Tav (F) fanfic here

Photo by @cheekylittlepupp

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarionxtav #astarion #tav #astarion bg3 #astarion acunin #mine #ao3 #archive of our own #soft dom astarion #dom astarion #astarion fan fiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #smut and fluff #smut

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astarionfixation · 16 days

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Chapter 10: *there's no need to hold back anymore*

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

Rating: EXPLICIT SEX (fellatio, PIV intercourse) Continuous Consent Check-ins

CW: vague mentions of previous trauma

Word count count: 3.6k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/139817542

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

SUMMARY: They take it really really REALLY slow, but sex. And mutual pining but how the heck can they be in bed naked together and still not get into their heads they want each other? Because trauma is a bitch, that's why.

The bedroom feels fragrant with the scent of her. Every part of her. Her naked body still traversed by the sudden tremble and jolts that are slowly fading. Every kiss his lips leave around her face, her forehead, her collarbones, her neck, still rewards him with a low guttural murmur he can feel from her throat.

*So languid and soft, so malleable…*

And it's all his doing.

His half clothed body still lying halfway on top of her, an overdressed leg between her naked ones but as she is coming down from her orgasm, looking utterly blissful and spent the corner of his eye is caught by the copper bathtub as the morning sun rays reflect upon it next to the window. And fine… frustratingly, maybe what she needs now after sharing such a vulnerable moment with him is… care.

A part of his mind kicks him with a moment of discomfort much as his own nether regions felt strangled up against the fabric of his trousers until only a few moment ago, but at the same time the vague memory of a feeling, rather than actual events, comes to the surface, even though it carries almost none of the torment usually linked to anything related to… the last two centuries…

And that is the desire, need and gratitude he would have held for a moment of rest after a night of seduction. The peace it would have brought him to close his eyes and let the nights be washed off his skin, if not his soul, by simply being submerged in hot, clean, perfumed water.

He knows she relished in the pleasure he brought her to, her body if not her entire being yet, but there will be time to work and lead her towards complete perdition.

His lips trace from her shoulder down to her arm whilst his body slowly peels away from hers and after planting a final, lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist, he’s now standing.

Her body is a painting, lying on her back and her dark locks splayed around with her eyes still closed and such a glowing expression painting her delicate features.

He's about to turn around to swiftly cover the few steps that separate the bed from the bathtub when a soft growl of protest raises from her lips and the hand he just left a kiss upon reaches to him, and as her fingers find the waistband of his breeches she hooks them in, preventing him from moving further

“Astarion, please don't leave… ”

He barely has the time to register the fact she's fully awake and aware when she has lifted herself up and in a moment she's kneeling on the bed.

Just in front of him.

Still beautifully, gloriously bare.

And now she's looking up at him, her dark eyes pleading and his mind cannot remember for the life of him any plan he had set himself upon. Her fingers still dancing and now *pulling!?* at his waistband that makes him…

“would you… if you want to…”

*You'll be the end of me sweet thing…*

His hand reaches up to hers, softly demanding her attention and moving her away from his clothing, he pulls it to his lips once more.

“There will be time darling, let me draw you a bath for now”

After all, he's trying to remind himself that, after feeding on her last night and the *glorious* morning of unexpected activities, she needs rest, much as keeping long term benefits in mind is proving an unreal feat of his will when she's looking up at him with pleading eyes that seems to just be begging him to take her

“Wait, is it because…”

She trails off and suddenly pulls back from him, searching for the bedsheet as if she just became aware of her nudity. She pulls the fabric to hide her magnificent body from him and a tinge of disappointment rises on his mind, though he knows

*it's alright, she needs to rest, she needs care, I need to stop…*

“I know I'm not… the way I look… I'm sorry… you said it… I just didn't think… I'm so sorry… you didn't have to…. I'm sorry”

His own memories from the first night he fed on her rush back and his own damned words he spat at her with the bile and anger of what he thought was the loss of her are suddenly vivid in his mind

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

The shame and disgust for his own self, for the absurd lie packaged perfectly only to hurt her in that moment when he felt like a caged animal, drown him.

He should disappear.

He should run away and live with the pain of the loss of her and all the ways in which she had brought him anything positive because all he knows is how to lunge and destroy when all he has of himself is already in pieces.

Her feeble voice brings him back before his mind can plunge in that dark abyss

“I don't know why I thought you wanted me too… you were just so kind, I'm sorry… I misread everything… you didn't have to… I'm so sorry Astarion…”

*She really believes that!?! That's what stuck with her!?! Not the dozens of nights spent holding her until I lost all my fucking blood and hers to my strained cock… that!?!? She thinks that!?!?*

He might have considered the masochism of depriving himself of her but for her to believe he doesn't want her?!

“Fuck… do you really not know?!??”

The sound of his own voice surprises them both, her eyes widen and that's what makes him realise how his voice must seem… angry? Dangerous. His long delicate fingers thread across his own hair, almost pulling because of the rage, the frustration, because the only creature he ever cared for is naked in front of him and yet sad, thinking he has barely done her a favour by finally holding and tasting her body, as if he hasn't felt every reverberation of her moans directly onto his twitching cock whilst her body convulsed around his fingers.

