It's rare that I critique bg3 but I do feel like the sussur blooms not having a massive impact on Gale's orb was a missed opportunity. Gimme the orb freaking out bc suddenly there is no weave for it to feed off of, gimme Gale in more pain than normal because of the pure Karsite weave sitting in his chest with only his life as fuel. Gimme a ticking timer until the orb explodes unless Gale gets far enough away from the blooms.
➵ Astarion × Male Reader · The Pale Elf × Teifling Tav
↳ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄:
➵ Romance · Angst · Dark Fantasy
↳ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒:
➵ blood intimacy · obsession · devotion
➵ power dynamics · trust · hunger
➵ submission · accepting change · self love
✦ ─────────────── ✦
↳ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒:
➵ mdni · 18+ content · reader discretion advised · ftm Astarion · ftm Tav · Teifling Male Reader · blood · vampirism · suggestive content · dysphoria · intimate scene · established relationship · strangers to lovers · past trauma · brief mentions of Cazador · illithid powers · mind flyer parasites · nsfw · blood play · knife play · flirtatious mind fucking · public sex · frotting · temperature play · crude vocabulary · afab vocab used · ftm vocab used · subtop Astarion · dominant Male Reader · long rest · Patreon Preview · testing
✦ ─────────────── ✦
↳ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆:
➵ Act I / Act II / Act III
↳ 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒:
➵ yes / no
✦ ─────────────── ✦
↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘:
➵ When Tav disappears from camp in the dead of night, Astarion follows, expecting trouble and finding something far more complicated. What begins as teasing curiosity turns into a quiet confrontation with exhaustion, trust, and unspoken desire. Under moonlight and watchful stars, lines blur between control and surrender—and neither of them walks away unchanged.
✦ ─────────────── ✦
Astarion notices your absence from camp immediately.
Not because he’s particularly noble or attentive — gods no — but because your bedroll is empty, and that simply will not do. You have a habit of being exactly where you shouldn’t be at the worst possible times, and tonight has all the makings of another incident. He scans the camp with a practiced flick of his eyes, notes the sleeping shapes, the dying fire, the way the night feels too quiet, even with Halsins’ bear-like snores in the distance.
Ah. There it is. That gnawing feeling in his chest.
How inconvenient.
He moves without announcing himself, slipping beyond the edge of camp until moonlight opens up onto the lake beyond. And there you are — seated at the water's edge, shoulders slumped, staring into nothing like the world hasn’t already demanded enough of you today.
Well. That’s…less scandalous than he’d hoped. And far more troubling.
He clears his throat anyway, leaning casually against a nearby tree. “You know, if this is your idea of sneaking off for some secret rendezvous, I’m offended I wasn’t invited.”
You don’t jump. You don’t turn. You just breathe out, long and slow, like the sound’s been sitting in your lungs for hours.
Astarion straightens.
He crosses the distance in a few easy steps, boots crunching softly against the ground, not as stealthy as he normally is. Up close, the signs are obvious — too still, too quiet, the tension coiled in you like a wire pulled too tight. He’s seen that look before. On his own reflection, usually. Gods, he hates that he recognizes it.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, much lighter than he feels at that moment.
“Didn’t try,” you reply. Your voice is flat. Not distant — just worn.
He sits beside you without asking, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch. The lake reflects the two of you in broken silver, your silhouettes warped by the water’s gentle movement. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence immediately. He lets it stretch, listens to the night, to the way you keep clenching and unclenching your hands like you’re bracing for another blow.
“So,” he says eventually, softer now, “care to tell me which dreadful, world-ending revelation has kept you awake this time?”
You huff under your breath, not quite a laugh. “Didn’t think about it. That’s the problem.”
Ah. There it is.
Astarion tilts his head, studying you from the side. No blood. No immediate danger. Just exhaustion — deep and merciless. The kind that doesn’t fade with sleep. He feels something twist unpleasantly in his chest, into his ribs, and ignores it with practiced ease.
“Well,” he murmurs, “if you were hoping to brood alone, I’m afraid I’m dreadful at giving people space.” He nudges your knee gently with his own. “Occupational hazard.”
