Mentions of past Shadowheart x AFAB!Reader and slight Gale x AFAB!Reader
Summary: Your clothing has increasingly been going missing over the past few days. Meanwhile, Astarion is as happy and cozy as ever, and hopes you won't find out about his new hobby anytime soon.
Warnings: Smut/Explicit 18+ content, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Blood Drinking, Scent Kink, connections via tadpole and accompanying voyeurism, mentions of polyamory
A/N: This fic operates under the headcanon that everyone at camp is more on board with sharing. Heavily inspired by GlitterCritter's 'The Pale Elf's Hunger' over on AO3.
AO3
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"Okay, this is getting weird."
You frantically dig through your pack, confused. Your rummaging has not gone unnoticed, as Shadowheart turns to you, a brow raised in question.
"What's getting weird?"
"My clothes." You set your pack back down, giving up the search. "They've slowly gone missing. My robes aside, I think I only have two shirts and a pair of loose slacks. If this keeps going on, I'll be sitting with my tits out at camp soon."
"And what a horrible fate that would be for all of us."
The suggestive smile on her face lets you know that Shadowheart would absolutely not mind you sitting at camp shirtless, for all to see. Then again, given how godsdamned horny everyone at camp was, you doubted anyone would have genuine complaints about seeing more nudity.
"If it's warmer one of these nights, I could be persuaded. But enough with the jokes. Where the hell are my clothes?"
"Did you forget to collect them after washing them?" Shadowheart suggests. "You tend to pack up in a hurry."
"That's the thing. Everything that's missing is something I put away to wash. I usually wash a bunch of my clothes in one go." You scowl. "Who the hell steals dirty clothes?"
"From what I hear, there's a market for that back in Baldur's Gate." She quips. "Maybe leave a donation basket beside your clothes next time, whoever's been taking them might leave something."
"It better be a large donation. At this rate, all my gold's going to go into clothes shopping. I was saving up for a better pair of boots, mine are slowly wearing out." You rub your temple in frustration and let out a groan. "It's not just normal clothes, either. My undergarments, too!"
"Are you suggesting...?"
"Yes, I am suggesting we have a panty sniffer at camp, Shadowheart. It's an easier-to-digest explanation than the idea that the tadpole has eaten so much of my brain I consistently leave a trail of underwear behind."
You're not even sure if you find the thought that someone at camp was stealing your worn panties discomforting or not. With how open everyone is, they could've at least asked, or have the courtesy of restraining themselves a bit instead of stealing more than half of your comfortable wardrobe.
"Who do you think it is?" Shadowheart asks. She's both intrigued and amused, now, both at your expense.
"None of you ladies, that's for sure," you say. "Karlach couldn't keep that secret for long, Lae'zel has told me to my face she wants to sniff me and probably would drag me away the second I consent, and you wouldn't waste your time stealing my clothes if you were interested. You'd just lure me away with a bottle of wine."
Which is what happened last time you and her had stolen away for a little privacy. Shadowheart had a directness that you liked, clearly expressing her wants and desires, and directing you as she needed. It had been a very fun night, but it had let you know that she wasn't the type for strange, secretive games - at least not when it came to fun things like that.
"Quite true. So it's just our boys then?"
"Yeah. Better not be Withers."
She snorts. "He doesn't even have a nose to sniff your underwear with."
"He still has the holes for sniffing, though."
You both break out into giggles at that. Withers would be the least likely option, but the idea that this ancient walking corpse is a secret little pervert is too funny to imagine.
"I think it's Gale," you then say, once the two of you have calmed down. "He's been awfully bold in telling me he likes my...musk, after not having bathed a while. Wyll doesn't seem the type for something like that, he's just too sweet, Halsin's far to open about disliking clothes for him to hide this, and Astarion..."
You trail off. Shadowheart, however, knows well where this is going, and finishes your thought for you.
"Astarion's up close and personal with you all the time, so he has no need to steal your things."
You hum in affirmation. Astarion barely leaves your side, the two of you thick as thieves.
Shadowheart lets out a sigh.
"Well, then. Why not ask Astarion to give you a little space to put poor Gale out of his misery. Let him partake in what he's so desperately desiring?"
"Eh, I would, but..."
You pause. It's not like you <i>hadn't</i> thought about it, as if you'd never let your mind drift to wonder what Gale might look like beneath you, face and beard drenched in your slick. However...
"...anytime he tries to flirt with me, he somehow ends up bringing up his ex, and that's where my pussy essentially packs it up and leaves."
