Summary: It happens again, your nighttime visitor haunts your sleep. This time you’re ready for him to take you, possess you fully.
CW: Dubcon Somnophilia, inappropriate use of Shadow Magic (tentacle), demonic possession
Ao3 Link | 📸 by @israfela1 and a 🎁
"Hello… Beautiful…"
A warm voice despite the chill in the air, silken tones in your ear that caress you more than the soft sheets you're wrapped in.
He's here.
It's been nightly, your visitor that haunts your dreams. His voice crept closer night by night, your room growing colder each time. He drew himself towards you in your sleep.
Were you asleep? Awake? Each night in those dim hours before dawn you had woken alone with your heart pounding against your ribs. Your breath stolen. Your skin crawling with sweat.
And right now, all those symptoms worsened. He is here. His cool breath on your ear fans down your neck.
A whine leaves your throat, and you try to ask him his name, what he wants… but your lips fail to obey.
It makes him give you the most beautiful, velvety chuckle.
"Oh yes, Pet, just how I like you, pliant, asleep, quiet, and all mine." That last word is growled, brushed against your ear as you lie in bed.
You try to reach for the tickle on your skin to brush it away, but your arms also disobey you. There is only stillness. Completely at his mercy as that chill touches your arm. It feels like fingers this time, ice cold… corpse cold… ghosting down your arm to your blanket. Your breathing hisses in, eyes shut against the freedom to see, and you feel the warmth of your bedding pulled from your body.
Exposing you to his chill.
Suddenly your entire body lies expectant like the playground it is for your midnight visitor.
Vulnerable and waiting. Nothing but panties over your sex.
"My my, darling, expecting company? Aside from me that is. Tch. Naughty, naughty." That voice echoes in against your neck, and something sharp drags down your artery. "As if I'd let anyone or anything else lay a hand or finger or worse on my precious treasure…"
His face presses against your temple, and you can feel the bed shifting under his unseen weight, feeling the divot his head makes in the pillow next to yours. Your voice whines, your body on fire, and tears prick in your eyes. You want to see, you want to move.
To run from or to embrace the terror in your bed, even your arousal muddled mind isn't sure.
"You smell… delicious. Is this sweet scent of your excitment all for me? My my, I'm flattered," his voice rumbles in your ear and in your mind. The chill of his presence enfolds you, a ghostly crawl over your skin. Tendrils wrap around you—arms and legs, one around your throat, and one snakes it way over your lips… and between.
"I hope you do not mind a little extra attentiveness to your beautiful form, darling. Too tantalizing not to spread you out and pry you apart like the masterpiece you are," he purrs louder inside your head. Body lifting from the bed, at least you think that's what happens, you no longer feel the soft support of a mattress.
There is only the icy crawl over your skin and the freeze of your muscles. A taste fills your mouth, sweet citrus and fragrant herbs. You'd wet your lips for more, but even your mouth and tongue are forfeit to you.
Sharp points like nails scratch up your arm . "My little treat," his voice is inside your head now, "you await my command, don't you. Trussed up like the morsel of prey you are." Ice shivers down your spine, gathering strangely warm in your belly. Those bindings around your limbs make you dance in the air, tingling like static on your flesh. They tighten and wind as they explore your curves.
Your breast is squeezed, a sharp pain at your nipple as it peaks under those invisible attentions. The shadows caress you, you can see them in your mind.
Your body as he see yous, your midnight caller, your sweet possessor. You see how he sees, your pretty curves curled in dark shadow masses, your breasts and arms and legs bound in tingling bands of dark. "Look at you now, precious thing. Stare at how eager you are."
His words sound from everywhere sound you. There is no room, no bed, no existence. Only his voice and his possession of you, and you are not afraid.
Those instincts to run from his sharp fangs and velvet voice had been silenced too long ago. "Show yourself to me," you beg inwardly, and now how you know he hears you.
"Oh my dear, that's cute, thinking you can order a creature of the night like me around?"
Your bindings tighten suddenly, yanked firmly by his hand. You choke at the pressure at your neck. You gag at the thrust of it down your throat. You tear up at the sudden prodding at your entrance as one jams up between your thighs for your sex.
Right where you ache. Right where you wish most to be possessed.
And your bedtime demon knows it.
"Oh my darling, this will only hurt a bit," he croons, a pleasant shiver running over your nerves and into your brain as that pressure inside you starts to move. "The pleasure will be far greater than the pain…"
You watch in your mind as his presence encroaches around you, the shadows deepening as your feel icy breath on your neck.
Colder than death.
You can't shiver. Can't cry. Can't escape.
But as those tendrils pulse and move, tugging at your nipples and curling inside your deepest walls of your core… it hits you. How delicious this is. Your voice is deep, husky with sleep, but you can feel your consciousness prevailing.
Your body wakes as he's fucking you with his shadows, his purring breaths circling around you, coming from everywhere and no where at the same time. Your walls clench on the friction inside you, the coolness heating as your body does.
And you fight to come alive for this terrifying presence around you.
You're willing it…
Or is this sensual voice in your ear allowing you to wake just a little? Just enough to feel his icy breath on your neck as his teeth grate on the skin under your neck. Another throaty groan and you will your limbs to move in your shadow bindings.
Your visitor only tuts against the folds of your ear. A chilling hand presses to your thigh, touch joining the thrusting tendril inside you. You groan, mouth opening to bite on the darkness that covers your panting mouth.
"Now now, none of that. We ask before we bite… like this," his syllables of silk caress your mind, and you're fairly certain you would do anything his next request asked of you. "I'm going to bite you, have you, drink you in. That alright, darling?"
Your head nods in your bindings, moving in your state, trapped in limbo… not asleep and not awake.
The movements inside your walls increase in tempo, a set of cold fingers seek your clit and rub. You groan, kept just under the surface of sleep by his powers before
It's like a shard of ice in your neck, his teeth sink in to your vein. It feels like death stabbing into your very-much-alive throat. It melts into a sensation that runs through your veins and to your sex, a wave of arousal coursing through your body from his.
As invisible as his own might be.
Your eyes are shut and in that moment, you can see him. Aquiline nose, chiseled jaw, thick sensual lips that wrap around your skin and suck to pull your blood to that deadly mouth.
But it's his eyes that burn their way to your memory and into your soul. Crimson and glowing and illumined in the dark of your bedroom.
His mouth lifts from your flesh and his eyes look into yours. Somehow. "Ah, there you are," you watch his scarlet, bloody lips move as his voice rumbles in your ear. "I've been waiting."
Your body goes ice cold as your belly burns white hot. You can see his sculpted hands, strong and crafted by the gods to ruin you, thrusting against your sex. Your clit throbs and your muscles wind tighter.
Those crimson eyes widen, observing it all, inside you and over your body.
Pleasure unlike anything else tears through you, not that your can do much else than come on the pressure inside you in a violent, shaking gush. The tendrils of his power ease you back to the bed, but they don't let you go.
Your try to catch your breath, even in this possessed state, this limbo place between asleep and awake.
But his hold on your tightens, dark shadow consuming you as you feel is cool tongue laving up the length of your neck.
Tasting you. Savoring you. Your blood his feast, your pleasure his banquet. And your very soul his plaything.
That velvet voice purrs a chuckle again in your ear.
"And now, you're all mine, and I'm all yours…"
Those plush lips press to your artery, blood still leaking between where your bodies meet.
Original Request: “Hiii!!! How are you??? Hope it isn't too much to ask but could you do a fic of Astarion with a Trans male reader? Like him probably finding out and his reaction about it, something like that 😅😁 (the Trans part can be up to you! Magic or surgically, go crazy! As a trans dude myself I'd really love to see more T-male rep in media, especially fanfictions) please and thank you kind sir! 😁😆”
A/N: Bet. I agree, there's not enough trans rep in media - hope I did your request justice ❤️
-----
It has been a very long time since Astarion has had anything that’s truly been his. He’s spent the last two centuries being Cazador’s prisoner and has only just begun to rediscover what it’s like to be a person again and now he’s losing the only person to make him feel like he’s enough to Gale of all people!