You finally look at him then, and gods — you look so tired it steals the breath from his lungs. Normally he'd tease you about being up all night with him, but the look on your face left a sore feeling he couldn't simply wipe away with a tease.
His voice drops, losing its edge. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know. I won’t think less of you. If anything…” He trails off, then smirks faintly. “I might even find it endearing.”
He watches your shoulders ease —just a fraction — but it’s enough.
You look at Astarion for a long moment, his pale features sharp in the moonlight, red eyes catching the lake’s reflection like spilled wine. Your chest tightens. A sigh slips out of you before you’ve decided what it means — resignation, exhaustion, or surrender, you’re not sure.
» [DECEPTION] You could lie. Say it’s nothing. Brush him off with a crooked smile and let him coax you back to camp, let him curl around you in the shared bedroll like he always does — familiar teeth at your throat, a warmth that leaves you lightheaded by morning and pretending you don’t notice how unsteady you feel afterward.
It would be easier.
» Or you could do the opposite. Push him away. Tell him to piss off. Let the emotions you’ve kept buried claw their way up, hot and feral, demanding air like water from a cracked spring.
You weigh the choices until the silence grows heavy enough to press against your ears.
Finally, you speak.
“Why associate yourself with a foul blood like myself, Astarion?” The words come out low, rough around the edges, like you scraped them from somewhere deep and ugly inside your chest.
His reaction is immediate. Confusion flashes across his face, sharp and unguarded.
“And pray tell,” he says, tone light but eyes narrowing, “where is this suddenly coming from?” He gestures vaguely toward you. “You do know I don’t judge Tieflings. Gods — Karlach laughs louder than the damned gnolls we fight and I tolerate her just fine. And yes, I will admit, helping those refugees wasn’t my first priority, but you were pleased, and you even managed to profit from it, so I’d say it wasn’t all for naught—”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” you cut in, huffing, fingers curling into the fabric at your knees.
Astarion stills. The humor drains from his voice like a tide going out.
“Then be clear, darling,” he says firmly. “Because I’m not fond of guessing games when they sound like self-loathing.”
The lake ripples softly as you shift, tail flicking once before you still it, embarrassed even by that small betrayal of yourself.
“I look at myself,” you begin, voice quieter now, “and all I see are… parts that don’t belong. Horns that curve too sharp, skin tinted wrong, teeth that look more suited for tearing than smiling.” You swallow. “Claws I have to keep filed down. A tail that gives me away before I ever open my mouth.”
Your gaze drops to the water, to the reflection you’ve tried not to study too closely. “People look at me and see a devil before they see me. And sometimes…sometimes I do too.”
The words come easier once they start. “This body —” you hesitate, jaw tightening, “— it isn’t what it’s supposed to be. Not entirely. I fought for it to be closer, but there are still reminders. Things that feel unfinished. Wrong. Like I’m trapped halfway between what I am and what I was meant to be.”
You expect silence. Pity, maybe. Revulsion, if you’re unlucky.
Instead, Astarion exhales softly.
“Oh,” he says. Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just… understanding.
He shifts closer, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “You know,” he murmurs, eyes tracing your horns, your profile, the line of your jaw, “it’s fascinating how cruel people can be about bodies they’ve never had to live in.”
You risk a glance at him. He’s watching you with an intensity that makes your breath catch — not hunger, not calculation, but something sharp and deliberate.
“I spent two centuries being told exactly what my body was for,” he continues quietly. “What it was worth. How it was meant to be used. And when you’re stripped of that choice long enough, you start believing there’s something inherently wrong with you for being shaped the way you are.”
His hand lifts — slow, careful — hovering near your horn before resting against your cheek instead. Cool fingers, grounding.
“But let me be very clear,” Astarion says, voice low and unwavering. “There is nothing foul about you. Nothing broken. Nothing unfinished.” His thumb brushes your skin, reverent. “You are sharp because you had to be. Different because the world demanded it. And gods help anyone who mistakes that for weakness.”
A faint, dangerous smile curves his lips. “As for perfection? I find it dreadfully boring. Give me someone real — someone who chose themselves, scars and all — over a polished lie any night.”
He leans in just enough that his forehead rests against yours. “And if you ever decide to push me away over this,” he adds softly, “I’ll be terribly offended.”