"Oh, ouch..."
____________
As you and Shadowheart continue to gossip about your possible panty-stealer, as well as Gale's so far unsuccessful attempts to woo you, in the tent beside you, Astarion curls up on his bedroll, happy as a clam.
He'd overheard your conversation, scoffing internally at the suggestion that Gale of all people was the one responsible for your clothing disappearing. As if Gale had the necessary skill, swiftness, and stealth, to pull that off without you ever catching him. If Gale tried, he'd probably trip and fall over his own robes before even catching a glimpse of your clothes.
Astarion is pleased with today's 'catch' - the shirt you wore underneath your robes yesterday - and happily adds it to his pile of you-themed treasures. He has his own little collection, now, consisting of small items he'd nicked off of you, as well as your clothes. He'd arranged those around his bedroll, adding padding and warmth, and most importantly, your scent.
Astarion writhes amongst the pile of fabric, letting out a happy, vampiric purr. He nuzzles his face into the pile, inhaling your natural perfume deeply into his chest.
Gods, he would never get enough of this.
It had started innocently enough. After your first romp in the woods at the tiefling party, Astarion had gotten so eager he'd torn your shirt clean off. So he'd graciously offered his own for you to wear as you snuk back to camp, him staying behind to pack up the bedroll he prepared the night before.
Amongst your scattered things, he'd found your torn shirt, and hadn't been able to help himself. He'd taken a deep whiff, smelling your natural scent immersed in the fabric, but his mind turned blank when he could distinctly sniff out your wanton arousal from hours earlier.
He'd arrived at camp late, having taken the time to desperately fuck his own fist with his face buried in your shirt.
He was about to go for another round as well, the sight of you wearing his shirt for all to see, as well as his own scent marking your skin as his proving to be near overwhelming. There was no time for that, though, as the Underdark was already beckoning.
Astarion had gotten more than enough time to wallow in your aroma, for you had chosen to stick very, very close to him when you were roaming around down there.
Ever since, he had taken his time to snatch a few of your belongings here and there.
He has a collection of clothes that you wore in differing emotional states, able to distinguish by your scent what it is you are feeling at any given moment. He'd found old cloth bandages you still had from after killing those goblins, your blood soaked through the fabric. He'd snatched a couple of your undergarments, heady with the scent of your arousal, from nights when he teased you just a bit too much.
His favourite is still your torn shirt, however, which he keeps rolled up by his pillow. He can smell you in his trance, and feels so warm, safe, and protected in your scent.
Your scent is the reason he prefers coming to your tent at night, your aroma covering every inch of space. Astarion feels as if he could get drunk off of you - hells, in a way, he does, especially when you let him feed.
He also loves it when he can smell himself on you. It's why he leaves you his shirts to wear, especially since you complained to him how you were running low on them. That way, he could stay in your good graces - after all, he was being helpful - he could leave his scent on your skin, and get his shirt back with yours embedded in it. Win-win.
He'll never admit how his undead heart soared when he overheard the others asking if you'd started adding bergamot to your perfume.
Gods, he hopes you never find out about this habit. He's greedy for you and he knows, but the more rational part of hin is also aware that any normal person would be terribly put off by this.
Astarion convinces himself you'll never catch on that it's him stealing your things, happy to keep his face burrowed in your scent.
____________
"There is no fucking way."
Once again, it's Shadowheart hearing your cry of disbelief. She approaches to find you digging through a tiny pile of clothing, desperately searching for something.
Before moving on to Moonrise Towers, you had decided to make use of the (admittedly, very ominous) water surrounding Last Light Inn to wash your clothing - what little of it you have left. You (rather embarrassingly) had to ask Karlach to lend you a pair of undergarments at this point - all of yours besides one had disappeared.
And this one, remaining pair of panties had straight-up vanished now, too.
"What happened? Did Gale nick another pair?" Shadowheart asks, amused.
"I don't think it was Gale, after all," you say. "It was my last pair. I wore it while going to the lake. I didn't see Gale again until breakfast, he retired early to read, remember?"
Shadowheart hums in agreement. "Strange. Are you sure you didn't leave it there?"
"It was my last pair, Shadowheart, and the lake isn't exactly far from camp. I did not drop or leave it. I've walked back and forth three times, now."
You are ready to flip and tear apart each and every tent at camp to find your clothing. If this was a prank, it was a shitty one at that, one you were ready to reward with a hearty Fireball. See how funny the prankster thinks it is, then.
