carooosa - Tumblr blog

carooosa · 3 days

Text

Can’t wait!!!!

What Could Have Been

Prologue

Story Summary: In the aftermath of their victorious clash with the Nether Brain, Baldur's Gate hums with a mysterious energy, tingling with latent magic and whispered secrets. Astarion, cloaked in the shadowy mantle of vampiric rule, presides over the Ancunin Estate, once the Palace of Cazador Szarr. Yet amidst the echoes of triumph and whispers of the past, Astarion's heart remains entwined with a singular memory—a tale of love lost and betrayal endured. Sima, the defiant spirit who captivated him, stands as both his ally and adversary. Their journey is one of passion and peril, from blood-soaked battlefields to the shadowed halls of power. Bound by destiny yet torn by fate's machinations, they teeter on the edge of salvation and damnation. As they navigate treacherous waters, confronting inner demons and external threats, only love can guide them. Will their bond endure the storms that rage around them, or will it be consumed by the darkness that lurks at the fringes of their world?

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 6.6K

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: What Could Have Been- Sting Spotify Song link

A03

Spotify Playlist

Entire Story Link on AO3

Prologue

Artwork by the incomparable: https://dafnawinchester.art/ Sima looked into the mirror, wiping away the dirt and grime she had accumulated from the day’s events. The soiling of her blouse was only an echo of what had felt like the debasement of her soul. She took the ragged cloth and wiped away the sweat and fluids, too.

Now was not the time to think about it. There was no time, no distance, and no action that could keep her from what she wanted.

What she needed more than anything was a way to take it all back.

The smell of spices, the mass of mortality in the city, and incense flooded her mind as she returned to her small, decrepit flat. Calimport called out, and the morning prayers to the various gods trailed over everything like the light of dawn.

The smell of temple jasmine, once her scent, was replaced instead with the smell of so many hands.

"Don’t think about it. Just. don’t. think."

She threw the rag down and sat on the torn and dusty divan in the small space, looking up at the cracks in the moulding of the ceiling. A testament to the prior beauty of the place, now torn to tatters by the passage of time and pure neglect.

The irony wasn’t lost on her for a moment.

She almost had all the components. One more stop, one more visit to those disgusting flesh traders down by the slave market. That’s all she needed. She had their wares—poisons she had brewed that he had taught her.

"Don’t think about it; don’t think about him. "

She closed her deep chestnut eyes and tried to breathe. Nearly 6 months had passed since the Ascension. She spent nearly all that time finding, trading, and scalping her way through every component she could for the spell.

A spell to end all spells. To change it all and make it right. To bring him back, to make it as it should have been.

"Remember the anger; it’s what kept you alive. Kept you fighting."

She kept going, running over every contingency in her mind.

What if they betray her? "Then we burn the place down to the ground," her mind answered.

What if they renege on the spell components? "Then we take a hostage," her mind retorted.

What if they ambush her? "Then we kill them all," her mind replied, without a care or notion of the dubious dance of right or wrong.

Morals were for fools and idiots. She had been a fool once, trusting that her lover would remain the same after such power coursed through his veins. The look of pure glee was etched on his face as his beautiful visage looked into the antechamber of the vast, defiled temple. She looked upon him in his sublime and terrifying glory as red infernal light cascaded over his perfectly sculpted body. This was the body that the gods had created to ruin mortalkind. This was the man who could bend her heart to any whim he chose, as long as he gave her an equal seat beside him.

She had been a fool to believe those lies. The deaths weighed on her, only for the reality that they brought about the suffering when he finally showed her who he truly was. Who she had truly lost in the midst of the grand rite.

Astarion died that day, and the Ascendant was born.

And all she had for her bitterness was the marks of the last six months, trying to gain the power to undo it all. What were the scars of the soul, body, and mind against the scar inside her heart? What length wouldn’t she go to to take back that which was stolen from her due to her own hubris, ignorance, and blind belief in his words?

Sima loved and hated him in equal measure. She loved the spawn he had been, and she hated the vampire he became. She hated the spawn, who had coaxed and loved her truly, but not enough to tell her the possible cost of his ambitions. She had never kept anything he wanted away. They had revelled and helped people. Not out of some heroic overtures, but there were lines even they wouldn’t cross.

The last six months obliterated all those lines for her. Her mind was a swirling mass of loss, hatred, disgust, and memories she wished she could forget.

Sima looked up at the window of her rented flat and saw the sun dwindling in the sky toward the afternoon haze. It was almost time.

She looked over at the basket of blood-soaked clothing from the night before. She remembered their names: Ahmed , a little boy looking for his mother, lost in the darkness of the Muzad . Mahood , a flesh girl, lost in the haze of silkroot and misery. “At least that one had been a blessing," Sima thought.

Sima turned away from it all and packed her bag up, placing the purple worm poison held in crystalline vials into a cloth and deep within her pack.

She glanced at the apartment once more before turning away from it all.

No less than an hour later came her screams.

No less than an hour later, she was running in torn clothes with what she needed, covered in blood, shame, and the ashes of what was left of the flesh traders.