Then, gentler still, his voice now a whisper over the brushing winds. “You don’t have to love every part of yourself. But I won’t allow you to hate them in front of me.”
You sit there together longer than either of you means to.
The night wraps itself around you, cool and quiet, the lake breathing softly at the shore. Your breaths fall into an easy rhythm, close enough that you can feel his inhale brush against your skin, warm against the chill. Moonlight paints his features in silver and shadow, catching on the sharp line of his cheekbones, the red of his eyes as they stay fixed on yours — unblinking, intent, unreadable in that way of his that makes your pulse stutter.
Your tail betrays you first.
It sways once. Then again. A soft, unconscious movement, like your body reacting before you’ve decided how you feel.
Astarion’s gaze flicks downward, and a slow, wicked smile curves his mouth.
“Oh?” he murmurs. “Well. That’s telling.”
Heat rushes to your face. You try to still it, mortified, which only makes him chuckle under his breath. “Careful,” he adds lightly, eyes dancing. “You’ll wear a groove in the ground at this rate.”
You groan quietly, turning your face away — and feel his fingers catch your chin, tilting it back with infuriating gentleness.
“There you are,” he says, softer now. His hand doesn’t retreat. Instead, it drifts — along your jaw, down your throat, tracing the lines of you with a reverence that makes your chest ache. “You know,” he continues, voice low, “I rather like you like this.”
“Like what?” you ask, breath catching.
“Like you,” he replies easily. His thumb brushes your skin, caring behind it. “Not trying to be palatable. Not folding yourself into someone else’s idea of what you should be.” His eyes meet yours again, unwavering. “Don’t change your shape for anyone. Least of all for ghosts who don’t deserve the effort.”
Something tight inside you snaps — not painfully, but like a cord drawn too taut for too long finally giving way.
You lean in without thinking.
The kiss is sudden, hungry in its honesty, your hands tangling in his clothes as you press him back against the cool earth. He makes a sound — surprised, pleased — before melting into it, laughter caught between breaths. The ground meets his back with a soft thud as you pin him there, hovering over him, heart pounding like you’ve just made a reckless, wonderful mistake.
Astarion looks up at you, eyes bright, lips parted, utterly unbothered by his position.
“Well,” he says faintly. “If that’s your answer… I think I like it.”
Astarion doesn’t struggle when you press him back — doesn’t even pretend to. The earth is cool beneath him, the grass whispering softly as he settles, one hand coming up to brace against your side while the other curls lazily at your wrist, more invitation than restraint.
He looks up at you like this, pinned and smiling, eyes bright with something dangerously fond.
“Well,” he breathes, a quiet laugh slipping out, “that escalated delightfully.”
Your heart is hammering so loudly you’re half-convinced he can hear it. You hover there for a moment, close enough to feel his breath against your mouth, the night pressing in around you like it’s holding its own breath. His teasing expression softens just a fraction, gaze flicking over your face with careful attention.
“You know,” he murmurs, thumb brushing against your pulse, “most people try to hide when they’re feeling exposed.”
“Most people aren’t you,” you reply, voice low.
That earns you a smile — slow, pleased. “True. And most people,” he adds, quieter now, “don’t look at me like that.”
You lean down again, this time slower, letting the kiss linger. It’s not hungry now — it’s grounding. A reminder. His fingers curl into your clothes, steady and warm, anchoring you as if he’s making sure you’re real, that you’re still there.
When you pull back, just barely, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Stay,” he says softly. Not a command. Not a plea. Just truth.
The lake murmurs behind you. The camp feels far away. For the first time all night, the weight in your chest eases — not gone, but lighter. Bearable. Shared.
Astarion’s smile turns gentle, almost shy in the moonlight. “See?” he whispers. “Perfectly yourself. And gods help me…” His eyes flicker with warmth. “I wouldn’t have you any other way…”
He shifts beneath you, just enough to pull you closer, and the night closes around the two of you — quiet, unhurried, and finally kind.
For a heartbeat, he lets you have it.
Lets you loom over him, lets your confidence settle, lets your tail sway like you’re not acutely aware of every inch of him beneath you. His hands remain at your hips, warm and steady, eyes half-lidded as he watches you with open, wicked appreciation.