“You must know all the ways in which your simple presence intoxicates me… you must have felt how my body reacts every time you let me touch you, how your skin torments me and how I have dreamt of sinking into you from the very beginning… Why do you think I said those things?”

*What the fuck am I doing?!??!!!!*

His hands pull at his soft curls and his eyes have to close because he can't stand this, he can't see her, looking at him while his own traitorous tongue lines all the ammunition that could ever be necessary to destroy him. After a long unnecessary breath the words pour out against the will of a large part of himself and push past the pressure around his throat

“You never knew I was just terrified!? Being so close to having you and yet that night you rejected me, I was mad! I was just… hurt and wanted to hurt you for it but I never… gods look at you… you really thought anyone could hold a candle to you in claiming my attention!?!”

*Fuck it… she might as well…*

“Every inch of your body, your breath, your scent, your hair… I taste you and yet I always feel like a starved man because I can't… you didn't even want to…”

His arms fall to his side, his head shakes to try and push away all the words and images and incredibly the grasp at his throat held tight but not enough to prevent that pathetic confession. His eye peek to look at the certainly disgusted expression on her face when he sees her and

*How did I not feel the warmth getting closer!?!! Where the fuck did my mind go!?!?*

She's left the cover of the sheet and she's now sunk into her knees.

Directly in front of him.

The tip of her nose so close to his navel that all he can focus on is to keep his legs straight not to fall at that vision and vicinity.

Her tapered, delicate fingers are about to reach for his breeches again but this time he has exhausted words and thoughts to dissuade her

“Astarion, can I take these off of you?”

His mouth must have fallen open because he realises after a few moments he's in need to swallow around nothing, his head barely nodding of its own volition and when she smiles at him and nods herself as her hands reach down his waistband to pull down, he finds a part of himself grateful for the fact she hasn't thrown back at him his own demands for vocal consent.

Her hands guide his trousers down past his hips and a deep sigh escapes his throat when finally his semi hard cock is freed, followed by a hiss as it immediately meets her warm breath as she moves down, low on her knees. His legs move of their own volition to discard the last piece of clothing and he finds himself standing naked in front of her.

Her eyes raise to meet his and before he can think he feels something reaching, touching his hand and a moment later he realises her own fingers have interlaced with his. She looks at him so… softly?

“Please… can I touch it? I want to make you feel as good as you did me…”

“Sweetling… You don't have to…”

Her voice lowers

“I want to taste you too”

His head nods before he can follow what's happening… the last thing he hears is her voice saying something about beauty but that’s the moment he feels her fingers delicately wrapping around his shaft followed in a flash by the soft, warm, wet sensation of her mouth taking him in.

He draws in a sharp breath as the scent of mulled wine, flowers, pomegranate and just need and desire make his head spin. The softness of her mouth is the most delicate sensation he can remember ever feeling in a context such as this. Though his sensitivity is likely due to the fact that he does not remember the last time anyone cared to ask, cared to do something for him, something so completely focused on his own pleasure rather than everything he could do and give and…

“F…fuck”

His head is falling back, she feels so soft and caring. Her hot, wet mouth, her tongue moving slowly and delicately from one sensitive spot to the other. As she begins to follow the ridge of his tip he realises the animalistic growl he hears it's actually coming from his own throat. The moment her lips lock and she softly starts to suck him in, a shock of electricity traverses his body, cock to spine and then the back of his brain when something gets poked the wrong way and all he can hear now are screams.

His teeth clench as his hand reaches for her check, forcing himself to be as sweet and delicate as she has been but pleading her to stop. She pulls away and looks up at him

“Am I doing something wrong?”

His hand keeps caressing her cheek softly, his head shakes and without the overwhelming sensation of her mouth around him the scream in his head subsides. This is not the time to wonder what must have gone wrong at some point for such a wonderful gift from her to feel like a threat.

His cock twitches, those soft, sweet kisses have already brought him back to full, strained hardness

“You are perfect, I promise you, absolutely divine. I just… just… can you lie back for me, my sweet?”

Nodding sagely, granting him the grace and understanding he certainly does not deserve she immediately does as asked. After disentangling herself from the caress on her check with a reassuring kiss on the palm of his hand, and even something that simple and sweet sends shivers down his spine. He follows her and his own naked form is crawling between her legs as she opens them to let him climb her body. The warmth of every bit of her skin, from her ankles to her thighs, stomach and breast is engulfing him and once he feels the tip of his cock brush along her folds his hand reaches down to caress her sex softly and

*Fuck she’s still so wet and warm…*

A delicious mewl leaves her lips and it’s just so inviting, a summer flower blooming just for him, her body arching slightly and her hips raising so that he can feel her press herself to his shaft and there’s no point, no reason anymore to deny himself. His hand goes to position the tip just at her entrance and he concedes one last time, one last layer of safety before he just lets his desire to possess her run wild

“Are you sure you want this, my sweet?”

Her head moves in small quick nods under his and when her voice comes next she sounds like she’s begging, absolutely enraptured, maybe just like he is, in these last few months of anticipation

“Please Astarion I need you… but only if you want me too…”

*there's no need to hold back anymore*

The thought leaves his mind as his hips begin to slowly push and broken breaths leave his chest as the inner warmth of her sex envelops his ingress. He has to steady himself and slow down, carefully measuring every movement to savour the moment she’s finally becoming… his. The filter that usually occludes the path between his mind and his lips isn’t found anywhere around his throat anymore as all he can feel is just her soft, tight wetness, slowly engulfs him.