No less than an hour later, there was no going back.

This was all she had left.

DEDICATION:

This is a dedication to a lot of amazing people who have been there since the beginning of the very first inklings of this story. I wrote this during the worst 5 months of my life, when so much of what I loved was falling apart. But a great group of people kept me going and keep me going even now. I am so lucky to have found such a creative and inspiring group of writers and friends. Thank you, and I know I will miss people but Creative Corner, ya'll rock.

June: Thank you for being the first writer friend I had. I can't believe we've known each other for only half a year because it feels like so much longer. You have stuck by me with every idea I had, and encourage and inspired me to be so much more than I thought I had any right to be. Thank you for everything, and I adore and love you lady. @bloodinwine Jamie: Thank you for being an exceptional beta reader for me, and for taking on this huge task of this story. Also thank you for being you, and honest and so invested. @thedreamlessnights Caroosa: Thank you for being there for me and opening up this whole new world with the space you let me into. I feel really lucky to have your support and for the inspiration you give me with your absolutely amazing personality and support. @carooosa Blu and Ban: Thank you for being so fearless and writing about stories that need to be told. I think you are both amazing authors and have inspired me with your AA fics, and provide a perspective that makes me believe not only in fighting for what you believe, and deserve, but also that redemption and healing are always possible. @bludazey and @brabblesblog Anthy: Thank you for lore checking my ass on the regular and being just an adorable person in general. Thank you for the early support of this story @Lihala (on AO3)

And so so many more people at Creative Corner. Honestly, its not an exaggeration to say the people here got me out of a dark place. And that is what this story is about. Broken people loving, fighting, making mistakes and then healing. There are no heroes in this tale, but there were a lot for me over the last 5 months Thank you all <3

#astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion fic #ascended astarion

11 notes · View notes

carooosa · 3 days

Text

Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness

Part 1: Exposure (rewrite)

Word count: 1.5k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Ascended Astarion x AFAB Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, ear play, violence against an NPC AO3 link: Exposure

Summary: Astarion can exert his control/power as he maintains composure while fucking you, and while he may not be as strict with his council when doing so, the harshness behind his actions is still there. But when you torture him by making him moan in front of everyone who is beneath him? Not only will it show him weak, but it’ll show his weakness.

It’s another boring day as a consort while you sit on your lover’s bare lap, slowly rolling your hips into him. Ever since the ascension, Astarion has refused to let you out of his sight for too long, always wanting to have some part of him touching you. It upset you, at first, having to sit in on all of the dreadful conferences and dull discussions. But as always, Astarion made sure that it was worth your time.

He’s droning on about some inaccuracies in recent reports he’s received and his fingers dig into your hips as the proprietor of the counting-house stumbles out an excuse. You can’t help but giggle when you picture the proprietor trembling as he tries to talk his way out of this mess. You remember his name being quite the joke as well, something like Sparkleboard or Glimmerbrook.

“Rakath Glitterbeard,” Astarion barks at the dwarf before berating him for his inadequacies. He shoots you a mischievous glance, confirming that he too is bored with this meeting, so much so that his mind had wandered into your own.

Of course the poor sod’s name was something ridiculous. If he was going to have a name as awful as that, he should just change it to Goldcoin or something similar. At least then it’d have relevance to his job.

Astarion pinches your hips in an attempt to stifle any laughter that may come out, and you yelp in surprise. You look at your lover and notice the slightest crinkle in the corner of his eyes. The ramblings from Rakath stop, and Astarion’s head snaps towards him. “Have you run out with excuses already, Glitterbeard? Or have you simply come to your senses and decide to own up to your shortcomings?” Astarion says with a growl.

You turn your head as well, excited to see what’s about to unfold. The dwarf readjusts his collar before clearing his throat, and the idiot decides to speak up against your Lord.

With the arrogance of a little kid, he says, “No, Lord Astarion, I just noticed that you seem to be preoccupied and thought I would wait until you regain focus.”

Astarion scoffs and you feel him grab onto your ass with one hand as he stands up and kicks back the chair he was sitting on. With his other hand, he pushes off all the paperwork that lay strewn about the desk. He sets you on the edge of the table before pushing you down so that your back is against the hardwood. He stares directly at that insufferable banker as he begins to thrust into you – hard.

“What was that about losing focus?” Astarion says with a crazed look in his eyes.

Rakath’s face turns bright red as he tries to stammer out a response, but it’s no use, as Astarion has already made up his mind.

“Silence. Pick up those documents and put them back on the table – in their correct order. After that, you will redo all of this week’s reports, as well as the last 4 month’s as well.” Astarion is interrupted by a noise of disapproval, his frustration reaching its highest point today. “I said silence. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how that tongue of yours works, shall I cut it out and show you?”

Rakath drops to the floor and begins frantically gathering the papers, all the while Astarion continues to slam into you with reckless abandon as he addresses the rest of the meeting attendees.