Astarion tells himself it doesn’t bother him. You’re free to talk to whomever you wish; he’s not your keeper, nor your lover, not really, despite the flirtatious banter between you. And still, as he watches you exit Gale’s tent with a smile and the tension that had been ever-present since the Nautiloid finally eased, the sour taste lingers.
He sits back against one of the logs surrounding the firepit of your little camp, arms crossed, watching you with carefully manufactured indifference. You don’t even notice him at first. too busy thanking Gale for something, voice light and sincere. Astarion’s jaw tightens. It’s ridiculous really, how easily the wizard can earn that kind of smile from you.
When you finally make your way over, he’s already schooled his expression into something charming and careless. “Well, look at you,” he drawls. “Positively glowing. Should I assume Gale’s responsible for your newfound radiance? I hadn’t realized you found the studious type so…” It feels so hard to force the words out he almost fears he may choke on them, “enrapturing.” He feels sick.
You blink and Astarion hates that he finds the confusion cute. “Enraptu-” You laugh, like the thought hadn’t even struck you, “Oh, no, nothing like that. Gale and I are just friends.”
Lovely. So he couldn’t even blame some misguided whim of the heart for your straying. Was he truly so pathetic that you’d rather have Gale warm your bed if you were looking for something noncommittal?
He forces a light laugh, brittle and elegant. “Just friends, of course. How very… wholesome of you.” He gestures vaguely, a careless flick of his fingers that doesn’t quite disguise the tension in his shoulders. “And here I was, imagining something scandalous to entertain myself with. A shame, really.”
You study him intently, that faint crease appearing between your brows - the one that always makes him feel as if you can see straight through him, and he hates that feeling almost as much as he needs your attention on him.
“Astarion,” you say, wary but careful, like the way you’d crooned over the stray dog and the owlbear cub, like one off word would send him fleeing, “is something bothering you?”
“Who, me? Not at all.” He smiles too wide, teeth flashing like a challenge. “Why ever would anything be wrong? I’m merely delighted to know our resident wizard has found such a devoted pupil.” If the word came out any sharper, Astarion knows you’d be bleeding. But your look doesn’t waver, and suddenly all that practiced charm feels like paper armour. He exhales, glancing away. “Fine. Perhaps a touch. You vanish into his tent every night, return with that… glow about you, and I’m left to assume the worst. Forgive me for having an imagination.”
The corner of your lip twitches slightly, barely discernible, but Astarion still catches it. He hates that he wants to kiss the laughter right out of your mouth.
“You could’ve asked,” you say, settling beside him without invitation, the glow of the fire catching at the line of your jaw, the slight swell of your Adam’s apple in your throat, the faint flicker of your pulse thrumming under your skin. “Before you assumed the worst.”
The silence stretches between you, broken intermittently by the crackling and popping of the fire. Astarion knows he’s being cruel, that he should apologize for making assumptions about you instead of just telling you that he was feeling jealous, but he’s still not used to his words being given weight, to the idea that someone - you - would care to hear what he thinks.
“Gale’s been helping me with something… personal,” you start slowly, arms crossing over your chest in what might be the first defensive move Astarion’s ever seen you make. “But not - not like that.” You inhale, like bringing yourself to continue hurts, “He’s been showing me a few spells that help my body feel more like my own.”
He can see the way your heart has sped up by the ticking of the vein at the side of your neck, can practically taste it in the air - you’re nervous, but Astarion can’t fathom why. If anyone understands not feeling at ease in one’s own body it’s him.
“It’s- Well, I suppose I’ll just come out with it, huh?” You press on quickly, like if you’re interrupted you may never be able to say it, “I’m trans, Astarion. I was born with a body that didn’t fit and Gale is helping me with spells that let me continue my transition.”
Astarion blinks, the words hanging in the air between you. For once, he doesn’t have a quip waiting on his tongue. He just studies you—really studies you—as though seeing you anew. The flicker of the firelight paints your expression in gold and shadow, and all he can think, absurdly, is how steady you sound for someone baring so much of themselves.
“I see,” he says at last, quietly. It isn’t derision, or disbelief, or sarcasm - it’s thought. Real, deliberate thought. He feels like everything he’s learned about you to this point, all the little behaviors and quirks and tells, has been rewritten, not warped, not changed, just viewed under a new light that makes them feel all the more important now that you’ve shared something so important to you.
Your shoulders tense, like you’ve already braced for whatever terrible thing comes next.
“I imagine that must take an incredible amount of trust,” he continues slowly, “letting someone wield that kind of power over your body.” His gaze flicks toward Gale’s tent before returning to you. “I can’t decide if that’s brave or foolish.”
“Maybe it’s just necessary,” you say after a moment, leaning back against the log behind you. It’s… easy, the way you say it. Like rewriting yourself from scratch isn’t the bravest thing Astarion can possibly think of. “The first step to feeling whole.”
He nods slowly, feels a bit like the warmth from the fire, the heat of you beside him, is finally thawing whatever he has that passes for a heart. You’re not different, he knows, from the man he’s grown close to. This will not make him start treating you differently or viewing you as any less, but it feels important that you’ve trusted him with this.
“For what it’s worth,” Astarion says, drawing your attention away from the flames and back onto him, “I think who you are is very handsome.” He grins a little, eyes darting just briefly back toward the wizard’s tent, “And that you can do much better than Gale.”
Your surprised laughter is all the reassurance he needs that he’s happy, just where he is.
Request: “Could you do something with an Astarion x male barbarian. But where the barbarian isn’t totally a himbo and is more of a mother goose of the party?”
-----
It’s off, Astarion finds, to be cared for after so many decades of pain. To have come to not only anticipate your nightly check ins, but to expect them. To see you leave your seat at the fire just before the sun begins to sink past the horizon and start checking in on each of your companions - giving each of them a few minutes of your undivided attention before you move on to the next.
He can’t remember ever being treated like this - doesn’t recall anyone making the effort to routinely ask him how he’s doing or if he needs anything. And he knows you’re not just talk - he’s witnessed time and again your willingness to part with things to help others. To find little ways to take care of them. Infernal iron for Karlach, magic items for Gale, weapons for Lae’zel, and armor for Shadowheart. You’d stood up to a devil for Wyll and regularly sit with Halsin to learn more about medicinal herbs so you can help patch up your friends after a rough fight.
You arrive as he’s ruminating and sit quietly across from him, taking care not to disrupt his thoughts. He hates how such a small action makes him feel warm, how the look in your eyes makes his chest feel tight. His tongue is heavy, thick and useless in his mouth under the weight of your gaze.
He can smell blood. Your blood. When he forces himself to look, he can see where it still seeps from your split knuckles. For once, the smell has him feeling sick to his stomach.
“Hello, dear,” he forces himself to purr after what has certainly been too long. “Come to see me at last?”
“Of course,” you say, smiling at him. He pointedly ignores the squeeze of what used to be his heart at the sight. “Saved the best for last,” you tease.
“Well,” Astarion says because his mind has quite suddenly gone blank. “I won’t argue on that. Though if you’ve come to offer yourself as a late night snack, I’ll have to decline - you’ve lost a bit more blood than you should’ve if you wanted a nibble.”
You laugh and Astarion hates himself for how much he wants to hear it again.
“I’m fine,” you say, waving off his concern and pulling out your bag, “Anyway, you lost a dagger earlier so I wanted to bring it back to you.”
Astarion blinks, fingers closing gently around the cool metal of the dagger he’d assumed was long gone. That you, tired and injured as you are, had sought it out and returned it to him just because it was his and you thought he’d like to have it back?
“And besides,” you continue, like he isn’t in the middle of a crisis, “I noticed the shirt you were wearing yesterday had a snag in the shoulder. Figured I’d ask if you wanted me to mend it for you?”
And, well, if you’re so desperate to find excuses to spend time with him, who is Astarion to say no? Especially since he’s feeling just as eager to spend time with you.
Summary: Astarion is a little overwhelming when you’re injured.
-----
In your experience, there is almost nothing better than a good fight - the thrum of adrenaline, the pounding of your heart, the sweet sting of overworked muscles. Truly, there is little better, but this? This is torture.
You’re used to injury, it comes with the territory of being a melee fighter, but you’re not accustomed to taking it easy and letting yourself be doted on the way Astarion demands that you be.