Then he smiles.
Not the sharp, showy one he wears for strangers — but the knowing curl of his mouth that means you’ve underestimated him.
“Oh, don’t look so smug,” Astarion murmurs. “I did say I liked enthusiasm… not that I planned to surrender.”
Before you can respond, he shifts — quick and fluid. One moment you’re pressing him into the grass, the next the world tilts, cool night air rushing over your skin as he rolls you effortlessly onto your back. The ground meets your shoulders with a soft thump, and suddenly he’s above you, knees braced on either side of your thighs, pale hair falling loose around his face like a curtain.
He pauses there, just to let it sink in.
“Well,” he says lightly, eyes tracing your expression, your breathless surprise. “That’s better.”
His hands slide up your arms, pinning your wrists above your head — not hard, but firm enough to make the point. His thumbs brush your pulse, feeling it race, and his smile turns slow and predatory.
“You see,” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth hovers just above yours, breath cool against your lips, “confidence looks wonderful on you.” A pause. “But so does letting yourself be wanted.”
He dips his head, kissing you — not rushed, not gentle either. It’s deliberate, claiming, his weight settling just enough to remind you exactly where you are. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing.
“And for the record,” Astarion adds softly, eyes dark and intent, “I meant every word.” His grip tightens, “Your shape. Your fire. All of it.”
He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way you respond beneath him, the way the night seems to narrow down to just the two of you—breath, heat, and the promise humming between your bodies.
The way Astarion has you pinned beneath him — muscle coiled and eyes burning — sends a shiver of memory sliding down your spine. It reminds you of that first fateful encounter, the tension of steel and suspicion, the way his knife had glinted in the light as he accused you of collusion with those who had abducted him. You had been just as much a victim, yet there had been no hesitation in the way he had assessed you — sharp, unyielding, predatory. And now…the roles feel entirely different, yet the electricity of that first clash hums faintly beneath your skin, entwining with what passes between you tonight.
Your gaze lifts to meet his, and he stares down at you with that familiar hunger and heat, a tension that dances in the spaces between desire and curiosity. Moonlight traces the planes of his face, highlighting the delicate sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, and the way his eyes glint like twin embers in the dark.
The air feels impossibly close, thick with scent — earth, grass, and the faint iron tang of your own blood lingering from earlier — and you realize how taut your own body has become, every nerve ending tuned to him.
A tingle flickers along your spine, a sensation you instinctively attribute to the parasite whispering behind your eye. But this time it isn’t intrusive or violent; it is subtle, coaxing, a current of warmth that winds inward rather than forcing itself upon you. It slides through your chest and stomach like molten silver, leaving a gentle ache in its wake, a signal of connection rather than invasion.
And then, suddenly, your mind is awash with images — glimpses of yourself entwined with Astarion, lips brushing, hands roaming, the heat of skin pressed to skin. The images are sharp, vivid, almost tangible; the world around you seems to blur, fading beneath the intensity of what you see. A jolt of realization hits — you are not merely envisioning; you are peering into his mind as he peers into yours. The parasites that have haunted you both are entwined, bridging thought and sensation, allowing a shared intimacy that is both thrilling and terrifying.
The sensation is dizzying, leaving you breathless for reasons beyond mere exertion. You have never been entirely comfortable wielding illithid powers, the sense of intrusion a constant gnawing at your ethics. And yet…seeing Astarion’s reaction—the way he leans closer, eyes half-lidded, lips curving in that dangerous, possessive smile — leaves no doubt that he is reveling in it.
He is indulgent, eager, and it is impossible not to respond in kind, to lean into the connection, letting the parasite’s whispers thread desire and trust through both of you.
The night deepens around you, the moonlight painting pale silver across your skin and his, the subtle brush of his fingers against your arms and torso electric as you remain entwined. Every glance, every faint smirk, every inhale from him carries the promise of what these shared thoughts can become, the intimacy of minds connected as surely as bodies. It is dizzying, heady, and undeniable — a bridge of thought and sensation that neither of you can — or would — resist.
It isn’t long before the heat between you becomes impossible to ignore.