“Do I need to remind everyone that you’re in the presence of the Vampire Ascendant? I am more powerful than you could possibly comprehend, yet you wager your lowly lives just to make some ridiculous point. I could replace you with the snap of my fingers and no one would even care. I keep you around because I couldn’t be damned to get rid of you – however, give me enough of a reason and I’ll put the dungeon to use.”

You weren’t sure exactly how or when it started, but whenever Astarion would get annoyed or pissed off during a meeting he would yank you closer and begin to fuck you, right there, in front of everyone. Somehow he was able to maintain composure as he catered to your needy whines, asserting his dominance over the room while he dominated you. He always took care of you, and one day, you got the brilliant idea to care for him in return.

You’re once again sat on your lover’s lap with his cock buried deep inside you. His nose is deep in a document, a contract with an architect from Neverwinter, and his shoulders are tensed. You delicately reach your hands behind his shoulders to start massaging the knots. He doesn’t acknowledge you save for a quick twitch in his ears, so you push harder, hoping to alleviate some of the stress the Vampire Lord must feel. Moving up to his neck, you meticulously knead every knot you find, humming a soft melody as each point of tension slowly comes undone. When you finish giving him a massage, one of your hands slightly brushes against his ear, causing a shutter to ripple through Astarion.

You quickly look at his face and notice his lips part, a silent moan leaving them. Interesting, you think to yourself, and you slowly reach out to stroke his ear.

You watch as Astarion gasps, eyes fluttering closed in contentment, the contract falling from his hands. He desperately tries to regain control by focusing on his breath. You caress the helix of his ear and his breathing hitches before a pleased sigh escapes his mouth and he leans into your touch. His hands move to your back to stabilize you as he begins to roll his hips, ever so slightly fucking you.

He looks so beautiful like this, you think to yourself. Astarion’s eyes are hooded when he opens them again, and if your heart was still beating, you’re positive it would’ve skipped a beat.

You can tell from his posture that he’s about to move your hand away, and the mind-link connection you share confirms that. The Vampire Ascendant has an image to upkeep, and he can’t show any vulnerability outside of the bed chambers. He starts to shift in his seat when suddenly, you take his ear lobe in your mouth. He mindlessly bucks his hips forward and grasps the armrests of his chair, splintering the wood. You nibble on the lobe, pressing and flicking your tongue against the soft skin.

He can vaguely see in his peripherals the guests from Neverwinter glance at each other and shift in their seats. One of them clears their throat and Astarion tries again to regain his poise but all he can think about is your lips on his ear. You roll your hips and gingerly reach out to his other ear, pinching and rubbing the tip. A quiet moan starts in the back of Astarion’s throat as you coo at him, telling him that he’s such a good lord, so strong, incredibly smart, your love. All the meeting attendants can do is watch as the Vampire Ascendant comes undone beneath your touch.

Astarion is panting as you whisper sweet nothings in between giving attention to his ears. You bite down on the flesh in your mouth – harsh enough to draw blood – and moan from the sweet ichor that flows into your body. The nobility that would usually cower at the mention of the vampire lord’s name now sit watching, unable to do anything in fear of retaliation. One of the younger nobles, the son of the architect, begins to slowly stroke his fingers against his strained trousers.

Within seconds, Astarion barks an order.

“Stop.”

You pause, concerned that you may have gone too far. Before you can ask if you did something wrong, you’re sat alone on the chair while Astarion is on his feet and holding the young man by his throat. He raises the boy above his head and dangles him above the table, his claws piercing into his flesh. The architect starts to get out of his seat but a nearby guest stops him.

“You fucking degenerate. How dare you please yourself while looking at my consort,” Astarion bellows.

The boy is unable to respond as blood fills his throat, causing him to suffocate. Astarion slowly closes his grip around his neck, watching as the architect’s son struggles to pull his nails out. The boy stops thrashing, the life drained from his eyes as his body goes limp.

Astarion continues to hold the corpse in the air as he addresses his room. “Leave. Now. And if so much as a word of today’s events is whispered outside of this room,” he pauses, throwing the body onto the table where the group congregates, “I will personally hunt each and every one of you.”

A few days later, a rumor silently spreads across Baldur’s Gate. Astarion, the unforgiving and merciless Vampire Ascendant, has a weakness. While many laugh and make jokes about how the powerful tyrant gets turned on with the touch of his ears, a resistance group takes note of his true weakness, and their key to his demise: you.

Part 2 Here

#astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #bg3 durge #fics #ascended astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion x f!durge #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female durge #astarion x female reader #my writing

46 notes · View notes

carooosa · 8 days

Text

More cat things

4K notes · View notes

carooosa · 9 days

Text

Craving Temptation Part 3: Sanguine Relief

Part 2: Psychic Ecstacy

Word count: 5.6k Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion x AFAB!Tav Warnings: 18+, menstruation, oral AO3 link: Sanguine Relief

Summary: After last night, Astarion finds himself in an interesting predicament with an even more interesting opportunity. He'll do whatever it takes to get you to agree to this idea of his.