"Okay, if Gale isn't your thief, and you didn't lose it - where are they then?"
This clothes-stealing mystery is the most entertainment Shadowheart has had at camp. It's infuriating and intriguing at once.
"I don't know..."
Your blood runs cold as you try and retrace your steps. A realization dawns on you, and you want to slap yourself for not thinking of it earlier.
That little bloodsucker. Of course it was him.
"I have a lead," you declare to her, before you turn and go to find your dearest vampling, leaving Shadowheart, once again, amused and confused at the same time.
____________
Astarion is blissfully unaware of your realizations.
He's far too busy obsessing over his recent catch, the pair of panties he swiftly stole from you when he had pestered you earlier. He couldn't help himself, really! You'd been barely wrapped up from the waist down in a flimsy cloth, in lieu of a suitable pair of comfortable pants, and he'd been able to smell that you weren't wearing anything beneath them. When he'd spotted your underwear, well...a little bit of sleight of hand, and oops! How'd those get in his pocket?
Surely, you're not missing them. A pretty thing like you must have other, lovelier undergarments to wear, hidden away in your things. His little habit is certainly is no inconvenience to you.
But how his hobby affects you is the last thing on his mind right now. He has his face buried in his latest treasure, quick sniffs filling his nose with your heady aroma, so sweet, so intoxicating. Astarion rids himself of his shirt, the heat flushing through his body at your scent too hot to bear, and his free hand is slowly trailing down his breeches, his cock hardening at the scent of you.
Hells, you smell so, so good.
Astarion shuffles his breeches down his legs, his cock springing free against the cool air in his tent. He's hard enough that he feels like he could burst any second, pure arousal coursing through his veins.
He inhales deeply, pressing your panties against his face as tightly as he possibly can. His mind is on overdrive, all he can think about is you, you, you. Nothing else matters as long as he is this close to you.
Astarion begins stroking himself, thumb spreading the generous amounts of leaking precum across the head of his cock. He's aware of what he said, that he wanted to take things slow with you sexually, but in this moment, he wishes his hand was yours instead.
Astarion imagines you with him, your plush lips slowly wrapping around his length, taking him into your hot mouth. His tent would be flooded with the scent of your arousal, and his mind would go blank at the sensation of you.
He wants all of you. He wants you in any which way you'll let him have you. He wants to kiss and lick every inch of your skin, until your scent never leaves his body again, imprinting your essence in his very soul. Astarion thrusts up into his hand, picturing you bouncing above him, writhing in your own pleasure.
He is so far gone, he doesn't even notice you slip in to his tent until it's too late.
"Astarion, did you- what in the hells?!"
The sound of your voice makes whatever is left of his soul ascend from his body, but having your scent, your real, natural scent up close is enough to slam it right back into place. It shocks him into an orgasm, his hips thrusting into his fist uncontrollably as he spills his seed over his chest and belly. One particular strong spurt even manages to hit his chin and throat. Astarion lets out a high whine, whimpering at his own touch, your scent, both from your panties, and from you being here.
It's the hottest thing you've seen in a while, and you'd be more than eager to encourage it, if you still weren't so confused as to what the fuck was going on.
It takes a moment after his climax for Astarion's rational brain to switch on again. He panicks.
"It's not what it looks like!" He says quickly, fumbling to cover himself and the rest of your belongings. You stop him, easily grabbing his wrist.
"Oh? So you didn't just rub one out with my panties stuffed over your face?" You raise a brow at him and he shrinks under your gaze, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You vaguely gesture at the pile of clothing underneath him. "And I'm sure those aren't my missing clothes? You know, the ones I have been complaining about to you for days? What are you even doing? Nesting? Is that a thing vampires do?"
Embarassment floods him at being caught red-handed, and deflection takes its place in hopes of somehow coming out on top anyway.
"You leave your mess everywhere," Astarion huffs. "I was simply picking up after you."
"Mhm. And adding to the mess, if this-" you pick up another item of clothing, one that has suspicious white stains streaked across it, "-is any indication."
Shit. That didn't go how it was supposed to. Astarion tries a new angle, one that he's far too used to.
"Are you upset then? That Gale isn't the panty thief you hoped for?" Astarion says, accentuating his words with a snarl. "I heard you talking with Shadowheart the other day. I wonder if you would be so upset if it was your precious wizard with his face buried in your clothes."
You know him too well by now to take the bait and shoot him a disapproving look.