“You have no idea… I’ve needed this… I’ve needed this… I’ve dreamt of this since the beginning…”

Doubts around that, in hindsight, crucial rule of hers are swiftly dissolved as her hand grabs the back of his neck so he can finally bury his quick tongue in her mouth. He feels her involuntarily clench and tight around him and he’s not sure whether his words or his cock are to blame for that. A deep, guttural moan resonates from her throat to her lips, separating them from his as her head tilts slightly back, subconsciously offering access to the delicate skin of her neck to him

“Your blood, your scent… your skin… I've conjured thousands of ways to bring you pleasure in my mind, I wanted you to be as obsessed with me and I was with you…”

He can feel her getting used to his size and relax her walls around him so that he deliberately pushes himself further inside of her

“Yet I swear, I would have been happy to never lay a finger on you if that was what you wanted, I would have followed you like a dog to the end of the world and my life, just to be near you, I couldn’t even kiss you in my dreams because you didn’t give me permission… I had made my peace with it…”

Just because the words are coming out it doesn’t mean they are not hard confessions to concede, he has to hide his face in the crook of her neck as once again he stills inside of her to let her adjust once more to his size

“But you feel… Gods… please… please don’t ever leave me and I’ll be your ever willing slave…”

The words get muffled and confused with his mouth now pressing against her neck to try and stop that terrifying cascade of truths. He pushes his hips and he feels her all around him, filling her inch by inch and once he’s finally flush against her, buried to the hilt in her soft, wet sex, he stills completely. He can feel her heartbeat pushing all around his cock that can recognise every small increment of pressure she involuntarily causes around him. Her walls stretched so tight around him he's sure, the same grip on his neck would undoubtedly kill him, and this is not far from that

“A… Astarion… I… I’m yours”

He doesn't have time to register the full meaning and implication of her words because suddenly all he can feel are her hips, gently swaying underneath him, her silky walls caressing his length as his eyes roll back in his skull and his entire body seems to exist only in the places it touches hers. He’s about to begin moving his own hips to meet her movement when he catches it. Likely imperceptible and completely unbeknownst to her but he can feel, he can hear the strain of her body to accommodate him. She’s trying to work through it but she’s in pain, and he cannot allow that. His hand reaches between them and presses on her stomach to try and still her. He leaves a kiss on her neck and despite parts of his brain screaming murder to him he stops the steady motion that had brought him such ecstasy so far.

“What.. What did I do? I’m sorry… Astarion please… no… I need you…” her hips make several desperate delicate movements up to meet him begging him to bury himself in her once more.

“You're wonderful sweetling, there’s nothing to worry about… I just want to try… something different… Do you trust me?”

With an agile movement he unsheaths himself, now lying next to her, catching her hand with his, his thumb caressing hers in slow circular motions

Her brows are still furrowed in a concerned expression but her head nods slightly and so with the hand he’s holding he pulls her to him until her body is now on top of his, One soft, warm thigh on each side of his pale, bony hips. Her warm sex finds his own, strained once again immediately as if they’re calling to each other. He can feel her moist lips and her clit swollen from unrealised desire pressing against his shaft, He pulls in a sharp breath just as he hears her hiss at the contact as well and that’s how he knows, if he needed to, that she might actually need him as much as he needs her. He rests both his cold hands on her hips that seem designed by sin itself to drive him insane

“Why don’t you move these enchanting hips of yours, just so we can feel each other for a moment?”

Her head moves in the same rhythmic, soft movement he can now feel directly on his cock.

“Like… like this?”

Her slick, wet folds dragging on his length, pressing just right until he can feel her tumescent bundle of nerves pressing just against his tip, before her hips move again and he can feel every texture of her sex drawn directly onto his cock. She’s driving him mad and he’s sure every single drop of blood in his body has now rushed between his legs leaving little for his mind to grasp onto

“You’re… you’re doing amazing darling… we can… we can take our time… you’re just… wonderful…”

His words might be doing something to her because at that, he feels her press herself just a bit harder against his hips, indulging in the contact, grinding her warm sex against his. He can still feel her heartbeat through every blood vessel engorging her centre and he’s sure he might just die like this if he doesn’t get to be inside her. She throws her head back, the intoxicating scent of her thrown around by the luscious locks that are now gathered at her back, slightly tickling his thighs, he can tell his plan is working not only because of the renewed amount of slick wetness from her that’s now coating his cock but also through the muffled moans she’s trying to hold back. She brings her head back and her eyes open just enough to find his

“This is… something new… for me… but it feels… nice… very…”

The implications of that sentence hit him like a ton of bricks.

*Of course she’s never been on top, never given this control… like I never let any of them…*

“Our first time shouldn't hurt, my sweet, you were so accommodating trying to push through it, it's only fair I offer you the same grace… and this way it will be easier for you to come again”

It takes a moment for his words to reach her but the moment they do he can see something change in her dark eyes. Her body moves so that the tip of his cock is now positioned right at her soft, wet entrance. She looks at him, her voice almost an imploration

“Please… can I?”