A/N: Special thanks to @bloodinwine and @thedreamlessnights for being there to encourage me throughout the whole process. Please go check out their works as they are amazing writers!!

You weren’t the only one who got little rest last night. After he severed the mind link the two of you shared, he was left with the bitter realization that you now knew how worked up he got over you. He purposely showed you the mess he made before he withdrew his tadpole, but you had caught him off guard when you pushed into his mind. You — the person who was so hung up on getting rid of the tadpoles and never using them lest they corrupt everyone’s mind — you broke that personal oath for him. He was lucky that you didn’t harp on him for talking to you through the tadpole in the first place, so he never even thought that you would try to peer into his mind.

The first time you wiggled your way into his brain you saw him devouring a rotten rat. Last night you saw the memory of him fucking his hand like a wild man, your blood dripping from his mouth. Two times now you had seen him at his most vulnerable; you were clearly willing to use whatever you could when it came to getting information. It didn’t help that you had such an effect on him — on his body.

However, it seemed you weren’t the only one with the ability to engulf one’s mind. When he left his tent to clean up the remnants of his pleasure, he caught scent of your arousal, strong and fresh, coming from your tent. He snuck closer, to make sure you were okay , he had convinced himself. The smell was intoxicating, almost as sweet as your blood. That was enough proof on its own to convince him that his plan had worked.

But hells below , the sounds that came from you. The whimpers and grunts, the squelching of your fingers inside you, the soft cries of his name. He had every intention to bust into your tent and take you right there, but no, he needed to be patient. He had waited two centuries to taste blood as divine as yours; he needed to ensure that you came crawling to him.

Of course, he could always ask one of the other companions to allow him a taste, but he was convinced that none of them would fulfill his hunger as much as you did.

It took everything within him to walk away from your tent. He cleaned up in a nearby lake, telling himself over and over that he needed to be patient. This desire was not something he was used to. Anyone who he had ever been with never lived to see morning. He was honestly quite surprised that you got up from your bedroll, never mind the fact that you had actually defended him from the rest of the group when they found out what he was.

Was that what drove this uncontrollable want to have you? The hunger that he had wasn't contained to just blood; he wanted to devour you in more ways than one. When he returned to his tent, the escape of meditation never came. All he could think about was you. He shifted between thinking of ways to manipulate you, to debating whether or not he should reconnect with your tadpole, to cursing at himself for being so enthralled with you.

Now it was the next day, and you decided that the camp was low on supplies and therefore a scavenge expedition was needed. You clearly need a recovery day after staying up last night , Astarion thought while grinning to himself. He watched you drag your feet along the ground, mindlessly nodding along to whatever Karlach or Gale asked of you. He didn't think you would be this worn down from a night of masturbation, but he assumed that you must have been really pent up. He made a silent note to make sure you never got that depraved of release again, not worrying about the implications that came with that vow.

As an abandoned town comes into view, the party disperses to search for any useful armor and supplies. Astarion keeps a close eye on you, watching as you turn away Karlach when she invites you to look through a building together.

This was perfect. He didn’t need to figure out a way to get you alone, you were doing all the hard work yourself.

The tiefling sulks away before joining up with Wyll, leaving you all alone as you stumble into a rundown house. He stalks around the side of the building until he comes across the back door. He’s about to enter when a short scoff interrupts him. He turns to see Lae’zel scowling at him before promptly turning on her heels, slicing a bag of rotten potatoes as she walks away.

Astarion has no time to process what just happened when the sound of your discomfort reaches his ears. He quietly pushes through the back door to see you leaning against a burnt table, one hand grabbing your abdomen while sweat drips down the back of your neck. He’s not quite sure what’s wrong, but he knows that he can use this to his advantage. He scans the room and finds a semi-clean rag, silently grabbing it and making his way towards you.

He clears his throat and extends his arms out wide, making a grand gesture as he makes his presence known. “I see you appear to be in pain, my dear. Don’t worry, for your savior is-”

His words catch in his throat as the smell of your blood reaches his nostrils, his mouth involuntarily salivating as he bares his fangs. His mind rushes with excitement – definitely not worry – as he tries to figure out where you’ve been wounded. It’s only when you turn around to face him that he realizes his misunderstanding. Your short temper and drowsiness from earlier weren’t from a lack of sleep due to self-pleasure, but instead from the turmoil of menstruation.

You quickly snatch the rag out from his grasp and use it to cover the front of your pants. “Astarion! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you say in a hushed tone.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he calculates his next move. Every muscle in his body flexes as his mind is muddled with the aroma of your life essence. He needs to calm himself down, as acting too quickly would cause you to push him away. And that’s the last thing he wants. Right now, he wants you – your blood, your allyship, and although he wouldn’t admit it, your ecstasy.

A short huff escapes your mouth, and Astarion almost winces under your glare.

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me? I don’t need your sass right now, and if you’re not going to offer help, I don’t need an audience, either.”

Astarion quickly clears his throat, hoping that it clears his mind as well. “Of course I’m not just going to sit by while you deal with your… predicament. No, my dear, sweet, Tav – I simply was worried about you and wanted to offer my assistance.”