It happens quickly after that — shirts discarded to the grass without ceremony, hands and mouths finding bare skin with practiced ease. There’s nothing frantic about it; it feels rehearsed, familiar, like a ritual you both know by heart. Astarion’s lips trail along your jaw, your throat, pausing where your pulse flutters fast and eager beneath the skin.
He stills.
“May I?” he asks softly, voice lower now, stripped of teasing. Even after all this time, he always asks.
You nod, breath already shallow. “Yes,” you say. “You can.”
Astarion exhales, something like relief flickering across his face before hunger settles back in. He presses a brief, grounding kiss to your skin first—an unspoken promise—then his fangs sink in.
The pain comes sharp and immediate.
It always does.
A white-hot flash sparks through you, teeth breaking skin in a way that no amount of familiarity ever fully dulls. You hiss softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders, muscles tensing on instinct. But it doesn’t last. It never does. The pain fades quickly, melting into a heavy warmth that spreads outward, settling deep in your chest and limbs like a slow, dizzying heat.
You sag into him with a breathy sound, body remembering what your mind already knows.
“That’s it,” Astarion murmurs against your skin, voice thick. His grip tightens just enough to steady you, to keep you steady as he drinks. “I’ve got you.”
The sensation shifts as he feeds — less sharp, more pulling, a strange, intimate ache that makes your knees weak and a heat build between your legs. Your pulse thrums beneath his mouth, each beat echoing through you, and you feel the way he responds to it: the subtle tension in his frame, the low sound he makes when the taste hits just right.
“You’re…steady tonight,” he whispers, almost reverent. “Confident. Gods, it’s intoxicating.”
You swallow hard, head tipping back to give him better access. “You’ve done this before,” you murmur. “I trust you.”
That earns a soft sound from him — something between a hum and a sigh. His hand slides up your spine, anchoring you, grounding both of you in the moment.
“And I don’t take that lightly,” Astarion says quietly. “Not for a second."
When he finally pulls back, he does so carefully, tongue sweeping over the bite to seal it, his forehead resting briefly against your shoulder as he steadies himself. You’re lightheaded, warmth lingering in your veins, but it’s familiar too — a shared aftermath you both know how to navigate.
He looks at you then, eyes bright, softened by satisfaction and something far more tender.
“Still with me?” he asks.
You manage a faint smile. “Always.”
✦ ─────────────── ✦ ─────────────── ✦
[ To Be Continued @ Patreon! ]
[ Full Fic Release on 02.05.2026 ]
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
-----
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.”
Welcome to Gale rot! I plan to keep this pinned and add to it as additional pieces become available. Enjoy! Always open to feedback and requests. Ao3 Account
NSFW18+ Works
Gale x Tav Stormshore Tabernacle
Gale x AFAB You x Rolan
Gale x Thoughts of Tav at Last Light
Gale x Gender Neutral Tav Reunion Party
Gale x Tav Reunion Party NSFW 18+
Professor!Gale x Tav Mid-Night Affair
GalexYou!GenderNeutral NSFW18+ Shadowlands
Professor!GalexFemReader First Day in Waterdeep
GalexGender Neutral Reader Lorroakan's Chair
Rugan x Fem Reader
GalexFemReader Astral Boat
Gale x Reader Peeping Tom
Gale x Reader Domination NEW
One Night Gale x Shadowheart x AFABYou NEW
God!Gale Paths xYou!Gender Neutral
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |Part 5 PATH 1
Part 5 PATH 2 & 3 | Part 6 Path 2/3 | Part 7 Path 2 | Part 7 Path 3
Dekarios The Divine
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 NEW
Enemies to Lovers BG3 GalexAFAB/Fem!Tav
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20| Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27
Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 NSFW18+ | Part 38
Fluff!
AU Professor!Dad!Gale Bakes a Cake
Professor!Gale Comforts You(GN) After a Nightmare
GalexYou Yearning & Hiding
GalexYou Pep-Talk Yearning
Gale x You The Dinner Party Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt 4 | Pt. 5
NEW: Gale x Genderneutral!You, A Gale POV fic
Night One | Day One | The Afternoon | Karlach | Linger | Tara |
Imagination