The words die on her mouth as she’s biting her bottom lip in anticipation. He dips his fingers in her hips just a bit further to encourage her

“When you ask so sweetly I can’t deny you anything my darling…”

His hands guide her and finally he can feel her wetness beginning to envelop him again, much more resolute than he did moments ago and she doesn’t stop until he’s fully, completely buried inside of her, and with the last of it, she gives him no reprieve and her hips begin moving against him, her soft walls so tight around him dragging along his length and

*Fuck…*

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tieflingsfingers · 18 days

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Unwoven and Triple Knotted

What and who: Conflict resolution of mirror scene between Astarion and Thomasin, 18+ soft dom moment. Humor and fluff mixed with inner turmoil. Summary: Thomasin finds Astarion isolated, stargazing, and attempts to confront him about their argument. When her positive comments over his appearance don't land well, she takes another approach and teaches him about the ribbon she ties around her neck. The two find themselves connecting but intimacy at this point of their lives has become muddied and difficult to navigate. Warning/Content: More in the realm of character study, so a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. OC lore on home in Baldur's Gate, her performative careers, and the ways her and Astarion relate. Part of series. Word Count: 4,775 Ao3 Link

Thomasin was hesitant, but pushed herself up onto each rocky step until she noticed Astarion. Legs stretched out and bathing in the moonlight as she often found him doing in the sun’s shining glow. He looked over at her, emotions difficult to read. The elf’s nonchalant nature quarreled with nervous habits. Shame only shone by his nails digging at the weave of his pants. A nightshirt that cascaded over on his frame, each button immaculate in its stitching, aside from the last, whose threads had been picked and pulled at. His fingers curled inward once caught.

“A night owl come to catch the night’s prey, I presume,” he joked in a quick rebuttal to anything she may have had to say. Any stoicism left on his face waned as he watched his tone. He assumed no sympathy, so the stakes weren’t to worry over.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly, smoothing her long shirt down to sit beside him.

The elf let her ruminate in silence, until he noticed something in her peripheral. He had assumed she was entranced by the window of sky just as he was, but the faint constant beat of her vitals inclined. She was looking at him.

“What? What are you looking at?” he asked, unsure whether to be concerned.

Thomasin sighed, sleep heavy on her eyes. Her palm laid flat against his cheek and rested along the angle of his jawline, taking in the details of his face. The measured inches, curves, and planes of where each feature met. The heat from her skin burned hotter than usual, a signifier when anxieties were being snuffed.

“I can tell you what I see,” she said as she tilted his face side to side, handling his visage with a particular tenderness.

Astarion’s eye refocused once realizing she was nervous. He had to remind himself, safety had its own sacrifices and her reign wasn't awful. Although tender hands always reminded him of nights where he sat with shy folks, pretending all was normal and the opportunity of sweet delusion. The tiniest crumble of respite. Sweet nothings, bashful glances, and those poor souls that gave him the key to their chest cavity.

The heart was a raw, greedy thing, but it also housed their deepest secrets. Their unfiltered adoration. Impossible to not be utterly captivated by such naivety. Those beautiful natural gems he cradled before they were sent off and cut down into shards and sharp edges.

He dislodged the rhetoric in his mind. Earlier that day, her body had stiffened. He observed how she walked with mechanical grace their entire venture through the Zhent hideout. Heel to toe, grammar, etiquette, and poise. She, too, was prone to discomfort of the past, but inner turmoil often left him blind to such a fact. At least she smiled back at him once more, expression worn and forgiving. These moments always left him slightly puzzled.

Thomasin’s eyes wandered, knitting together compliments and observation alike.

“Piercing red eyes, but still kind. Strong bone structure cast in a pale light. Shall I keep going?”

Astarion’s face contorted, although careful to not give away his search for ulterior motives. It was easier to ascribe her attempts at creating this mythology to lack of practice. It’d take her at least another century to get to his refined status. “If you wanted to give me obvious little compliments, you could’ve said so.”

Thomasin threw her head back in annoyance, returning back to give him a gentle slap on the cheek.

“After storming off on me, take my advice just this once and choose silence. Let me have my fun. Forbid I not speak of my favored treasures like thy curls and how they intertwine with a caress between my fingers. Thou must be witness to my confession, how besotted I become at the thought of thy strong arched nose. One that can make a bluebird sing even in those most damned of tempests.”

Astarion laughed a bit. Longer than usual, in fact. Something he rehearsed often to figure out how to let it be more natural. At least the prose tickled him. Easier done when he admitted to himself that he enjoyed her habit of brushing away his stray curls hanging down his temple. It had taken him getting used to others seeing his fussed up appearance after bathing in the woods. A scrappier aspect he wasn’t proud of.

“When did you come up with those?”

“In my spare time, when I find you charming.” She tilted her head. “ As rare as that may be these days. You’ve yet to find the journal I’ve filled with every reason I adore the creases on your cheeks when you laugh.”

Astarion frowned, now all too conscious of the lines embedded with imperfection, and straightened his face. No need to exacerbate the problem. Only now was he thankful she held onto his cheeks so often, preventing his skin from its aging collapse.