You don’t react to the obvious implication he throws at you and instead order him around.

Your features soften as you relent. “Fine, but if you’re going to stay you can at least find me something to cover myself with.”

You abruptly turn back towards the table and brace yourself against it, letting out a breathy sigh before turning your head back towards the vampire with an impatient stare.

It takes all the strength in his body to pull away from you and search for some suitable clothes. Within his bloodlust daze he’s able to stumble to a bedroom, his feet carrying him to a wardrobe and his hands mindlessly opening up the dresser as he tries to still his racing thoughts. He would need some type of miracle to be able to convince you to indulge in this newly formed fantasy of his. Astarion’s hand brushes against a cool metal rod and he yanks it without a second thought, jumping back as the floor begins to tremble.

A couple of the floorboards slide beneath a bed, leaving in its wake a staircase. With a graceful leap, Astarion finds himself at the entrance of the stairway. He descends the first few steps to look inside and finds what appears to be a hidden library. Before he goes any further your footsteps alert him to your incoming presence.

“What have you found now,” you ask him in a – quite frankly – rude tone.

Astarion is willing to push back the snide comments in his throat as the smell of your blood surrounds him once more. He shoots you a toothy smirk before reaching out his hand to support you.

“A miracle.”

He leads you down the stairs with ease, using your lack of dark vision to his advantage. His arms wrap around yours as he guides your steps.

You grasp onto him tightly as you ask again, “What is this, Astarion?”

He leaves you at the base of the stairs in silence, whispering a quick ignis to light up a nearby wall candle.

“This,” he pauses, ripping away a dusty blanket off of a plush armchair, “is a nice, quiet, relaxing secluded library for you to sit in while I search for clothes.”

You stare at him for a second, eyes squinting as you study his face. He doesn’t blame you — how could he? He has a goal that he’s trying to achieve, and he’ll manipulate you in whatever way he can to make sure he achieves it. Whether you decide he’s being genuine or you don’t care enough to object, it doesn’t matter as you sigh and walk towards the chair.

Astarion gives the room a once over, struggling to keep his wit about as the air fills with the intoxicating scent of your blood. His search proves fruitless, but he’s not about to pass up this opportunity. If only he could find a way to get you to stay in this room while also finding you new clothes.

Although, who said it had to be new clothes? There was bound to be at least one water pump in this village, and he could use that water to get out the blood stain on your trousers. You’d then have to wait for them to dry before putting them on again, and that would give him plenty of time to convince you of his idea.

Astarion focuses his gaze back on you, your face twisting in pain. If it weren’t for the intense hunger, and ever so slight lust, he was feeling, he would’ve recognized the ache in his chest as pity, or even worse, concern .

He clears his throat as he crafts his proposition. “Darling, you know I simply hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t see any sort of extra clothes around, and frankly, I don’t think any fabric would have survived whatever fire tore through this village.”

You interrupt him with a groan but Astarion pushes on. “That doesn’t mean we can’t solve this current problem, however. While we were walking through the houses, I saw a water pump. If you give me your trousers, I can clean them off for you.”

His voice falters as you give him a skeptical look. He thinks for a moment that he should peer into your mind, but Astarion decides against it. Although you seemed more open to the tadpoles, he wasn’t going to risk anything that could mess up this opportunity.

With a dramatic sigh, the vampire motions to leave. “Of course, if you want to walk around in pain and discomfort, by all means–”

“No! I… fine,” you relent. “Just, be quick, okay?”

You order Astarion to turn around as you remove the soiled garment, giving him a meek “okay” to signify that you’re done. When he turns back towards you, you’re sitting back on the chair with that dusty blanket from before draped over your lower body.

“It’s over by the stairs,” you say while avoiding his eyes, your cheeks slightly flushed.

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as the plan comes together. He walks past you and picks up your scrunched-up pants, only for your underwear to fall onto the ground below. Astarion gasps, and there’s an involuntary twitch beneath his own underclothes.

“Is everything alright?” you ask, but your voice sounds miles away.

He quickly clears his throat and picks up the fallen garment, not daring to look back at you lest he lose control and consume you right now. “Everything is fine, Tav,” he responds with a slight strain. “Just relax and I’ll be back soon.”

Astarion scales the stairway to the main floor 3 steps at a time. Once he’s back in the bedroom, he looks down at your bloodied clothes as a thought crosses his mind. Would it taste different from the blood he drank from your neck? Surely it would be similar, but given you were the first thinking creature he had drank from, he really had no clue. Perhaps he could tell the difference from smell.

This is just to expand my knowledge, he told himself as he lifted the clothes to his nose. It still smells sickenly sweet, but there was a richness to the scent. His legs slightly buckle beneath him as he takes a deeper breath, inhaling every note of your blood. He nearly turns around and goes back to the library after he catches scent of your arousal, and it takes everything within him to walk out of the house to look for a way to clean your clothes.