"Okay, first off, there is no need to take that tone with me," you say, sitting down beside him. "Secondly, what the hell are you even talking about?"
Astarion scoffs, about to spew more venom your way, but you cut him off.
"I'm not done talking, you will speak when I'm finished."
Your firm tone is enough to shut him up for now. Astarion flinches at the sharpness in your voice. You hate being so direct with him, knowing it speaks to parts of his mind that cannot help but obey, but you also know if you don't make him listen, nothing good will come out of this conversation. You know he feels cornered, and like a scared animal, he knows no better than to lash out.
"Of course I'd be upset if I caught Gale with my clothes, because frankly? This is fucking weird. Difference being, I'm used to you being weird and a bit of a creep. You tried biting me in my sleep. You rub yourself all over me like a big cat regularly."
Astarion bristles at being called 'weird'. He wants you to smell like him, he wants to smell like you, so no matter who else you might frolic around with, they always will know you're already in some way spoken for. But he waits, stays silent, eventhough he wants nothing more than to interrupt you.
"I'm not outright angry with you, so you're not going to get a shouting match from me. I'm annoyed that you left me with no clothes to wear, frustrated that you simply played along when I complained about it, confused as to why you stole my clothes, and upset." You pause to look him in the eye. His pupils are still blown wide - clearly, you being close to him has done nothing to soothe whatever is driving him. "I'm upset you didn't talk to me about this. We agreed to talk more openly about what we need from each other. That would include this because clearly, you're getting some kind fulfillment out of this. Why didn't you say anything?"
You give him time to sort his thoughts. You know he's not good at expressing what he needs honestly, so you want to give him the space to at least try. Astarion scoffs, but you can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to get some sort of explanation out.
"I took your clothes because they smell like you," he begins carefully. "I like making you wear my clothes, because then you smell like me. I like having your clothes here, because having your scent around me is...comforting."
He looks up at you, and you can see the embarrassment in his eyes.
"I didn't say anything because, yes. Objectively, me sniffing at your clothes like a dog is creepy and weird. And I am sorry."
His confession weighs heavy to him. He still thinks you're about to curse him out, tell him he's too strange and feral to waste your time on.
You surprise him, once again.
"Thank you for your honesty, Starlight. The scent part makes sense, I suppose. I like wearing your shirts because they smell like you, too. Just - don't steal my clothes anymore, okay? I'll even cut you a deal."
Astarion nods, waiting for you to go on.
"Tomorrow, you're going to wash all of my clothes - every single item in this pile."
Astarion is about to protest. Washing your clothes would defeat the purpose! They'd no longer smell like you, would be neutral, scentless!
"Then, you're going to procure me a few items you like seeing me in. I'll wear them for you, and then you can have them for your little nest here. I can sleep in your bedroll for a few days too, if it helps, or leave you a blanket of mine. Then you never steal from my wardrobe again and leave me with so little to wear that I need to ask others for their damn underpants. Sound good?"
That is far too good to be true, so Astarion accepts eagerly.
"If that is the deal you wish to make, I suppose I have no choice but to accept," he says. "Though I already mourn the state of my nails afterwards."
"You've left me with no clothes, I think you can play washerwoman for a night. Might even get you a cute little dress for when you're at it."
The both of you have a laugh at the thought. You know full well Astarion would likely make a show out of it if you made him wear a dress, hiking his skirts up while you would have to remind him to actually get your garments cleaned.
Astarion's mood is visibly lifting. You're not mad at him, not about to abandon him for his feral tendencies. His mind buzzes pleasantly, his treasure still safely by his side.
"One more thing - and may I?"
You hover your hand over his chest, waiting until Astarion nods his assent. You run your fingertips over his skin gently, lazily smearing his seed across his body.
"I don't think you're sorry at all."
"I'm the perfect picture of repentance and regret, my love, how could you ever say that?" Astarion protests, albeit weakly. He already apologized!
You crack a smile at his act.
"You're still hard as a rock, my dearest," you say, making him inhale sharply as you drag your nails across one of his nipples. "Anyone with even an ounce of shame would not be so blatantly turned on after being caught like this. Then again, I suppose I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to you being my primary partner, you little freak."
You raise your hand to your lips and suck the remnants of his come off your digits. Astarion watches you swallow, the motion of your throat, before bolting up to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He has to sample it, needed to taste both his seed combined with your spittle.
He loves it.