“I think you look lovely. Is that a crime to speak upon?” Thomasin reassured him.

Astarion rolled his eyes.

“My skin is as pristine as it was when I was a magistrate. How foolish of you to assume anything about this vessel is working by mortal rules. People were sentenced to city square executions for less offensive behavior. ”

She let her jaw go ajar at his lack of tact, pushing his face away from her. “Dearest Magistrate, dare I utter the words? That I’ve enjoyed a freckle or two on your face?”

“Death. First orders to the guillotine, expedited. Rescheduled, then re-expedited.”

Astarion let out a half-hearted chuckle, leaning back against the cold rock wall. This was not behavior he was going to foster. The elf’s fingers ran along his face where her hand last was, as if the teasing had physically stung.

“But you’ve never complained about mine before, have you?” she protested, resting her back against the rock wall beside him. Her knees clutched in tight to her chest, thin woolen tights insulating her from the cool cave air. Her leg knocked into his playfully. “I caught you counting the freckles on my thighs at the grove once. Heathen. Wait until you’ve counted the ones on my ankles before you go that far.”

He chuckled, but before he could respond, he felt her clutch onto his arm with both hands. As much as the affection caught him off guard, it was accompanied by a much needed exhale from him. Thomasin’s body rested against his, forehead pressed onto his shoulder. The mixture of emotions was confusing. Frightening, even. But this was no abnormal way of being since she was dropped onto the coast to fend for herself and her tadpole.

City life was comfortable in its monotony, but now it felt like every protective layer she had built was being peeled off constantly. So haphazard, constant peril and danger revealing the gentle genuine inner shell that could be startling at first. Like a stranger, but this was no unknown entity. These were the remnants of young adulthood exposing their wounds in its regression.

“I hope I didn’t upset you too much earlier” the half-elf uttered, her expression dropping a bit as it lowered. Her voice bent curled at its edges, frayed like parchment dried after a rainy morning

“I’m not upset at you. My past self and his tepid lust for life is just of no importance now.”

He pecked a kiss atop her head, scooping up her cheek to witness her vulnerability. The warmth of her skin. The bare natural state of her face and how fatigue roosted itself into her languid body. He considered how his composure cracked before and the contemptuous untruths he spit at her. Elven hierarchies and their bloodlines were of little priority now. Arguing over the exact definitions of elven maturity even moreso, the elf finding the societal concept of years unreliable. Long after a century, many elves he knew were feeble, sheepish, and unhinged. But, he couldn’t help shelter under the cloak of superiority bred by insecurity.

Astarion funneled the ambivalence towards her in actions he knew best. The elf was not to dwell on what felt uncomfortable. What atrocities he could commit, knowing he was incapable of true intimacy. He could, however, atone for past mistakes in the way he knew best. What all wanted from the dexterity of quick hands and jaded charisma. An apology not from the heart. That was long dead to have any significance.

He was to make it up to her by satiating what was insatiable. Eroticism where once was pain. The elf caressed Thomasin’s face in a manner that seemed practiced, recognizing the beats where he could probe his tongue against hers. Affection he was certainly not unfamiliar with, but not one he was frequent to consider in his arsenal. Feeling her reciprocate, the two still had occasions of awkward fumbles. The overcompensation of those muddied in their early experiences of sensuality. The silent identification of whether to perform carnality or stay alert for threats.

Thomasin could feel herself giving too much, burning down the wick to nothing and watching candle wax drip far faster than she could stop it. A sharp inhale flooded her nose as she pulled back, chuckling between them. “Lust is a fickle thing if we don’t know how to treat her. Or how to treat ourselves, honestly,” she said before swinging a leg over to straddle his lap.

The half-elf’s violet nightshirt was long enough to hit at her hip, leather strings lacing down its side to personalize one’s shape. Although the garment hung loose along her frame and she began to unlace the string from its eyelets. It slithered from each hole with ease, reliving the fabric of its tension and allowing it to split and settle at the natural indentation of her waist. She, then, gingerly wound it twice around his neck. A little bow now dangled at his adam’s apple, loops pinched at the ends until tied symmetrical.

“You know how I always wear a ribbon? I picked the habit up again after the crash. Throughout the years, when I’d sleep with, y’know, paying lovers, I kept one tied around my neck. I always said it was for better tips in the end, and part of it was. I think men found it enticing, but I think I liked it because it was the only thing they weren’t allowed to take off. So I could feel in control of at least that.”

Thomsin leaned forward to press her lips along his jawline and neck. Careful, gradual, in the same way she placated previous clients and lovers with anxieties. Signs she caught fast after the sudden urgency of their last sexual encounter. Now, she was to ease into his pace, whatever that may be. To figure out if he was just there for her body and what could be stemmed from its blood and loins.

“Makes you look darling,” she said, letting her breath brace the crook of his neck, where his bite scars resided. The miniscule twitch of her cheek when she felt him laugh from a blend of amusement and fluster, she hoped. Her next words came out in such a low volume, they could only be understood by the parting of her lips and flicks of her tongue. As if it was only to be heard from his keen ears and not a soul more. “Does it make you feel safe too?”