He hadn’t seemed to care about your hesitance to settle down and allow yourself to heal when you started traveling together, but ever since the fight at Moonrise Towers he’s been much more… invested in your recovery. He’d been on you almost as soon as General Thorm’s body hit the ground, prying the blood-slicked handle of your axe from your fingers and shoving it at Karlach so he could start dragging you back up the passageways back toward camp, waving away Jaheira and her Harpers and anyone else that sought to speak to you.
Once you’d made it to camp, he was quick to unbuckle your armor and cast it aside, helping you clean off the blood in the river nearby before dumping you in your bedroll and demanding that you stay there. He’s been hovering since you got back, checking in near-constantly and always offering to bring things to you when you’re more than capable of fetching things yourself. You’d been the one to land the killing blow on the avatar of Myrkul, and now you’re barely allowed to lift your own canteen when you want a drink!
Even now, as you silently slip from your bedroll and move to take up your greataxe, you can hear him digging through the camp chest and muttering about the lack of medical supplies. He’ll be peeved when he figures out that you’ve snuck out, but you know you’ll be more helpful using your strength to clear what’s left of the battlefield than lying here counting the holes in your tent. Your fingers close around the haft of your axe and lift and there’s a flash of pain as the movement puts too much strain on your injured ribs. The stitches give as your skin tears and the wound pulses as it begins bleeding sluggishly again.
“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, free hand coming up to press over your wound like that’ll stop him from knowing.
Already you can hear the chest snap shut outside and swift footsteps approaching your tent.
“I know I haven’t done anything to draw blood,” Astarion pushes aside the door flap, unimpressed crimson eyes fixing on you almost immediately. “So care to tell me why you’re bleeding again?” He raises an eyebrow at you and nods pointedly back at your bedroll. A sigh escapes you but you relent, placing your axe back in its place against the tent support and moving to sprawl back out on your bedroll at Astarion’s feet.
He settles silently at your side, unraveling your bandages until he can get at the pulled stitches. He uses the sharp tip of one of his daggers to slice through the damaged thread and carefully removes the remnants from your flesh before setting about threading up a curved needle so he can replace the stitches you’d pulled.
“I don’t understand,” Astarion says softly, voice hardly above a whisper, “why you won’t just let yourself heal.”
Your breath catches as the needle pierces your skin for the first stitch. “Because I’m fine and my time would be better spent helping out there.” You tip your head back to look at him but he won’t meet your eyes. “It’s just one little stab wound - it’s not like this would kill me.”
His lips twist into a sharp frown and his eyes flash up to meet yours. You’re more than a little surprised by the anger you see in them. “It could have. Any number of things in that dreadful place could have and then you’d be gone and I’d be alone again and I can’t be alone again!”
You’re stunned, baffled, by his outrage. Sure, you’d warmed each other’s bedrolls before and he’d told you something of his past, but he’d never led you to believe he cared this much. His chest heaves with the weight of his admission and his eyes are bright, like he’s on the verge of tears, but you knew he’d rather die than shed a tear over the likes of you.
“Astarion,” you say and the sound of your voice seems to snap him back to the present. You take his hand in yours and guide it up to press over your heart so he can feel its steady beating under his palm. “I am fine. Really, I’m alright. I am not going anywhere.”
He nods, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. He nods again, and turns back to your stitches. He finishes them deftly, and then settles down at your side as soon as your bandages are tied back in place, lying next to you with his head on your shoulder and his hand firmly against your heart.
“Once Shadowheart or Halsin get back, we’ll have them heal you,” he says quietly, “but until then, let me stay? Just-” Astarion’s voice breaks off slightly and you’re not quite sure where the two of you stand anymore, whether this has pushed you past your playful bullying and comfortable acquaintanceship and into new territory or if you’re expected to just keep on as you always had. “Just let me make sure you’re alright until then.”
You’re still antsy, still itching to go back to Moonrise and help with the wounded, to help clear the wreckage, but Astarion is warm where he is curled close to your side and the weight of him is soothing enough that you’re content to stay where you are for the time being. Slowly Astarion’s breath starts to even out and you find sleep beginning to creep up on you as well.
You know that you’ll have to talk to him about what this means for the two of you when you wake, but for now, at least, you don’t mind his doting.
Pairing: Astarion x Reader (written with a male!reader in mind, but can be read as gender neutral)
Requested: No
Summary: An unexpected side effect of the tadpole leads to you finding out what the camp’s resident vampire really thinks about you.
WARNINGS: Some suggestive content
-----
Nothing has been “normal” since your escape from the nautiloid, but you’d settled into your new life with your merry band of misfits. You’ve grown used to the rumble of Halsin’s snoring, to the ever-present bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel, to the prickle of Gale’s magic against your skin. You still don’t like it, but you’ve even become accustomed to the faint squirming of the parasite in your head and the strange powers it provides.
But now, only three days’ travel from home, from Baldur’s Gate, the rules have changed again.
You’d been speaking with Astarion, helping him by copying out the runes carved into his back when you hear it, hear his voice asking “Why would you help someone like me?”
You respond without thinking, not even looking up from your sketch. “I care about you, Astarion. I’m happy to help you.”
He shifts slightly, twisting to look at you over his shoulder. “Not that I don’t appreciate the declaration of your devotion, but that was rather out of the blue, don’t you think?”
“Not really?” you say, “You just asked me why I’d help.”
Astarion is quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t say that.”
You blink, eyes finally lifting from the parchment balanced on your lap to study him. Astarion loves mind games, thrives on the little bit of control they give him that he’d lacked for so long, but you’ve gotten good at reading him in the time you’ve been travelling together and you know he’s not playing with you now.
“I could have sworn-” you shake your head, dismissing what you thought you heard as a passing impulse, an errant daydream. “Never mind.”
Astarion hums agreeably but his eyes don’t waver from you, sharp as always but intense in a way you haven’t seen before. “What a pleasant sight,” his voice hums through you, “Wonder what else I could do to have you on your knees…”
Visions flash behind your eyes, perspective warped like you’re seeing yourself from someone else’s eyes.
You, kneeling before Astarion with your hands settled against your thighs and your head tipped back so you can watch him, fingers twitching like you ache to reach for him and are only just restraining yourself.
You, sprawled on your back near a roaring campfire and Astarion settled on your lap, pale thighs bracketing your hips. There’s a smile on your face as you offer him your wrist and he takes your gift - because that’s how it feels, like something to be treasured, hidden close to your heart and protected - and then you can hear the hitch in not-you’s breath as his fangs sink in and then liquid gold as your blood floods your mouth and he moves against you.
The vision shifts again, to you curled up with Astarion, your arm curled around his waist and your head on his shoulder like it had always belonged there. Not for the first time, you’re struck by the strangeness of looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes, but the look of absolute trust in your eyes as you shift to look up at Astarion - at yourself? - and not-you’s mouth opens and “I love you” spills out with all the ease of something said a thousand times before.
A cold hand touches your face and you’re wrenched back to the present. Astarion is looking at you intently, worry evident in his brilliant ruby eyes.
“Darling, are you alright?” He studies you, eyes trailing over the length of you like he’s looking for a wound that isn’t there. “You seemed rather lost in thought.”
Thought? Was that it? Had you been hearing- seeing- Astarion’s thoughts? Did he really want those things with you? Blood and sex, sure - those were things you’d shared already. But that intimate sort of trust - love? You’d never expected that he'd want that with you.
You can feel it when he looks at you, not quite full thoughts but snippets, fragments - warm, safe, happy. There’s a sensation of butterflies in your stomach and you have to ask before you choke on the wings.
“Astarion, are you in love with me?”
He freezes, eyes wide and startled. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might not have been able to see the mask starting to slip back into place. There’s a tension in him now, you can see the desire to run, can feel his thoughts whipping into a whirlwind. It’s a frantic mess of “Lie- run- yes- hide it- admit it- Cazador will use this against me- lie-”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes downcast like he can’t bear to look at you while he says it.
It’s such an Astarion-typical deflection that it gets a smile out of you. You roll your eyes, hands moving to cup his face and tug him closer until you can kiss him.