Astarion moans against your lips, the taste overwhelming. His tongue delves into your mouth, trying to lick up every last bit of himself. Gods, he could eat you <i>whole</i>, and he knows you'd let him. His senses perk up at a new scent - he can smell the slickness between your legs properly now that the shock of being caught has subsided.
"I knew it," he says breathlessly after he releases you. "You're not angry with me. You liked seeing me like this."
"Oh, I'm still very much annoyed that you stole ninety percent of my very limited wardrobe." You laugh as Astarion tears the cloth around your waist - your makeshift skirt - off your body and begins loosening the lacings of your shirt, one that happens to be his. "But, in the spirit of honesty - I did find it kind of hot to see you jerking off to my panties. I had half a mind to stuff them in your filthy mouth."
"Kind of?" Astarion noses at your bared body, nuzzling and sniffing at you in quick breaths. "Darling, you're positively drenched. You enjoyed seeing me, didn't you?"
He lays back down and maneuvers you to sit right above his face. He licks up the inside of your thighs, your slick having slowly spread across your skin, indisputable proof of your arousal. He wants to hear it, though, hear it from your lips how badly you need him, too.
"I did." The admission comes easy to you, and you see no reason to lie. Not when his face is buried between your legs, his cool breath fanning over your core. "You were such a desperate, needy thing. Of course, I liked seeing you."
Astarion seems to be happy with your confession and pulls you down to rest on his face. His tongue trails over your cunt, teasing at your dripping hole. You keen when he finally wraps his lips around your clit and laps at it like a man parched, your legs squeezing around his head. It's almost too much at once - Astarion is far too intoxicated by your scent, being right by the tantalizing source of it to care for a slow build-up. He wants more of you, more of your juices, running down his face.
He's convinced he could spend eternity between your legs and still not have his fill.
Astarion's cock twitches at the fantasy, of you by his side forever, ready to be devoured as he pleases. Of course, he'd be just as accessible to you - he's ready to grant your every wish, if only he can be this close to you and never have to let you go. He speeds up, leaving fast licks on your swollen clit, and he groans as he laves his tongue over your entrance. More, more, more, he chants in his mind, and shoves two fingers inside, digging for your sweet spot. He knows he's found it when you let out a sharp curse, and your glorious, soft thighs tighten around head again.
Astarion sounds absolutely obscene beneath you. He slurps at your cunt, moaning as if he's lapping at the most luxurious dessert he's ever tasted. You suppress a laugh. Not even when he feeds on you does he sound like this.
You decide he's gone untouched long enough. His cock is flushed bright red and leaking, desperate for even the slightest bit of attention. How could you refuse? You lean forwards, and Astarion instantly notices what you're up to.
"May I, Starlight?" You ask, and before you can even wrap your hand around him, Astarion lets out a muffled "Sweet hells, yes!" against you. You tut at him for his impatience, but ultimately take pity on him, leaving a trail of kisses down his shaft, wetting the soft skin with your tongue as you go. Astarion's undead heart leaps in his chest. He'd never in a thousand years believed he'd ever be blessed with someone like you, who would take their time asking permission to touch him even when he was nose-deep buried in their pussy.
Your lips finally, finally wrap around the head of his cock, your tongue dipping into the slit at the top just to tease. Astarion snarls at you, grazing his fangs across your skin. A warning.
You decide to be just a little bit mean back, besides, he <i>was</i> the one who had stolen your clothes. He has no room to be bossy right now.
The tadpole in your brain awakens, eager to connect with his. Astarion is so distracted, he doesn't even notice his own tadpole stir in return. Through your bond, you send him an image - it's him, his wrists bound by one of your shirts, your panties shoved into his mouth, while you nonchalantly get off of him and retreat to your tent.
Astarion lets out a needy whimper.
You wouldn't, you hear him in your mind. you'd never.
I absolutely would, you reply as you swallow down his cock, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you suck. He feels like velvet on your tongue, in his usual icy-cold way, but you can't get enough of him, either. I'll leave you here to rut against your bedroll alone if you want to be a brat like this.
No, no, no!
Astarion loops his arms around your thighs, locking you in position. There's no way to fight your way out of his grip, his vampiric strength easily overpowering you. Besides, with the way your legs feel like jelly, fighting him would be futile anyway.
I'm not letting you go until you come all over my face.
He adds a third finger, digits curling inside you, as he mercilessly sucks at your clit.
You'll cum for me, won't you? You hear him echo in your mind. Please? I want you to cum all over my tongue, want to taste you so bad. Please, my love? Pretty please?