Astarion’s ears drooped as he endured the rising pang of obligation lighting up within him. He wanted to through the motions set forth. What was planned. He couldn’t process why she would want to derail the inevitable. His fingers hooked onto the waistband of her woolen tights and began to tug downward. A subtle shift in his weight as he tried to take a dominant approach.

She placed both of her hands on his wrists to stop him.

“Please, let me do something for you,” she remonstrated.

Thomasin was immediate to catch her insistence and recoiled. Not out of bashful regret, but knowing of how cloudy and unclear sexual communication could accidentally become. How, even if he consented, she didn’t want to lose her own agency from a lack of thought. “Unless, I’m overstepping this.”

Astarion processed the type of intimacy that was happening. His eyes locked onto her, pushing down any malaise until he could sheath it under a practiced grin. Responding in a now humored tone, he pulled his hands back, open palms at her mercy. Playful dramatics in his surrender.

“All is alright. I know the connection we share and how much you want me. How could I say no to such flattery? This is you treating your lust as it deserves to be treated. Should I pretend to be a client? The Anonymous Rivington Special?”

She scrunched her nose at the thought, hiding her disapproval beneath an unimpressed smile as if it was absurd to offer. It wasn’t that her career in Baldur’s Gate was tortuous or even unpleasant. Life there had unconventional quirks and repetition. The same roads, daily newspapers, ignoring bickering on the streets like it was wallpaper. The guards she’d walk around as they penned down the details of a knife fight. A woman and child rejoicing over the same ten magic tricks performed on corners every evening.

The half-elf survived off barkeeps giving coin for her music and the bar patrons that nearly fell from their seats. Surrounding brothels were always somewhat regulated and the vital gossip was plentiful, giving insight into those requesting private home visits. Both a safety precaution and ample reason to bond with co-workers over bottles of wine.

None of those, however, would lay in her bed at night. Wouldn’t cradle her after her thighs ached and eyes were sore. She was never one to complain, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a hollowness in the confines of her small home. Even the nicest clients and most loyal bar-goers could show their appreciation only so much.

Thomasin shook her head. “Be here, please,” she whispered and went back to the peppering affection upon him. Mild kisses and nipping that caught the edge of his ear lobes and jaw. Underneath her, she could feel his chest rise and fall with a sigh and his demeanor relax muscle by muscle. His cold embrace resting atop her hips and guiding their rocking motion. A lazy rhythm that needed no allusive interludes or coy lyricism to keep up with.

Murmurs and muffled giggles skulked from her throat until she noticed his arm move in her peripheral vision. As she leaned back to meet his gaze, she noticed him pointing upward. Not at the moon, but at the particular aura of nothingness around them. He tilted his head, as if to catch noise in its stillness.

Their campmates weren’t terribly close, it did remind her how the cave’s systems latched onto loud noises and echoed when shouted in. Something Karlach was very fond of entertaining herself with when they first arrived. Astarion lowered his voice, keeping a finger up to punctuate the lack of vibration about.

“This place will blare your lecherous thoughts,” he warned her.

Thomasin nodded at him, understanding how overwhelming it was for the two, but never to be said aloud. How she had to keep control of herself, as if to preserve some sanctity she couldn’t quite define. Perhaps it was the lingering aftermath of feeling she wasn’t much more than a vessel. The thought was all too consuming. Neither had remembered what intimacy was like within passion and leisure.

Astarion was quick to pull her back in to solidify their agreement. To prevent her from asking questions or voicing more thoughts. His internal motor was powered by pure curiosity and the prospects of sex outside of rigid oppression. He’d been submissive, dominant, and every version of versatile.

Now there was a newfound feeling, leaking like an old ceramic carafe whose baked clay flaked off in fragile chips. No way to keep the water from spilling out, streaming from between his fingers. It was as if emotions were both primary and secondary, fighting to claim the forefront.

All of the battling to and fro muddled the longer her touch explored his bounds. The light tickle of her fingertips and bands of rings grazed over a prominent bulge in his lap. Deepening their contact until it was a massage, kneading at the woven lacing of his pants, awaiting for his sobriety to stutter. How she idly fussed with the baggy pair keeping him clothed, brown linen tied at the waist and tapering into his boots.

Thomasin could see him fidget under her like a yearning ache he was trying to suppress. A man that remained as collected as he physically could until immediate gratification was stripped. She was now fiddling with the lower half of his shirt. Her touch had retreated up his pelvis and attempted to finesse a button or two open, only to be dissuaded by his hands.

They were pushed back down to take care of the lacing she left behind. An urgency that reassured her he was enjoying himself. The half-elf laughed at his unabashed persuasion, letting her delight buzz between their kissing, while lacquered nails loosened the knot securing his pants tight.

As the fabric gave way and access, she moved to gain better leverage. Thomasin inched over and straddled atop his thigh. One hand propped against the wall while the other cupped his cheek. Silent but studying his eyes and their curved inner corners. How his eyelids lowered in a manner she had only seen stunted and interrupted.

The warmth in her fingers dragged downward, leaving an imprint of its presence down his shoulder, clavicle, ribs and then the unfolded flaps of his waistband. The half-elf tittered as a light gasp hit her ears. She continued until she held onto the bare flesh beneath a pair of embroidered underwear, careful consideration being lent as his breathing and muttering devolved. Heavy petting, lingering, laborious. Thorough in her strokes.