There’s a fraction of a second where he hesitates against you, frozen under your fingers, but the moment your lips touch he’s surging forward against you, his hands in your hair. There’s a flash of “Oh” and then “Good- Great- Wonderful,” that has you grinning against his lips. He pulls away after a few seconds and looks at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Am I to assume then, that you share my… interest?” There’s an echo of “say yes. Sweet Hells, please say yes,” and an ache in your chest, a yearning you’re not quite sure how to process.
You do your best to block his thoughts and feelings out, to focus only on your own. You think of the way his eyes shine when he’s amused, his wicked sense of humor, that infuriating charm. The white hot rage that flooded you when he told you what Cazador had done to him. You think of the future and can’t picture it without him at your side.
“I love you.” The words are easier to say than you’d expected, and the smile that overtakes him, bright and unrestrained, reassures you that you’ve made the right choice in telling him.
“Oh thank the gods,” slips past your mental barricade as Astarion moves to pepper your face in kisses and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.
“Would it-” he interrupts you with a kiss, “be a bad time-” he kisses you again, “to mention that I’ve-” another kiss, “been hearing your thoughts this whole time?”
He leans in to kiss you again before your words sink in fully. “You WHAT?!”
You can’t contain your laughter and Astarion smiles as he redoubles his affectionate attack. For the first time, even with everything looming ahead, the future looks bright.
Summary: His Consort has been away all day, and Lord Astarion has plans for some fun to be had in public… and in the privacy of your skirts. One Mage Hand, one Vampire mating bond, and it’s going to be a long walk back to the Palace.
CW: Inappropriate use of Mage Hand, dirty talking you through it, orgasm control and delay, vaginal fingering, aka the DnD Vampire equivalent of a remote vibrator and a phone.
Inspired by OGY’s amazing NSFW audio “In Public, Darling?”
Ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist
It had been a long day of meetings and social calls, of new important and powerful people to influence and bribe. Astarion didn’t expect you back at the palace quite so soon, so a few drinks with a couple of your old companions back at the Elfsong shouldn’t be a problem… should it?
After an hour of hearing how the Selûnite encampment was progressing, how the once Blade of Frontiers had settled into rubbing elbows politically, you felt a ringing in your ears, a tingle up your spine, and a voice in your head.
“Not so desperate to return to me?” Astarion, purrs down your bond. “Not upset at me, are you?”
His laughter is warm and taunting. He’s up to something, you can tell just by that tone. “I was just about to leave…” you think back at him. Only to receive a tickle of laughter in your ear.
“Step outside,” he commands, “I have a surprise for you…”
You obey, knowing his games are always… satisfying. Well, teasing and merciless until they are oh, so satisfying. As you exit, you look around for that head of tousled curls and those glinting red eyes. Nothing.
“Not here, darling, somewhere less public, but not by much…” his voice seems to creep from the alleyway, sounding in your ear as if he’s around the corner. You follow, a suspicion flickers in your head, one that’s confirmed when you see the glowing blue Mage Hand beckoning you closer. It presses a single, tingling digit to your lips before wandering that ice cold touch down the lines of your dress.
“You’re so good at hiding your thoughts, your desires… Why don’t we play a game? I’d hate to think you’d been out having all sorts of fun without me…”
“What sort of game?” You smirk as you reply.
“Hmmm, I’m going to make you come before you get into the door. Doesn’t that sound delicious, darling? Just to remind you how desperately you need me, how desperately you depend on me…”
That Mage Hand instantly flies under your skirts, sliding up your thigh until it sinks two magic digits knuckle deep between your thighs.
You squirm; a groan, a gasp, a noise of pure desperation slips from your mouth.
“Ahh, there it is, one of my favorite noises, that little bit of a gasp. Don’t fret, darling. Start walking… keep it together, and get home to our palace, dear Consort…”
“You can be such a controlling prick, you know that?” You taunt him back as you start to walk, your legs splayed a little to make room for those magical fingers digging in your cunt.
“Isn’t that part of the fun? Part of the game?” He purrs his taunt in retaliation. “Just think of all the fun things I can do to you in public… in the privacy of your skirts…”
“Fun for you, perhaps,” you grunt back as he digs those remote fingers to stroke you in just that right spot, the one that makes your knees go wobbly.
“Oh darling, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special going on here. After all, I’m doing all the hard work. All you have to do is keep that polite smile on your face and walk.”
Your breathing is rapid, and even your pale cheeks are beginning to flush with excitement. With every step, you feel the thrusting and prodding and burrowing inside you. A short walk, you console yourself. So close, it’s just… a bit more as you head down the bustling street, a hair closer with every step to the Central Wall and then to the tower entrance.
But that’s when his thumb joins the myriad of sensations between your thighs. “Fuck,” you curse aloud, your knees buckling until you have to catch yourself on the wall beside you.
And then that purring voice tickles inside your ear again. “Desperate, pet? I do so love to hear when you’re desperate.” His presence fills your mind, even as those fingers thrust and crook, thrust and crook in time with your air. Except now, you stand stock still, just trying to catch your breath and not fall. “That’s it, darling, steady yourself, I wouldn’t want you to trip.”
Your thighs shake as that hand catches you just right, your fangs biting through your lower lip as you quake and fight with all your strength not to puddle your mess on the stone streets.
“Mmm, delicious, I can hear your breathing, feel your heart racing. Hells, you’re desperately close, aren’t you? You’re just outside Sorcerers’ Sundries, aren’t you? Tell me, do all those innocent mages think something is wrong with you?” His voice grows more excited, frenzied, as if the idea of you getting caught with his literal hand up your skirts is getting him hard… which it undoubtedly is.
You can taste blood, a welcome distraction from the constant movement in and out… in and out… “Damn you to the hells!” You curse, your hips rolling on what looks like nothing. Your secret pleasure source, those deft, dexterous fingers show no mercy as you go careening towards your peak.
“My lady,” the kind vendor nearest you offers gently. But you just round on them, baring your own set of teeth in agitation to scare them off.
Your ferocity is rewarded with a warm laugh in your ear and a perfect circle of that magic thumb over your clit. “I’m sure you’re quite a sight by now. How sweet of them to come to your aid… my damsel in distress. A pity I’m the only one who can save you…”
He pulls those fingers out entirely, and you keen into your palm, crying tears at the absence and burning denial.
“Walk, pet. Get to the gate before I continue…”
It’s a promise and a threat, all in one velvet, sugar-sweet phrase.
You focus, feeling that cool shimmer of magic hovering over your skin, just brushing your thighs as you force yourself, will yourself, to take one step… then another. You have to tell your brain, as lust-hazy as it is, to breathe, to move, to smile and look demure. Even if on the inside you’re raging, blistering hot with need. You can’t even weave two words to curse your love, to snap at him for how much you’re suffering at his hands with this little game.
Suffering… and loving it.
A few more steps, and you managed to climb your sorry ass and slick thighs up to the walls of your home…
“Good darling… good Consort,” his praises pour over you, soothing and stoking your desire afresh somehow all at once. You almost tumble up the stairs in your delirium, the rush of pleasure as those fingers sink their cool touch inside you makes you moan, caught off guard, loud enough to bounce off the stone walls of the tower.
A few quick, shallow movements and you’re near the brink again, so quickly.
“Sweetling, tears already?” His satin syllables caress your ear, only adding to the rush of heat and wet between your thighs. “You sound… frantic, desperate. Desperate enough to beg.” That wicked, rumbling chuckle races down your spine and tickles your brain. “Beg for it, my love, what do you want from me?” The Mage Hand slips out mid stride.
“Come! I want to come!” You scream aloud as you make it to the parapet, one hand on the door to the palace as that Mage Hand sweeps its thumb perfectly over your clit and those cool smooth fingers crook just right.
You can hear his laughter from the other side of the door, the wooden panes barely muffling that annoying, perverted, deep-chested giggle. You grit your teeth, pushing on your bond as you come undone, as your slick soaks those magic fingers and your belly clenches and spasms until you lose your breath.
It’s all you can do, to dig deep and force your feelings back at your love, the bastard that he is. A smile turns your panting, slack-jawed lips as you hear his own groan. That’s all the encouragement you need. You throw your debilitating lust and mind-numbing pleasure through your linked minds… and the gut rending thud of a fist against the door, the way the Mage Hand disappears as he loses concentration… the way you hear his breath ragged and voice rough as he comes too….