Hells, you can't recall if he ever begged you so sweetly for something. It's overwhelming, the pleading in your mind, his lips ravaging your cunt, the feel of his cock on your tongue, and fuck, you can feel his thumb tease at your tight pucker, carefully dipping into your backside. It's so much, too much, and you draw back from his cock to cry out his name like a prayer as you drench his face in your release, white-hot ecstasy shooting through your body. Astarion, greedy creature that he is, laps it up eagerly. Your legs shake around him and he holds you steady, forcing more of your juices down his throat.
You roll off of him and collapse onto your back beside him once you come down from your high, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your laboured breaths. Both your tadpoles are quiet, now, exhausted from whatever ecstatic chemicals had been rushing through your brain.
"Fuck," you gasp out. "That was..."
"...amazing," Astarion finishes for you. He's nowhere near done with you, you notice, as he sits up to run his hands up your sides affectionately. "Are you alright to keep going, pet?"
"Mhm. I'm so blissed-out and boneless, I'm happy with whatever salacious plans you have for me now," you breathe, smiling up at him. He still looks so eager, like a predator waiting to pounce. "Take your pleasure from me, Starlight. I think you've waited long enough."
That's all the encouragement he needs from you, not even pausing to wipe his face before he scrambles to get on top of you. Astarion hooks your leg on his thigh, spreading you open for him. His cock slides up against your slit, and he runs it over you a few times, coating himself in your slick.
"I've been thinking about this for a while," he says. "You've been flitting through my dreams. You're a cruel thing, you know that, pet?"
"Sure, I do," you reply, cupping his cheek in your hand. "You wouldn't like me as much if I were a blushing bride, now would you?"
"No, I suppose I wouldn't." Astarion pauses to press a kiss to your palm. "I prefer you like this, clever, wicked, and absolutely debauched."
With that, he slams into you to the hilt without warning. You don't even want one, you just want him to rut you like he's a beast in heat, the noise of your joined bodies music to your ears. You moan loudly, and you swear that, through your tadpole, you can hear someone at camp complaining at the noise you're making. It faintly sounds like Gale. His complaint seems a touch...flustered, and an image of him flashes before your eyes, curled up on his bedroll, pillows over his head, sporting the hardest erection he's had in a while. You're certain Astarion heard and saw it, too, for he grins, before fucking into you even harder than before, slamming into your sweet spot with every thrust.
"Let him hear," he growls into your ear. "Let him know what he's missing."
This is a type of meanness you can certainly get behind, but even you are a bit embarassed of screaming your head off at camp.
"Now, why would I do all that?" You say, barely biting back a blissful moan when Astarion leans down to start licking and suckling at your throat. "It's more fun if he doesn't hear, if all he has is his imagination, not even close to the real thing. Don't you want that? For him to know he can't have me, because I'm with you?"
You know exactly how to appeal to his possessive nature, whispering sweet words that scratch that needy, obsessive part of his brain just right. You don't usually like to encourage his jealousy - you've had a long and very difficult conversation about this - but you did chose him as your primary and know he needs that reassurance.
And Gale, for some reason, really, really brings out Astarion's competitive streak.
You expose more of your neck to him, a silent way of letting him know he's free to feast on you. Astarion doesn't need to be told twice, his fangs piercing your skin. The icy sensation gives way to pure bliss, and you sigh against him. He gulps at you like a glutton, drinking his fill, and he whines in delight. You taste sweeter than anything he's ever had in his life, and your arousal is so deeply evident in your blood, his hips damn near move on their own accord. You're so warm, so wet, so tight around him, his body feel like it's on fire. Your pulse quickens, and Astarion is careful to draw back from your flesh. He wants you sated and conscious, wants you with him.
The pleasure of his bite, combined with the delectable glide of his cock inside you are enough to push you over the edge all over again. You cry out his name once more, and this time, he muffles your pleasure with insistent kisses. Your vision blacks out, you can taste the iron of your own blood on his tongue as it flows into your mouth. Astarion's hips sputter, and he follows you over the edge, the noises he makes expressing pure desperation as he fills you with his seed.
He collapses on top of you once he comes down from his high. Astarion nuzzles his face into your neck again, enjoying the metallic tang of your blood mingling with the scent of your sweat and arousal. Your hand weaves its way into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. Astarion lets out another vampiric purr - a noise you hope he'll make more often for you. Your skin tingles with the vibration, and you press adoring kisses into his hairline.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against your skin, lapping up the bloody mess he's left behind on your neck. "I want to stay like this, forever, with you."