He weaves in and out of the remnants of buildings, searching with desperation for some source of water. If he took too long, you would probably talk yourself out of your lust. No, he needed to find a way to clean your clothes.

Just then, a splendid, stupid, thought crosses his mind. He could clean the blood up. It wouldn’t be as good as fresh water, but Astarion was used to dealing with the tools he had.

Lurking in the shadows, he tentatively brings the bunched up clothes to his face. With another deep inhale his head is sent spinning from the delicious scent of you. He takes the underwear in his mouth and begins to suck, eyes fluttering closed as a moan escapes his mouth.

He was right — it does taste richer, fuller, but it still tastes like you. His mind drifts to his first taste of your blood, to the activity he did after, and his cock strains against his trousers. He presses his tongue inside the gusset of your underwear and begins lapping at the dampness. The sweetness of your arousal is faint, but it makes all the difference. His hand finds itself cupped against the outline on his pants and he begins to roll his hips forward.

But of course, all wonderfully good things come to an end. And a certain wizard just had to stumble upon him.

“Astarion, is everything alright? I heard some noises so I thought I’d come check on you,” Gale says, oblivious to what the vampire had just been doing.

Astarion quickly wipes his face before turning around to face the other man. “Yes, Gale, everything is just fine.”

Gale walks over to Astarion before stopping in his tracks, pointing towards the bloodied clothes in Astarion’s hands as he asks, “What’s that?”

Astarion sighs and juts out his hip as he responds. “Well, if you really must know, Tav asked me to clean up some of their garments.”

The wizard readies his quarterstaff as he glances around for danger. “Was there an ambush? Do you need reinforcements?”

Before he can call the others, Astarion berates him. “No, you dolt. It’s just that time for them.”

Astarion waits as the realization slowly falls upon Gale, his eyes widening and his cheeks turning a bright pink. “Oh — um, yes, of course. I see. Ah, uh. Well, if you want, I can cast create water and, um. Help with this… situation .”

After a short pause, Astarion responds. “That would be… welcomed.”

With a wave of his quarterstaff and a quick incantation of aqua pura, a stream of water rains down upon the clothes in Astarion’s hand. Quite the shame, as he had hoped to savor them a bit more.

Gale clears his throat, prompting Astarion to let out a grumble of a thank you.

“Oh, uh, yes, of course, it’s a pleasure to be of aid,” Gale says. “However, I do have one question: what were you doing earlier?”

There was no way in the hells that Astarion would tell anyone, let alone Gale, that he was ravaging your panties. So instead, he adorns the sleaziest grin he can before looking at the wizard.

“Would you really like to know,” he says with hooded eyes.

Gale immediately turns his whole body away from Astarion and takes a few steps away. “Nope, no, I do not need that information. But, erm, if these clothes are for Tav, do you want me to dry them off, too?”

Without a second thought, Astarion snaps at the wizard and bares his teeth. “ No! ” he snarls, “I didn’t ask for your help, wizard .”

Gale’s eyes sharpen as he turns back towards Astarion, his mouth parting slightly to open before he bows his head and walks away.

Astarion pays no mind to the wizard’s weird behavior, instead focusing his keen sense of smell on the scent of your blood. In an instant he’s back at the entrance to the stairway, his mouth salivating and his cock twitching as he walks down the stairs.

When the chair he left you in comes into view, you’re no longer sitting there. He hops down the rest of the stairs two at a time until he spots your silhouette in the corner of his eye. You’re exploring the library, that old blanket wrapped around your waist, enraptured in whatever book is currently in your hands that you didn’t even notice the vampire creep up on you.

Astarion nabs the book out of your grasp and skims through the lines, immediately grinning as he recognizes the debauchery. Closing the book to inspect the cover, his suspicions are confirmed.

“Naughty, naughty Tav,” he mockingly chides. You try to grab the erotica book from him but he’s too quick. He grasps your flailing hand and spins you around until you’re caged by your own arm, your back pressed up against the bookcase.

“It’s not what it looks like, I was jus-” you try to argue, but Astarion just laughs at your embarrassment.

Of course you would try to hide the fact that you were reading erotica from him. Just last night you confessed that you had never orgasmed before, and now here you are, the very next day, indulging in fantasy. Although, he did have to admit that you at least chose a formidable author.

Astarion focuses his attention on your eyes as he tries to decipher the emotion behind them. Were you scared? He’s about to connect with your tadpole when that sweet smell of your arousal hits his nose again. You weren’t scared, you were excited.

“What’s that on your nose?” you ask.

He wipes at his nose and finds a smidge of your blood on his finger. That damned wizard knew exactly what Astarion was doing and didn’t say anything. He would need to talk to him about that later, but right now he had other pressing matters.

“Did you find anything interesting in this book? Perhaps anything you would like to… experience?” he whispers, trying to rile you up even more.

You strain against his grip but that only fuels his predatory instincts. You are his prey, after all. Nothing more than a reliable source of food. So why was he so turned on right now?