You grin, feeling your mutual pleasure and delight shimmering between you, it makes your walls throb and your mouth smile.
Just a twist of your wrist, and you open the door to see him, the great Lord… the Vampire Ascendant… with sweat on his face and a cheeky, annoyed grin as he hunches forward to catch his breath. One hand grips his own cock at the head, cum leaking between his fingers… The other rakes his silver curls back, a meager attempt to regain some semblance of control. “Well, here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed and her thighs just soaked for me,” he croons, content even as he smirks at you, breathless. “To bed, I think…”
You give a brazen smirk. “This time, I want your real fingers without the distractions of your little game in public…”
He laughs, his true lips whispering in your ear. “Oh well, I suppose, there’s fun to be had in private, darling.”
“I wanted to hear you whimper…” ✨Update to “Bites in the Night”✨
Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3K
Summary: After fighting your way out of the Githyanki Crèche, your vampire has a raging… ego. And you need to check it, to remind him his place… and to hear him whimper.
CW: Subby Astarion, Whimper alert, mild bondage, inappropriate use of grasping vines, begging, brat taming, face sitting, anal fingering, oral sex
Ao3 link | series on ao3 | Masterlist
“Well…” he purrs, that aspirate ‘h’ somewhere in the middle of the word making you bristle with irritation. “I thought they’d never leave…” Astarion grins, spattered in Githyanki blood as he casually licks his blade clean.
He’s the image of cool and collected… as if you all didn’t just fight your way out of the entire Crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. As if Gale didn’t almost die three times and as if you didn’t get your favorite weapons disarmed from your hands twice. “Leave?” you snap at him. “They’re dead!”
Astarion sheathes his blade and starts to suck the blood clean from under his fingernails. “Seems hardly a difference worth fighting over, darling. Same result.”
“No, it’s a result of your big… fat… mouth,” you snip the words, closing the distance to poke him in the leather armored chest with every word. “And you defaced their painting of Vlakith! You’re lucky your undead guts aren’t being used for training targets.”
Astarion just gives that same conceited, shit-eating grin. “My guts are perfectly fine. Theirs are spread on the ground… and, since you seem in a feisty mood…” he leans in close to purr in your ear, “perhaps you’d like your guts rearranged, dear?”
“Ugh!” you gag in disgust at the suggestion. “You arsehole. You should be apologizing for that smart mouth of yours.”
“Darling, I rarely apologize, and I never do when I’m in the right. Thanks to me, we can leave this mausoleum.” He comments with a flick of his wrist, ignoring your enraged glare and heading for camp.
That’s when something snaps inside you. The other companions are already well up the trail from the Monastery. And, by now, when you and Astarion disappear, they know better than to come looking… and Shadowheart usually has her hands already glowing with Lesser Restoration. A nice treat for after feeling the blood loss on your end of your trysts.
But not this time.
“You’re a proper bastard, aren’t you?” you hiss at him, heart racing with the need to fight.
But he just flashes you that cool, collective seductive smile. “Such a mean spirit, you wouldn’t want me to have to teach you some manners… would you?” His lean frame crowds you, one arm reaching to cage you in against the tree behind you. “I’m feeling rather good right now… all that Githyanki blood has given me quite the raging… affliction. I could use your help…” his eyes flash dangerously seductive as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his clothed erection.
Tearing your hand away, you cuss at him. “Fucking arrogant Elf,” you hiss, grabbing him by the top of his flushed and pointed ear. “You’re going to learn manners, not me!”
Astarion crumples between your pinching fingers. Knees buckling, voice cracking, eyes tearing… you’d think you had kicked him in the balls with how pathetically he’s reacting now. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whines as you drag him off the path into the sunny woods of the Mountain Path.
You have to reach high to grab it, that pink tip of his ear, but the ache in your shoulder is worth it for how he instantly cows to you. He’s sputtering curses and calling you names, but it’s hard to take them seriously as his voice breaks with shrill whines.
Like a boy in puberty, every word cracks in his voice.
“Cheeky little… argh!” He squeals as you squeeze harder, making his feet stumble. Just in time. You find what you’re looking for.
Grasping vines, a nice little patch.
“You, my vampire, have been insufferable long enough today. Apologize,” you command.
He scoffs, trying to reach for your punishing fingers on his most tender of spots. “I won’t apologize for killing our enemies in battle. They had it coming, those Gith…”
“Hmmm, guess what, my dear,” you cup his bloodied cheek with your free hand, bringing him in for a kiss. His lips tremble against yours, his ear is still nabbed tightly in your grip, after all. You whisper in delicate and threatening tones against his mouth. “Now you’ve got your own thing coming as a result.”
He gasps, cool breath on your face as you guide him to the ground by his ear. “Hands above your head, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even let you come.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarls, trying to jerk his ear free as he lies in the grass and dirt, but the pain only makes him hiss and relent as you hold fast.
“Oh I dare, Astarion. I dare because you’re being an obnoxious, unbearable… louse!”
“I think you mean leech,” he tries to giggle, a snap of his fangs beneath you. “I have more in common with leeches.”
Your withering glare gives him just enough pause, those hard lines of his eyes softening, gaze widening as he realizes you aren’t joking.
“Hands above your head, leech,” you give your icy command.
Those elegant hands move in obedience, slender, skilled digits twitching slightly as they extend across the forest floor until…
…with a creaking groan, the grasping vines do their job, locking his wrists and upper arms neatly in place.
“Wretched hells, you have to be joking,” he growls, fighting against the vines as anger flares in those crimson eyes. “You have got to be joking, darling.”
“Serious as death itself,” you smirk down at him. “Now all you can use is your smart mouth, and until you apologize, I’m going to give it something to do.
You pull off your leather armor and underthings slowly. A smile turns your lips as you watch Astarion try to slip his hand from the vines unsuccessfully. A sweat is dotting his brow, eyes roam your exposed skin and follow your hand to where your fingers slide themselves to bury into your own cunt.
His fangs catch in the patches of sunlight through the canopy. Pupils blown wide, he watches your hand, his pink tongue wetting his lips at the sight. It doesn’t take any effort to perceive the prodding, twitching erection in his leathers. “Are you going to apologize for being a proper twat?”
“As I demonstrated today with our Gith friends, I’m not one to back down from a fight… darling….”
Oh, that smug grin on his face, that tongue teasing the corner of his mouth… you want to smack it from his handsome face, you want to… to…
You step over him. Feet framing his chest, you lower yourself to your knees, fingers parting your folds to show his hungry eyes your swollen little clit. “If you insist on being a cunt, you can taste mine…”
He smirks wider, purring and stretching beneath you. Proud of himself. “Oh darling, I…”
The groan that comes from your mouth as you cover him with your folds is so loud, birds startle from the trees. You grind, slow rolls that push his prominent, aquiline nose right against your aching clit. Finally, that tongue that has caused you nothing but trouble today is put to good use as it thrusts in and circles around your channel. His laughter tickles up your spine from your sex, and you can almost feel his self-satisfaction as you positively drench his face.
But this is supposed to be retribution. A lesson to tame his brat behavior. So you grab a fist of his perfect, blood-streaked silver hair and yank. “Mmmph,” he whines loudly into your folds. Desperation and pain. It’s high pitched, pitiful. And you shake him a bit, your breathing ragged from being driven so close to your release already.
“This isn’t for you, Astarion, it’s for me,” you snap, watching the twinkle of mischief flash in those crimson depths. “You’ve been naughty… intolerable. And now you’re going to pay for it.”
“Oh I quake in my boots,” he thrusts his hips up behind you into the air, miming what pleasures await. “I’m all a-quiver with fear,” he sniggers.
You fist your hand tighter in his hair until he hisses and whines that you’ll ruin it. “Just remember, it’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.”
Those eyes widen at your implied threat as you sit firmly on his mouth and nose and chin. His skin already slick with your arousal, he works his head and tongue inside your folds for far longer than any mortal would survive. You grind slowly, careful not to let in too much air, savoring all the friction he can give you.
And he… he knows his duty. All fangs and tongue and lips as you roll your clit on his nose. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your pulse thumping in your ears now, no longer from rage but from hot, desperate arousal. “I’m close,” you gasp, and you know he hears you as his pointed ears twitch. “Make me come, and I just might let you, too.” You give a low, threatening laugh, “eventually that is.”