You laugh lightly at his affections. "I can't promise forever right now, but I can pledge the rest of my night to you."
Astarion is more than happy with this.
__________
The next morning, as you emerge from Astarion's tent dressed in clothes that are very obviously his, Shadowheart only shoots you a knowing look. Seems you've found your panty thief, and with that, the case is closed.
Gale, however, can barely meet your gaze when he hands you your morning coffee, his skin flushed bright red at the sight of you.
"You look...ahem. You look tired. Did you have a long night?" He asks awkwardly, attemting to his embarrassment behind a cough.
"Ah, yes. I had a bit of trouble falling asleep," you reply, easily playing along. "How about you? Stay up all night reading, again?"
Gale averts his gaze. "You could say that. It was a rather...stimulating read."
You didn't think he could get any redder, but he's about as red as the fried tomatos he serves alongside your breakfast. You decide to take pity on him, and press a quick kiss to his cheek as he hands you your breakfast.
"Already looking for attention elsewhere, my love?" Astarion questions as he slinks up to you. "I'm hurt."
"It's only polite to thank the person feeding you, Starlight," you chide, the implication not lost on either of you. "Besides, Gale had such a rough night, I thought a little peck might cheer him up."
"Don't let it become a habit then, darling, else I might have to get jealous of our dear wizard."
Astarion shoots Gale a pointed look. They both know he heard and saw more than he should have, and Astarion wouldn't have it any other way. He was your primary partner, and only with his permission would Gale ever be allowed to touch you.
You let Astarion pull you onto his lap as you sit down. He immediately buries his face into your hair as you tuck in to your food, inhaling deeply.
You still smell like him, like bergamot, brandy, and rosemary, and Gale has not left even the trace of a scent. He's happy at that, leaving a trail of kisses on your nape.
"Don't think you being cute gets you out of laundry duty, Starlight," you quip through a mouthful of eggs. "I expect my clothes to be spotless by the end of the day."
Astarion laughs, leaving one final kiss on your skin.
Given the theory that Vivec used to be a prostitute before the time of Nerevar being king/hortator/etc I like to imagine when you really piss him off he doesn't smite you with godly power, he rips off a sandal and starts beating the shit out of you with it
Sadara got her a stuffed bear, a handful of pretty ribbons that would make her inky hair even prettier, and a little cake to eat by herself. This was more than enough to make the little one happy, but when combined with the frilly ladies' dress Ouada made, to go with a matching one for the new bear, she seemed to think no day could ever be better than that day.
Voryn had done something different. He had gotten a soul gem from the guild and enchanted a blanket Ouada had made with a calm effect. He explained this carefully to Sunnar - when she was upset or afraid she should hold the blanket, and it would help.
It confused her a little bit, at first. But then she stubbed her toe and grabbed the blanket - and understood.
Sadara had smiled at that. Voryn seemed to give practical gifts, and seeing as he couldn't give her something with the Dagoth sigil on it just yet, it had been a good choice.
She thought of the family altar, dusty, put away in the basement somewhere. She thought of the feeling of speaking to a crowd that wouldn't acknowledge her, or the little one.
And Voryn had kept to his word for weeks now...if she could not have ancestors to speak to, at least she could ensure Sunnar did.
A day was carved out some little time after Sunnar's birthday. She sat Voryn down, and brought Sunnar into the room.
"I have something to tell you," she said with the slightest smile. "We wanted to be sure his mind was well before we did."
"Wat?" Sunnar looked at Voryn from her mother's lap curiously.
"You see, there is a reason we kept...attic man," Sadara went on carefully. Her hands trembled just slightly. Why was she afraid? What was there to be afraid of now?
The child smiled. "Is he special?"
"Yes," Sadara said quietly. "The reason we kept him is--he is your father. He was not well enough to be your father before, and now he is."
Silence.
Sunnar's eyes widened.
"I have a papa?"
"Yes. Would you like that?"
The child reached out shyly to Voryn, who let her grab at one of his fingers.
"You bones," she said, "Mama should feed you more."
"I am merely tall, and the taller you are the more likely you are thin."
Sunnar stared at him some more.
"Is something wrong?" Sadara asked.
"No, mama. He not look like a papa."
"Well, he has never been one before. He is still learning," Sadara said, "And he is a Dunmer, he is not like the papas here."
"And speaking of Dunmer," Voryn said, "I have ancestors that want to talk to you."