He needed to snap out of whatever it was that he was feeling and focus on convincing you to agree to his proposition. He studies your face, his eyes slowly wandering from your eyebrows to your eyes, past your nose, and finally, landing on your lips. He lets his gaze linger for a few seconds before lifting it back up to meet your eyes, only this time he’s mustered up the most lustful look he can manage – which given the circumstances, wasn’t that difficult.

Astarion tilts his head down so that his nose just barely brushes against yours before saying, “You really are quite the delectable treat, aren’t you, Tav? I haven’t forgotten my offer from last night, and I hope you haven’t either.”

“Astarion, we don’t have time–” you start.

He interrupts you with a shush. “We have to wait for your clothes to dry, don’t we?”

Even without the tadpoles, he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You’re weighing the pros and cons of the situation, trying to think of some excuse as to why this shouldn’t happen. But he can’t let you come up with an excuse. So instead, he softens his eyes and, as quietly as he can, he begs.

“Let me take care of you. Please.”

Your eyes close, and his undead heart drops. You were surely about to blow up at him, and understandably so. He was being a manipulative bastard. A perverted freak who practically devoured your underwear in an alley, only to come rushing back to test his luck with you. He was disgusting.

Maybe Cazador was right, he berates himself. I’ve become an even bigger monster after consuming thinking blood – and I didn’t earn my fill, either. I don’t deserve to be trusted. I don’t deserve to be liked. I don’t deserv-

His thoughts are interrupted as your lips connect with his own and his eyes flutter close.

The kiss is awkward and clunky, and your body is tense underneath Astarion’s. He’s taken aback by your behavior, and he’s unsure what to do next. He knows what to do in situations like these, but for whatever reason, there’s a knot in his throat and a weight in his stomach. He doesn’t want to mess this up – he can’t mess this up.

With the tentativeness of a virgin, he presses his tongue against your lips. You let him in, angling your head and pulling him closer. For someone who apparently had no experience, you seemed to know what you were doing.

Astarion lifts you up and carries you back to the chair. He reaches to untie the blanket around your waist but you stop him.

“Wait!” you say as you put your hands up to push him away.

This was cruel. If you were going to change your mind now, Astarion would go mad.

You look off to the side and ask, “Can you extinguish the candle, please?”

Hells below, you were still embarrassed? Astarion rolls his eyes but quickly gets up and blows out the candle. He didn’t think he would get this far, and he was getting hungrier by the second from the smell of your blood.

With the room dark, he’s able to silently sneak back over to you. He settles down on his knees and unties the knot that’s hiding his meal. You gasp from shock, whether it be from the surprise of him being in front of you or from the chill of the air on your bare skin, he’s not sure. And he doesn’t care, either, as his sense of smell is overwhelmed by the beauty that lay in front of him.

Astarion whispers your name like a prayer as he moves closer to your entrance. He licks up your inner thigh, cleaning up the partly dried blood that stains your skin. You jolt under his touch, enticing him to bite down, but he restrains himself. There’s already enough blood to satisfy him – he doesn’t need to wound you. And hells below if he got this far only to fuck it up by being too eager.

With one of your thighs cleansed of blood, Astarion moves to the other, making quick work of any remnant of your life essence. The smell of you – your blood, your sweat, your arousal, it’s all so mind-numbing. His head spins as he works his way closer to the source of his yearning. He instinctively holds your thighs apart, taking in the divine meal that awaits.

He’ll make you squirm beneath him. Beg for release and then collapse from the pleasure. He’ll make you feel the best that anyone has ever felt, and he’ll guarantee you become addicted to his touch. If Astarion can draw this out, you’ll orgasm at least twice. He wasn’t only dexterous with his fingers, and he plans to show off all the talents he possesses.

As he takes a languid lick across your folds, his mind quiets for a moment.

He needs to go slow, to pleasure you until you're drunk with bliss.

But you gave him a gift, and Astarion can be impatient when it comes to unwrapping.

He should go slow. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

But Astarion’s a starved man. Besides, manners were never his strong suit anyways.

He would go slow, if there was any semblance of a civilized man left in him. But when your scarlet ichor graces his tongue and taints his lips, any plan that he may have had is immediately forgotten and instead replaced by the overwhelming need to have you. To devour you.

Like a feral animal, he plunges his tongue inside you. Astarion laps and maneuvers his tongue into every crevice that he can reach, licking up every drop of blood that touches it. His hunger begins to quiet and his senses heighten, allowing him to fully savor the flavors of your blood.

You taste like honey, sweet in his mouth and sticky down his throat. Of course, there’s still that rich bitterness to your blood. It’s still blood, after all, but the way that it mixes with your arousal to create a perfect balance of sweet and bitter only causes him to yearn for more.

He angles his head down to get a deeper reach into your body. There’s some pressure on either side of his head and he swiftly pushes it away, holding open your thighs as he continues to devour you. Astarion’s ears burn from the brief contact your plush skin had against them, but he has no time to worry about that when there’s a meal that needs to be finished.

Being undead has its plus sides, as not needing to breathe has proven to be very beneficial during this endeavor. His whole mouth is practically full with your folds and his nose is rubbing up against your clit, leaving him very little opportunity to inhale.