That’s when you feel it on your clit, his face sliding in your folds as he catches your bud in his front, blunted teeth and nips.
You groan, voice breaking in a scream as you come around nothing. Holding yourself up with your fist in his hair, you can’t just let yourself pitch forward or you’ll end up in the vines too. So you shake in your bliss, braced against his face and scalp as your tremors wrack through you.
Raising up, you move to kneel beside him, pulling out a rag from your bag of holding to wipe his face off.
“You just can’t keep your hands off me, even after you’ve come. Isn’t that right, darling?” He gives you that arrogant asshole of a smirk, and you mirror it. Slowly, you pop open the fastening of that blue and burgundy leather armor until his cream undershirt lies damp against his skin. You can feel his belly clenching under your feather light touch, watching it rise and fall with ragged breaths.
As your hand brushes gingerly over the rock hard bulge in his leathers, he hisses, a low giggle of a laugh in his throat. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I? I think I deserve a treat,” he sasses you, another roll of his hips to push his erection against your palm.
But you’re not done, and you give his cock a punishing squeeze through his leathers. “Hush,” you snap. You reach into your bag again, pulling out an eagle feather and a bottle of oil. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open your mouth to do one of two things: apologize….” You lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “or beg.”
He laughs, catching you off guard as he bites your lips until you taste blood. “You know by now, I never beg,” he growls, pride dripping from his words.
“First time for everything,” you hiss, pulling your mouth out of his reach and licking your blood from your lips. Reaching for the feather, you tickle it over the sharp, mouthwatering line of his jaw. “We’ll start with something soft, I think…” Just that downy tip traces the lines of his chest, the chiseled muscles underneath flex and constrict as his belly clenches.
“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing light and rapid. You hear his hands straining against the vines, their growth creaking as he fights for freedom. “Mmhm,” you hear him whine, that feather tracing the line of his waistband as his cock remains twitching.
Untouched.
His eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark as his body undulates under your teasing touch.
“I think I heard you speak, but not to apologize or beg…” you taunt, leaning over him, setting aside the feather in favor of a single finger. Your isolated touch trails the same pattern, those ridges of his abdominals are a map you know by heart now. “So you’ll have to suffer having me touch you like this ‘til you ask nicely…”
Your finger wanders to his hips, just brushing the outline of his cock. He bucks into nothingness, into open air… his breathing rough, his belly rapidly rising and clenching repeatedly. “Eugh,” he whines, your finger tracing that prominent ridge at the base of his cock head.
“Ready to apologize or beg?” you lean down to whisper in his ear, but by the way his fang bites his bottom lip, you can see he’s still clinging too tightly to that insufferable pride.
“Neither,” he says bravely, but the sensation of your hand reaching into his leathers makes an open-mouth whine rip from his mouth. You force your hand into that waistband. It’s snug, especially with how hard he’s gotten. And all you have room to do is squeeze, pulsing your fist around his shaft. You can feel the slow thump of his undead heart in his dick, so hard and so aroused as he is. “Hells… fuck… damn you…” he whines something new with every squeeze you give him.
“Just say ‘sorry,’ or ‘please,’ and all this can go much faster,” you taunt, a singsong in your voice as you release him to unlace his pants. He just gives a pathetic sigh as his cock is freed. You know it aches. All that blood from the Gith, all your teasing has made him flushed and hard and leaking precum profusely. His crimson eyes stare at your lips as you lick them, his whole world narrowed to their wet promise of release and the aching tingle in his cock. It takes a second to shimmy his leathers to the tops of his boots and to uncork the bottle of oil.
A generous amount on your hands and you smile at him. “Come on, you rascal. After all the trouble you caused, don’t you feel the least bit sorry?”
His fangs bite his lower lip tighter again, the sharp lines of his face set, determined to prevail.
Your mouth quirks to one side, hand wandering a single oily finger up his taut thigh, then between those pert ass cheeks of his.
His voice cracks in a whimper, fangs piercing into his own skin as you tease one, single finger around the tight ring of his hole. He tries so hard to snarl, to buck his hips as if he has any control. His cock just juts into the air, twitching and leaking, as you tease inside that ring of muscle just a little more… and more. The oil helps to slide your finger in, just the one digit you thrust in and out. He voices his rapid breathing, quick fire noises that sound so pathetic from his throat, you’re almost tempted to give in and bring him the sweet release you both crave.
“By the hells,” he opens his mouth, whining like a child, “you’re going to really make me pay for just being myself, aren’t you?”
“And just who do you think you are?” You snigger, all those feelings of sympathy evaporate, and suddenly you have two fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Jamming them in slowly, you crook over and over until you find that spot inside him that makes him shudder and writhe. “Ha… huh…” he’s huffing with each stroke you make inside him. “P….p….”
“Is that a ‘p-p-please’ that’s starting to finally form on your irritating tongue?” you chide him, pressing your lips on the spasming plane of his belly even as your fingers fuck him. “And don’t fool yourself, I’m making you pay not because you’re insufferable… or mischievous… or down right maliciously cruel…”
Your fingers continue their torture in his tight walls. Another kiss on his stomach, a flick of your tongue below his navel and more along those deep v cut grooves over his hips, and you hear the most divine noises from his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this to show you your place… to remind you, you need to be a member of my party… and just because I want to hear you whimper.” You lower your mouth, his eyes almost black with lust as they stare at you. He watches you lick your lips slowly only to just breathe warm, damp air on his cock. He grunts, fangs and teeth grit as it jerks widely from the promise of contact. “Beg for me, dear…”
You can hear his little swallowed growls in time with your fingers that are still thrusting inside him.
“Beg for me to let you come…”
His breathing comes in rapid succession, hissing between his clenching teeth. Until… finally… he opens them for a single word. “Please…”
But you just laugh, low and rough in your throat. “Louder, you proud, arrogant bastard.”
“Hells, just…. Fuck me… please!” He finally breaks, voice high and breathless as he bucks his hips into the air closer to your face. A desperate attempt at contact. Any contact.
You stick out your tongue, a teasing lick up the underside of his shaft to clean the mess of precum that’s positively dripping in streams. His cock twitches away from your tongue, a mind of its own. And you laugh, letting your lips and throat vibrate as you slowly suckle him down. Your fingers prod just right, and those warm, tight muscles inside him pulse and tighten… until his cum fills your mouth. He erupts with the most pathetic sounds yet… all rapid whines that crack his voice box until he can only grunt in time with his cock spasms. He fills you; the taste is familiar, but his seed is strangely warm on your tongue. Perhaps it’s from positively gorging himself today. Maybe that’s one thing that you could enjoy because of his arrogance. You smile as you swallow, savoring the look on his sweaty face. You pull your oiled fingers free, cleaning you both with a rag.
“Still feeling like a brat?” You taunt him, as you wipe his softening cock.
“I’m hardly ever a brat, darling…”
You scoff, throwing the rag on his face. “Maybe I should leave you like this until the vines decide they’re tired of your attitude too.”
“Gods, no, please,” he adds quickly. And you just smile down at him, naked and triumphant as you say two more words…
𝓥𝓮𝔁 𝓜𝓮: a “Hate” Smut with Lord Astarion update to “The Rogue You Were”
Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3.5 K
🎨 by @kowashites full image ON TWT
Summary: A year after the Netherbrain, you go to celebrate in style, but your husband Lord has gotten on your last nerve, and tonight is the last straw. It’ll be fun pushing to find the edge of his control… until he snaps.
CW: “hate fuck” (taking out all your irritation about those annoying things your partner does), CNC (intentionally provoking rough/angry sex), semi-public sex, against a wall, spanking and choking, marking, rough fuck with deep feelings
Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist
Another gala to commemorate the anniversary of the Netherbrain’s defeat, a less-than-sordid affair, hosted by the Duke. Not Wyll, you grumble, not your friend, not while he’s adventuring in Avernus with your favorite Hellion. No… his father will play host to the usual stuffy, humdrum sort of gathering. A typical Baldurian ball lies ahead for you… wine and toasting, dancing and discussions. Hells, you already dread having to recount your adventure for the umteenth time. The crash… the Goblins… the Shadowcurse… you roll your eyes as the carriage sways on the stone streets through the City. It’s a short ride from the Palace to High Hall, the site of your final battle, now amazingly rebuilt in under a year. A little magic and a lot of money can fix anything, you grumble.