"They do?" Sunnar was apparently confused. "Mama's don't."
"Mine are different." Voryn was speaking in a softer tone than Sadara had yet heard him use, "No one has spoken to my family in a very long time, and they would like to talk to you."
"Why they want to talk to me?"
"Because you are one of them, and there has not been a new child in the house for a long time."
"What if they no like me?"
"They will like you," Sadara said, "They aren't like my family."
The Hlaalu not speaking to her, she could almost understand, but not speaking to her child, that was something she couldn't forgive so easily. She could tell Sunnar the why of it later.
---------------------------
The altar to House Dagoth had been set in Voryn's attic room, and Sadara brought Sunnar with her (who had insisted on bringing the blanket with her), standing at some distance while Voryn stood with Sunnar before it.
"Ancestors of House Dagoth," Voryn spoke, "I have brought my daughter before you, so you will know her."
Sunnar's head was full of butterflies. Or it would have been, without the blanket. She had wondered, what if they DIDN'T like her? Mama's family didn't. Why would these be different?
She didn't hear anything for a little bit. Then, suddenly, it was like feeling there were a lot of people in the room. But there weren't any!
"Are they here?" she asked.
"They are. Here, step a little closer, so you can hear them."
Sunnar did, still clutching at her blanket.
"Tell them your name."
"I...Sunnar," she said to the empty air in front of the altar, "Do you want to talk?"
Sunnar.
Sunnar?
She felt more people in the room, and moved a bit closer to Voryn.
How old are you? Possibly a girl's voice. She couldn't tell very well.
"I four." She remembered that. Mama had told her.
You look like your father, one person said, and then another agreed with him.
Sunnar looked up at the attic man who they said was her father. Her neck hurt, but she saw his face. Did she really look like him?
The Dagoth face, someone else said, Unmistakable.
(Her father seemed to go all stiff when they said that.)
"What do I say?" she asked.
"Anything," he replied. "I told you they had not had anyone say anything to them for a long time."
That was confusing. She thought for a minute, and decided to start talking about her new dress. Her grandmother had made it for her birthday, because she was getting bigger and she needed a nice dress like a little lady would have. Then she talked about the blanket her father made, that made her feel better when she was upset or hurt.
A lady's voice said that she should have a dress as nice as the empress's.
"But I'm not the emp-ress!"
"That doesn't mean you can't have a nice dress!"
There was a slight laugh after that, a laugh Sunnar matched. Then she talked about the dogs one of the neighbors had. Colovian Tunnel Hounds, they were called by hunters. Anyone who wasn't a hunter called them sausage dogs due to their longer bodies. One had had puppies and they were so, so tiny.
Someone questioned if she had ever seen a nixhound pup. She said no, and the owner of the voice scolded Voryn for not bringing one there. He quickly apologized, saying it wasn't feasible. There was much grumbling from some old-sounding people in agreement with the speaker.
Different people listened to her. Some said they were aunts or uncles, and some said grandparents, but they all seemed to gather around to hear her talk. Her papa seemed to like this, a lot.
"You see, I told you they would like you," he said. "They have not welcomed a child into the house in a very long time."
There was a pause.
"Why you say who I am? Don they already know?"
"It is a tradition. Something we do with all those new to the house."
"Oh, okay."
-----------------------------
Privately, Sadara was glad that Voryn had elected not to tell her about the whole 'make sure they know who you are so if you ever visit a Dagoth tomb they won't attack' thing.
She was turning to leave when Sunnar suddenly burst out. "Wait! Wait! Mama, what about you?"
"I'm not a Dagoth, Sunnar. It's alright, I'm fine. Just...talk to your papa's family."
Sadara stood near the door watching with a faint smile as Sunnar kept chattering away.
She would have stepped forward. Would have spoken. But surely the Dagoths would have nothing much to say to her, and so thinking of getting dinner ready, she turned to leave the room. Whatever else Voryn was doing, he had at least proved that he was capable of fathering correctly.
Yes, I paid Wes Johnson to say this on Cameo. I love how he gets dressed as characters he voices on them too. 🥹 Credit to @unironicallytes for making the meme in the first place. 😆
I never thought I would hear Lucien Lachance say "This is not for commercial use" I thinnnk I am allowed to post this on social media though. Hopefully I am not breaking Tennet III as to do so is to invoke the wrath of Sithis and all that. 🤷🏻♀️
He said it twice differently too I admire the dedication.
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