Astarion shuddered, feeling the head rush of pleasure elbowing its way in, fogging his thoughts faster than usual. A high he had only felt when savoring the bloodletting between them. The only time he had pushed past this threshold at abrupt speeds.

Maybe it was the grounding of her weight atop him. It made him want to make up for any time he practiced restraint. Make an apologetic announcement over how foolish he was over the tiniest missteps. Even if he was in the right, logic and context had flown out of his orbit. Scenarios his brain couldn't formulate visuals of, yet alone articulate.

“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” she whispered, listening to him devolve into panting.

He liked the way that sounded from her lips.

She was sweet. More delectable than the untouched perfection of a devil’s dinner table spread. Fresh baked pies and grapes in every form. Ripe, crushed, fermented, enticing across polished silver platters. Buttered breads and grilled game signaling harvests and carnivorous tendencies. Garnished by the herbs of a garden manufactured in the hells. The eternal bloom of moonflowers frozen by a beautiful pact.

Astarion let his head roll back, feeling his haggard breath, the jutting air rolling off his tongue. Time felt slow. Silken. Like every sensation was boiling down to feeling her hips sway back and forth upon his leg. His eyes settled on the small crater at the roof of the cave, observing the night sky. The same glowing vastness above him every night, clustered from the lack of light pollution. It was the smattering of stars against the darkness. The speckles reminded him of the freckles on Thomasin’s shoulder and it sent the signal to tilt his head forward and look at her.

“Fucking hells, I’d rise from the grave every night for this,” his voice hushed through self-restraint. However, the worry of social decency was getting crushed by eye contact that met back at him. How she looked with bare skin and the evenings he caught himself staring after she washed up in a stream. Her face’s details greyed and softened. Eyes honest in their fatigue and unwavering search for comforts. It triggered his subservience, attempting to offer what compensation she was entitled to. The demands felt like loosened floorboards creaking in his skull, too unstable to commit jumping on.

Astarion figured his face must’ve shone his struggles as she smiled back at him and pressed her lips to his. The elf felt her tongue swirl along his, allowing her to take the lead due to every other muscle occupying his faculties. They all twitched and strained, desperate to betray the last grip of composure left. He wondered if this was what it felt like when others opened their chests, but then noted he hadn’t given a key. His felt like the forced butt of a shovel, cracking ribs and applying steady stents to heal where clumsy hands left. He wondered if it would halve his heart. The organ wouldn’t know what counted as a stake until already split.

Thomasin’s touch gave too much grace for that. She wasn’t just giving him time to run, waiting until he was far enough to no longer anticipate the arrow puncturing between his shoulder blades. The primal urge toward preservation never bubbled to the surface.

The longer he let himself enjoy it all, the more he could accept she paid attention to him. His ears occasionally drooped down and back up, melting, the spontaneous revival, until melting once more. His thoughts became blurred, an ever-confusing mass of connections. Attempts to compare the feeling and identify it. Maybe the high of moonflower sable burning to ash in pipes in seedy bars. It was hard to recall.

Astarion’s own hands followed her movements and the folds of her stomach until the texture of wool met his fingertips. He yanked at the thin fabric of her tights, elvish pouring out of him from a dictionary long unused. “Orar, descenthallon, tham salen irinal irador. Saren rivvim–” A pause, somehow remembering to consider her partial fluency, and simplifying the elven prose to be understood. “I wish to touch all of you.”

The half-elf was more than ready to lean aside to let him get rid of the barrier between them. Her fingers untied the other half of her nightshirt so the slits on each side opened for his use. With a covetous hoist, he positioned her back onto his lap and let his fingers glide along her inner thighs. The momentum pulled a giggle from her that only encouraged his rapacious behavior.

Once Thomasin made herself comfortable and widened her stand, she lowered herself down to the hilt, lifting her shirt to view it from her angle. Her shoulders rose in tandem with her heartbeat, acclimating her body to his and the closing space between them. Groans rumbled off his teeth and into the still air as she graduated into a gentle rise and fall. A trance that let Thomasin drag into the mental haze that plagued him. Her own half-lidded eyes met his, their minds blurring into the slow incline of speed.

For the first time, he was able to properly study the details of her body. With her head buried in his shoulder, he collected data like he’d done with countless others. Consuming the ridges and trails of her body. Fingers digging in until indentations were deep within the plush of her thighs. Each bump, bruise, scar. A tactile history on his clammy hands.

It wouldn’t occur to either of them that this outlet came naturally from arrested development. Two folks forced out of their young adulthood and the frivolous mistakes that being young allowed. The privilege of aimless learning they were supposed to share as anecdotes years later. Daring friends to jump off docks, pocketing fireworks to take to city limits, sloppy trysts. Their stories were now told through dismissive jest and omitted details. The opportunity to simply enjoy a night was organic.

Astarion watched as she fell victim to her own greedy hedonism, awaiting for her clenching muscles to seize. Muffled moans hid in the crook of his neck and he pulled her hair back to keep her posture upright and taut. Now facing him, she looked startled and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wha- Too loud?”