Growing more and more needy, he starts to suck on your slit, craving for more of your delicious fluids. With the force of a raging barbarian, your legs clamp closed around his head, barely leaving him enough time to move his arms out of the way. You pull him in deeper, using his face to grind on. Your legs begin to spasm and rub against his ears, and Astarion can’t help the guttural groans that come out of his throat.

Finally realizing the strain and the wetness on his own trousers, he struggles to quickly untie his pants. Once his erection is freed from the confines of clothes he begins fervently pumping with his hand. With a clench from your thighs, a sea of blood and cum floods to his mouth.

Astarion flattens his tongue to drink up everything you offer. The very essence of you rushes down his throat as he consumes you. His hips jerk forward and he continues to suck on your tenderness, unaware of the choked sobs coming out of you.

Your fingers thrust into his hair and you yank his head back as you cry out his name. The sight of you disheveled would be more than enough to send him over the edge, but of course, you had to say his name. There was something in the way that you said it, like a prayer that only he could answer— like Astarion was the only being that could alleviate any burden you had.

There’s a warmth in his chest where his undead heart rests, and with a final thrust, he shatters. His cum paints the bottom of the chair you sit atop, and for a second, the world stills. If he could pause time at this exact moment, he would. The bliss he feels is untainted. There’s no worry that you wouldn’t be breathing come morning, no guilt that this pleasure would be the last thing you ever experienced, no fear of punishment from Cazador for indulging in his own needs.

That bliss is short lived though, and the disgust he feels ruins any notion of a happy ending. He was a monster, he is a monster. A husk of a person who was forced to prowl the night for victims. But as he looks up at you, he can’t help but wonder, what if?

Astarion gets up off the ground and fixes himself, silently cursing at himself. He starts to leave up the stairs before you call out to him.

“Wait, where are you going?” you ask while stumbling out of the chair.

You blindly walk towards him, your hands waving wildly in front of you until you nearly whack him in the face. He manages to stop your hand with his own, but he doesn’t say much as you awkwardly chuckle.

You stare towards Astarion, clearly struggling to see anything in the pitch black. Even still, you wiggle your hand from his grasp and tentatively reach out to touch his face. Everything within his body screams at him to run away, to leave you down in this secluded library, maybe even lock you up so that he can escape without you running after him – but he doesn’t run. Instead, he leans into your touch. Astarion finds himself wanting to be held by you.

It’s not exactly the same as the quiet he felt before, but the peace that he feels is soothing. Although you can’t see right now, he feels like for the first time in centuries, someone sees him.

You break the silence by clearing your throat before asking, “Would you be able to relight the candle, please?”

He obliges, once again lighting up the room with a soft amber glow. When he turns back to you, you practically keel over yourself in laughter. He’s about to make a snide comment before you grab the blanket from the couch and explain.

“I’m sorry,” you say in between giggles, “I just didn’t expect that you would have made such a mess of yourself!”

You reach towards his face with a clean corner of the blanket and begin to scrub at the mess. Your touch is much too rough and he scoffs, snatching the blanket from your hand and gently wiping at his mouth.

You begin to laugh again, and this time Astarion can’t hold back the frustration he feels.

“What is it now?” he snaps.

You calm yourself down and turn away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just – you look like a polished and well-mannered man dapping away any crumbs after a fine meal. But your face –” you start before breaking off into more giggles, “ – your face makes you look like anything but someone like that. You look more like a wild animal!”

Those words might’ve hurt him if they were said by anyone else, but when you turn back towards him there’s nothing but affection in your eyes.

He crumples the blanket up before throwing it off to the side and making his way towards you. “Well, what can I say, darling? I may as well be an animal who’s tasted real food for the first time in my life.”

“Oh stop, you’re just being dramatic,” you say as you plop down on the chair.

Perhaps now would be a good time to bring up Cazador and his restrictions, Astarion contemplates. He quickly shakes away that idea and instead saunters over to you, picking up the book you had earlier that was discarded on the ground amidst all the excitement.

“Dramatic? Why darling, I am nothing of the sort! Now,” he says while opening the book and squeezing himself next to you, “if you want to learn about dramatics, I am happy to educate you with a live reading.”

He can hear the blood rushing to your cheeks, causing Astarion to smirk.

“You chose quite an interesting book, too: ‘Forever in Your Embrace’ by The Dark Urge. You probably don’t even know that this is one of the most renown erotica writers in Faerun,” he scoffs. “Although, between this author and Shadowheart, I’m starting to think there’s an unspoken competition on who can have the most ridiculous name.”

“The Dark Urge isn’t ridiculous,” you quip.

Astarion just laughs and brushes you off. He begins reading the book aloud and the whole time you’re uncharacteristically on edge, but he doesn’t care. You’re clearly trying not to get turned on again, he muses. As you both wait for your clothes to dry, Astarion recites some of the most sickenly sweet romance porn he’s ever read. He glances at your blushed face and once again he can’t help but think.

What if?

61 notes · View notes