A lot of money, no small thanks to your Lord who sits across from you, his head leaned back against the carriage wall as you jostle and sway. Truth be told, you would have rather walked the little jaunt to the party, but Astarion wouldn’t hear of it.
The Vampire Ascendant must arrive in style, he had crooned, summoning the gaudiest carriage, the one with gold flake embossing, darkest black paint, and rubies from Thay worked into the gilding.
And what was more, his own outfit shimmered, a pearlescent silk suit, embroidered on almost every inch, with shining elven shoes to match. He’s preened himself perfectly like the peacock he is.
After all, it’s his anniversary too—a year as the Ascendant. A year with you in his beating heart and in his warm bed.
Insufferable. Proud and regal and sensual and a total arrogant, raging bastard. Gods, you love him. But you also hate him sometimes.
Like the way his fingers are playing with that little dagger he keeps at his hip… it’s almost as natural as breathing for him the way he flips it over and over in his palms, tapping the edge of the blade on the sole of his shoe. Easy to do with one leg bent over his knee.
Tap… flick... tap... flick... He’s not even watching, head resting back and that grin on his face that screams he knows he’s wonderful and powerful and desirable…
Fuck him.
Actually, maybe you’ll tease him with words and touches tonight in front of all those guests. Work him up into a frenzy and then deny him. Your mouth quirks into a grin, your fang biting into your bottom lip at the mere thought. The idea of driving him mad makes your insides all warm and knotted, and it makes your cunt instantly wetter.
Shit, he knows. You curse yourself for not being careful with your thoughts, for not guarding your feelings that can so easily slip from your mind to his down your soul-bond.
His nostrils flare at the scent, his lips curl in that devious smirk, and lastly, those crimson eyes open to level his gaze upon you. “Why, my Consort, what has you so very… deliciously… flustered?”
Let the games commence, you think as you force all true thoughts of how best to torture him deep inside you. “Oh, it’s nothing love. Just excited to be touted and toasted as the Saviour of the City again,” you preen, fluffing the lace that lines the plunging neckline of your bodice. “Let’s be honest, love, I’ve been playing second fiddle to you ever since. It’s always the Vampire Ascendant first and then his precious, darling Consort.” You mimic his posture, reclining back with your ankle over your other knee, arms behind your head. Decidedly unlady and un-consort like.
Astarion narrows his eyes, shifting forward to lean into your space within the confines of the carriage. “Careful, my dear. You’re beginning to sound rather arrogant and ungrateful…” he purrs, his voice rolling in his throat, edged with that tint of danger and threat.
It makes you shiver more.
You roll your eyes, blatantly petulant, “Forgive me if I’m excited the accolades and adulations are pointed towards me tonight.” You pause to pat your hand on his knee, cajoling him. “Well, on us, I suppose.”
His grip snaps around your wrist, using the sway of the carriage to pull you into his lap. “Careful darling,” he hisses, fanged smile glinting in the moonlight. “I bi—”
“I’m well aware you bite,” you interrupt, unafraid. You gnash your own fangs in a cheeky grin. “So do I now…”
His face twists in a smirk, the kind that makes your walls flutter around nothing, wishing for something. “You little…”
As he crowds you like the predator he is, the carriage rolls to a halt, the door opening to reveal High Hall, the very picture of festivity and merriment.
His smirk fades to a muted smile, his dagger is sheathed once more at his hip, and you wait for him to help you down from the carriage box.
Torches and banners, music and wine, you can’t help but let it go to your head. Maybe you let your hips sway just a little more from side to side, maybe you don’t take Astarion’s proffered arm to lead you into the gala, and maybe, just maybe, you delight to feel him glaring daggers into your back.
The ballroom is alight with a thousand candles, with golden chandeliers and bright burning flames in the sconces. Couples dance, and politicians and Patriars toast the defeat of the Netherbrain and the rebuilding of the City. The only thing flowing more freely than the champagne is the fawning praise that everyone lavishes upon you. Men compliment your battle prowess, and women your attire and sparkling scarlet eyes.
And any attempt to include your vampiric partner glowering over your shoulder is easily redirected in your favor. It’s been an hour of playing the hero, and with each interaction, you can sense him closer and closer to losing control. It’s so much fun, you think. Currently, a noble couple of Half Elves stand hanging on your every word, enraptured to hear your tale. And for once, you don’t mind the effort to retell it for the tenth time tonight—not when Astarion’s fingers claw into your hip, his arm wrapped snug around your waist when you gloss over the details of his Ascension.
“Spectacular,” the man congratulates you, applauding with a wide smile on his swarthy face. “And of course, your union with Lord Ancunín has only ensured the city be rebuilt speedily and even better than before.”
The wave of relief and pride that comes off of Astarion irritates the shit out of you. But you hide it behind an easy smile as he takes your chin and lifts your mouth to his for a possessive kiss. “Of course,” he purrs, “this City would be rubble without us, just as my Consort would be nothing without me. Isn’t that right, darling?”
Terms of engagement. A summons for battle. That’s what he’s issued.
You give him a chaste little kiss. “Oh, I don’t know. I had many allies of even greater power and magic,” you reply as you extricate yourself from his arms. “The list was endless, really. And while Astarion packs quite the bite, I had far more powerful allies in the final battle here in these halls.” You feel the ripples of anger simmering under his pale skin, and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding and gnashing over your shoulder. “Dark forces of the Ascendant?” you giggle, “a handful of ghouls and shadow mastiffs. It was nothing compared to having an Illithid in our ranks, or…”
“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?” Astarion interrupts abruptly, a gentlemanly nod of his head as his nails dig into you so hard, it tears into the silk of your bodice.
The poor Half-Elven couple are left in stunned silence as he pulls you towards the door of the grand chamber. “A word in private… my dear,” he hisses into your ear. “Perhaps more than one word… perhaps more than only words will be required for this discussion.” He snarls the word, spittle covering your cheek as his rage reaches its boiling point.
“What ho!” a familiar, jolly voice calls your name. And much to Astarion’s chagrin, he forgets your new title of ‘Lady…’ Gale comes your way, fairly elbowing his path through the frilly crowd until he’s standing so close to you, arms wrapping around you awkwardly as Astarion refuses to let your waist go. “Apologies, I just couldn’t resist. It’s been six months since last I saw the pair of you, and, well, you know me: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Particularly when the heart no longer has a certain Netherese blight and…”
“Is there something you wanted, Wizard?” Astarion snaps, literally closing his mouth so forcefully his teeth click shut.
Gale remains unphased, used to the vampire's temperament. “‘How are you?’ was my question… I suppose. Is domestic bliss filling the walls of your newly redone palace?”
You snort, a genuine reaction to the implication of anything ‘domestic’ when it comes to the Vampire Ascendant. But you spy an opportunity here, a chance to unleash a few of Astarion’s more private habits that peeve you. Ones he would rather die… again… than have revealed to Gale. “Where do I begin? The entire place is refurbished, you’d hardly recognize it. Astarion here has spared no expense to make the place bright and cheerful. Though it does get rather tiresome with only one another for companionship. You should come for a stay, Gale!”
“I’m sure the Wizard is far too busy with his responsibilities in Waterdeep,” Astarion manages to dismiss the notion with an elegant wave of his hand.
“Oh pish posh,” you giggle ostentatiously. “What? Embarrassed that Gale would observe the decidedly domestic ‘bliss’ we share? That he’ll hear how loudly you chew at dinner? Or notice that you leave your things everywhere around the palace? Or that… hells forbid… he hears you far—”
Your final, embarrassing comment is swallowed by his own mouth on yours. His arms pick you up like you’re a doll, a plaything, and he carries you to the door of the ballroom. Your feet swing midair, your arms pinned to your side, leaving a gaped-mouth Gale staring after you. But he knows better than to follow.
First alcove from the entryway, and you are shoved against the cool, smooth stone wall. Moonlight falls in sharp slats from the tall crystal panes. The angles of his face catch your breath with their ferocity as he glowers down on you, hand to your throat. “I can’t believe you,” he hisses, “treating me like that in front of everyone…” his voice is dripping with venom, heart racing with enraged palpitations. “Tell me,” he whispers so tight and pressed in his throat, “do you hate me?”