“I-Lift your arms up for me, ” he whispered, demanding yet wearing a giddy smile that betrayed any dominant persona.

Astarion unveiled Thomasin in one fluid motion and balled up her nightshirt in his fist, pressing it to the back of her head. Cushioning the impact now, he shoved her back onto the cold rock beneath them. The yelp and subsequent mirth from her lips was dampened with her own clasping hand. But, before she could remove it, he placed his atop hers to further muffle the sounds. Her heavy breathing flowed loudly through her nose as he pressed uncoordinated kisses on her chest.

“You’re doing so well. My veluthe talibund.”

The elf proceeded to drown out any ounce of negative feelings by focusing on the vibrational feedback ringing through both of their palms. Returning to a thrust, he rutted with no grace, shameless and unable to be inauthentic in any way possible. Selfishness that had mutual benefit and left her grasping onto the nape of his neck. A quick succession that felt a lifetime until his back hunched and his own moans disregarded the cave’s echo. With no shame left to their names, the two shared those long seconds, collecting themselves after a clash of endorphins.

The rock walls bounced their laughter about and awoke creatures scurrying within its confines. Dazed and silly, like ill-mannered young elves, now finding secret moments to be irresponsible for once. Astarion eventually rolled beside her in defeat, lifting his pants around his waist and securing them tight. She clung to his arm as she had the tendency to, but now he allowed himself to be clung onto.

The silence blanketed them in the afterglow. Bathed them in unspoken intimacy. Like a feeling of warmth that wasn’t attributed to the temperature of her skin. A sensation too good to be true as reality seeped into the elf’s brain once more. The clarity of it all and the gravity of their situation rearing its head. His eyes flicked back open, the twinkle in his eye dampening a bit.

“When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again, with you,” he whispered.

His words floated above them, heavy in their juxtaposition to what occurred minutes before. Not what was whispered in her ear, but the verbal clanking of faux beads and counterfeit jewels. Shallow poetics only pleasing on the surface. One of many off a mental list of validation.

“Hm?” she hummed, turning her head to look up at him.

“It’s just that every part of your perfect body whispers temptation. Like the gods made you to simply ruin me.” His limp hand lifted before them, flicking in a gesture to punctuate his powerless victimhood to her pull.

“I-You don’t have to say all that.”

“I’m wonderful at flattery though, darling. What about everyone’s favorite little words?” He let go of any inhibition as he always had before speaking sweet nothings. “I love you.”

Thomasin was instantaneous in her response, loosening her grip so she could sit up and rest upon her palms. The half-elf looked at him perplexed by his sudden shift, voice sedated yet stern. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean. Lying won’t appease me.”

He snickered, ensuring he didn’t take the action as rejection, but rather part of the natural tug and pull. “A rather beautiful lie though, isn’t it?”

Thomasin sighed, looking over at the cave’s mouth and then back at him. Even though she was reluctant to, she gathered the scattered clothing around them and bundled them against her chest. “Whatever you say, Astarion. I’m going to clean off in the stream. Goodnight,” she said upon departure, positioning herself to slide down each leveled stone step.

Astarion smiled watching her go, letting his head rest back down to watch the starry projection in the sky. It wasn’t long until his amusement simmered back into mild worry, however. The space beside him felt empty. Absence now more threatening and enveloping than expected. The elf pinched at the bow around his neck, tugging a long strand until the knot popped free. He could only sneer at himself in self-pity.

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17 notes · View notes

brain-rot-central · 3 months

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Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide

A/N: This is exactly what you think it is. Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.

Rating: E, a very hard E Words: 5.3k Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning

Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.

“Darling?”

A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home.

“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.

Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.

“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.

You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself.

“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.

He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.

In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”

You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”

Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”

It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.

“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”

You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.

“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”

Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”

He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”

It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”

Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”

You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”

He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”

You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”

Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”

“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.

He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”

You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”

“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”

Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.

“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”

“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?”

Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”

Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.

Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”

You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”

Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”

“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand.

You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.

As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.

“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”

Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.

“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”

Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”

You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.

He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”

Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.

Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”

You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.

“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”

“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”

Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.

“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.

Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”

Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”

You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.

His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.

Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck.

You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”

Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”

You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs.

“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.

Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.

Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs.

He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.

You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.

Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland.

It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.

Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.

“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”

His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip.

“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.

With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”

“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.

Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.

A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.

Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.

“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.

As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”

With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.

“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.”

He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.

Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”

Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”

Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.

“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”

His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.”

You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.

“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”

Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.

Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”

You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.

His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you.

There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you.

It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.

Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.

Something majorly delicate, knowing his past.

You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission.

The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.

“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.

True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.

You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”

A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”

Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.

“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”

Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.

You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.

Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”

Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock.

You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.

You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.

“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.

Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.

“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”

He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock.

To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.

Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.

Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.

With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.

“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.

Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.

Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.

“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel.

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”

He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips.

Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”

You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.

“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.

You're not going to last much longer.

“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”

Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.

I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.

His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.

Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.

You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.

“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.

He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool.

It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.

As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.

Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.

Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”

Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.

With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”

You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.

Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”

I love this, he thinks.

I love us.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #bg3 #fanfiction #writing

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eupheme · 6 months

Text

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, “Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

#halsin x reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader

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