You give an insolent grin as his fingers flex gently on your windpipe. “Hate you?” You swallow, your voice box gripped just tight enough to rasp. “You irritate me, annoy me, and sometimes you outright piss me off.”
“Is that so?”
“And sometimes… sometimes… I do hate you….”
He leans away from your face, moving into the shaft of moonlight. The pale glow catches in his silver curls, the swirling ruby depths of his eyes glowing. You’re not sure if it’s from magic or rage or light, but it’s decidedly there. It makes your stomach bind in knots. That dangerous light shines brighter as he licks his lips. “Well, at least you’re not indifferent towards me, that would be a tragedy. I’ll tell you a secret…” His lips tickle in the sensitive spot beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting down your cool skin. “Sometimes… I hate you too.”
With hot breath and tongue, he consumes you, reminding you that you don’t need to breathe to survive anymore. Good thing. You’d have passed out by now as he kisses, your head spinning and lungs burning. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growls into your mouth, hand slipping from your windpipe to claw roughly around your breast, ripping it out from the deep cut of your bodice first. “Tonight is, after all, all about you…. Your victory, your allure. Hundreds of eyes begging for a glance, a moment of your attention. Same as me,” he spits the words between clenched fangs. “You dare to ignore me, insult me. After all that I did for you… with you… ungrateful wretch.”
His hands have already bunched your skirt, arm wrapped to pin your thigh to his waist so he can grind into you. The angrier he becomes, the harder his hips press that confined cock into your sex, back and forth… back and forth.
You take a deep breath finally as soon as his hand releases your neck. Retaliating, you grip into his head and yank, keeping those gnashing teeth from your undead vein. “What about you? Vain and power hungry and controlling bastard,” you sneer, finger clawing your nails into his perfectly sculpted curls.
Hands fumbling between your body to snap open the fastens to his pants, your fingers roughly grabbing the outline of his erection hard enough to make him squeal. His gaze burns with hunger—carnal and sanguine—eyes narrowed in anger even as he smiles.
Roughly, you grip his cock and squeeze him in his pants, making that little bit of precum at its tip dribble out more, enough to stain his front.
“Playing with fire, my cheeky little pup,” he growls, gripping beneath your raised thigh to slot himself tantalizingly close… the hot, thick head of his cock pushing its way along your seam. But not in it. Not yet. “And here I thought you were deep in your annoyance and hatred for me?” That cock pulls back, sliding again where you are positively dripping down your thighs. “You may hate me, but my cock...” he leans in until his lips suck your ear loudly, “you still have a soft spot for my cock, it seems.” He lets just the head of him dip inside your channel… once, twice… then he pulls back out. And you have to swallow a moan. “More like a tight, warm, and wet spot…”
His laughter encases you, deafens you to the din of the gala that is dangerously close to your hiding spot.
“You want me to fuck you,” Astarion hisses, lips and tongue tickling the creases of your ear. “Even hating me, you want me to try to make you moan and sob and weep for your lover…” It’s not a question. He’s happy to play the rules of your game, abiding by the terms of engagement you have been dancing around at this ball.
You give him your own version of his liar’s smile. “No… no I don’t want any of that,” you taunt, sardonic tone and batting eyes to give an effort of innocence. “Don’t do it. Don’t shove your cock between my thighs. Don’t come near me. You disgust me.” Just for good measure you lower your leg, letting his length slip from under you. “Now, let the belle of the ball return to her party so she can be toasted as the hero she is…”
Astarion snarls, feral and angry, a smile on his face all the while. He spins you around and traps you right back where he had you, but this time, he shoves himself to his balls, sheathed totally inside you from behind. “Fear not, you’ll return soon enough,” he’s panting in the back of your ear as he pounds you, your cheek pressing against the stone wall with each thrust. “You’ll return with your insides painted white and my cum dripping down your thighs, just for good measure. You’ll return, my insolent saviour, and get all the praise you’re due, but you’re going to do it… reeking of sex, stinking of me inside you.”
Your back arches, body burning its hatred and annoyance in the flames of pleasure. Fuck, it feels good. All his pent up rage pummels your insides, his possessive hands pinning you in place and wandering over every inch of your body, a body he has worshiped tirelessly and daily for a year. His panting mouth lowers to your neck, and for a moment you fear his bite… Instead he marks you… little brands that will hide so well for the rest of the night beneath your hair. Over and over again, he does this, leaving a trail of love bites encircling the back of your neck, a collar of his own possessive marking. Hand extended, he smacks your ass, your breath hitching to swallow your groan of delight as he gives you another mark of his claim to conceal beneath your skirts. Another spank, just enough to drive you towards the edge in that way he knows you crave.
He ruts into you from behind, and you, splayed with your hands and face against the stone wall, you’re smiling… “Gods, you can’t stand me having any power, any eyes on me that aren’t your red ones.”
“Can you blame me? You’re mine, darling. I’ve shared everything with you,” his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music and chatter in the ballroom and over the slap of your bodies as he fucks harder. “I ascended for us, for you… I fought at your side, gave you my gifts of immortality and sunwalking… and what’s more I gave you my heart, my trust. You are the first person I ever truly, obsessively cared about. And this is the thanks I get?”
Hips snapping slow, hands gripping nails into your hip and neck. He’s close, his pace growing more deliberate and deep. You gasp, his words piercing deeper than his cock as he bottoms out to the hilt with each thrust. Guilt slices into your gut, and you arch your back again, your face pressing against his cheek. “I can be thankful and find you incredibly… vexing… at the same time…” you pant.
“Vex you? Little old me… vexes you?” he’s laughing now, a wicked delight where there was rage a moment before. “Show me, show me how much I vex you,” he smirks against your cheek, fingers wrapped prettily around your throat until he feels you shudder. Your climax slams into you, a wave of heat and twisting muscles and fluttering walls. And gods, do you moan, do you scream for him. Unmistakable as that noise is, you’re sure someone will come to aid you in a moment.
But a moment is all that is required as he’s groaning and coming, head pressed into your back, hand clenched around your waist and throat. His seed fills your cunt, warmth instantly sticking and dripping down your thighs. Damp breath on your skin, a bit of drool wetting that spot, and Astarion kisses you at the nape of your neck.
His voice is rough, ragged from exertion and teeming with emotion. “Well,” he rasps, “as long as we are being honest… there is something that vexes me too, darling. I knew I never would be enough for you, that you degrade yourself to stay at my side.”
“Degrade myself?” you whisper, turning as he pulls from your cunt. His eyes are dull again, that fire of rage smothered and replaced by a raw vulnerability. That was a sight you had not expected as a part of your games tonight. “My love, do you still believe that, after all this time?”
“A year is nothing for the life of an immortal…” he trails off, a bit of his mask snapping back into place as he laces his cock inside his pants and rolls his shoulders to his full height, “especially one as powerful as I.”
You smack him on his shoulder, playful but powerful in your own way. “I do not see it as such,” you reply, “I see you as the man you are, a bastard sometimes, but a glorious one, one that has my heart. But even if you have me, body and soul, you, you do still vex me, irritate me, and make me hate some of the things you do.”
“Well,” he preens, making a show of fixing the lace of your bodice collar where he’s torn it a bit, “as long as it’s only vexation, don’t pretend you hate this, you love this… you love me…”
You lean in and give him the most feral kiss you think you ever have, all teeth and tongue as you pull him into your mouth with both hands. “Of course I do, that’s why you can annoy me so much, why I can feel bursts of such… passionate… hate.”
Astarion breaks the kiss first, thumb swiping along your lower lip. “So long as it’s passionate,” he teases back with a petulant smirk. “You do know, my darling, I am proud of your accomplishments…”
“Our accomplishments…”
His answering smile is disjointedly tender after the rough fuck against the wall. A little nod of his head, and he’s offering you his arm with all genteel decorum. That’s when you sense it, see it in his shoulders and bearing. A confidence and assurance that, despite vexation, you’re proud of him too. And of course you are, you think as you reenter the festivities, rubbing your neck and backside with a smile.
