#i love astarion and this includes after the ascension | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yangcherie · 20 days

Text

play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

#astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 smut #astarion smut #bg3 #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin smut #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #hoo #okay #this was shit

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little-star-library · 2 months

Text

Satin Sheets

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

18+ only (mdni please)

Summary: This is just a short little drabble that I brewed in my head and I couldn’t stop thinking about what domestic life with Astarion would be like and I got ahead of myself with this one. Just some spicy fluff with our favorite pale elf.

Genre/Tags: fluff, spicy, little spicy anyways, soft Astarion, slight Dom Astarion, light teasing, blood, blood drinking, sexual themes

Word Count: 2,000+ words

Astarion has always had a taste for the finer things in life, vampire or not, and he has spared no expense when it comes to spoiling you absolutely rotten. And after all that you and your ragtag group of friendly weirdos have been through to defeat the Netherbrain, he took it upon himself to find the “perfect slice of paradise”, according to him, for the fresh start that the two of you so rightly deserved being the heroes of Baldur’s Gate and such. Even if he still remained to be a creature of the night after killing Cazador and refusing to fulfill the right to profane ascension, Astarion yearned for a new life with you by his side and that’s all he could ever want for as long as you’ll have him.

Now searching for your new home was no easy feat as your bosom companion was rather selective in his choices, but you both settled on a little cottage on the outskirts of the Lower City that was a bit of a fixer upper. With a little love and care, along with a generous amount of gold that may or may not have been acquired in an honest manner, your humble abode began to take shape into the ideal sanctuary that Astarion dreamed of. He made sure to include everything that you both could possibly want even if you insisted that he was all you needed to be happy and content, but he insisted on fulfilling all of your desires one way or another. So over time, you and Astarion worked together to create the perfect atmosphere that encompassed a personal reading nook with floor to ceiling bookcases to house all of the books and tomes you collected during your adventures, a small garden for you to plant and grow your favorite herbs and flowers; along with many rugs, furniture, and paintings to decorate the space. But Astarion claimed the bedroom as his domain to furnish. And who were you to deny him?

To say that he lacked any ambition for interior design would be a severe understatement and it certainly showed when it came to his plans for your shared boudoir. Out of the few rooms that were in the cottage, the bedroom would always be Astarion’s favorite. The room itself wasn’t very impressive to him at first glance, but with great determination there came even better possibilities. In the end, the bedroom felt more comfortable yet quaint in his perspective, but in more of a romantic sense nonetheless. Besides the fireplace, there were a smattering of candles placed throughout the area to engulf it in a dim glow along with furs and rugs that lined the wooden floor so Astarion could walk freely without having to dread about the cold temperature of the floorboards. However, the crowning jewel was the four poster bed that stood in the middle of the room with the fluffiest of mattresses, a canopy of crimson red velvet to shut out the sunlight when needed, and a matching set of the softest satin bedsheets that cradled you in a delicate and tender embrace you would never want to let go of.

“Now isn’t this cozy, darling? I think I would go as far to say that this room is the very heart of the house, aside from yours, of course.” His honeyed words always sent your heart a flutter no matter the subject, but he did have a point. Other than the more obvious activities that took place within those bedsheets, you both spent most of your time as of late in bed lazing around and whispering sweet nothings to each other without a care in the world. It truly was paradise to experience something like this with Astarion, to see him so at ease and be able to feel the warmth and love that you held only for him without any further obligations to chain him down. And like so many other occasions that you’ve shared in your bedroom, that is where you currently found yourself now.

The sun had begun to descend for the day and neither you or Astarion had made any motion to draw open the curtains of the canopy. Over time, you began to adjust your sleeping schedule to be more accommodating to your lover’s needs despite your ambitions to discover a way for him to be able to walk in the sun once again. But in the meantime, the two of you basked in the encompassing darkness because this somehow never bothered Astarion, not like this at least, not when he had you wrapped around his frame as he rested atop you and with his head laying against your chest to listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of your heart.

He always awoke from his trance before you so he could admire your presence while you slept and it always made him melt inside knowing that you willingly chose to be in such a vulnerable position all because you trusted him with your life. You looked so peaceful as you slumbered through the day and he looked upon you with an overwhelming amount of admiration, a soft sigh escaping from his lips at the sight. He thought it was truly selfish of him to wake you, but he yearned to hear your voice and feel your loving caress over his body. Your touch was always so gentle and he could never get enough of it.

As gingerly as he could muster, Astarion shifted his weight and started to litter kisses across your chest, starting at where your heart rested and up to the crook of your neck, nibbling gently at the marks he left behind the day before when you offered to let him feed his sanguine hunger, lingering there for a moment as you began to rouse from your slumber. He continued his trek of loving pecks across your jawline and to your cheeks and across your forehead before you puffed out a long exhale with the faintest smile that signaled his trickery at work. With one last dawdling kiss at the corner of your lips from his, you rose a hand to entwine into the crown of disheveled curls that lay over his head, lightly scratching at his scalp which resulted in him falling back into your arms to lay his head upon your chest and practically purring at your gentle affection.

“Awake already, my love? I hope I’m not disturbing your rest.” The low timbre of Astarion’s ‘morning voice’ reached your ears and it sent a shiver down your spine, but you knew all too well of his intentions as you could feel the smirk growing across his face against you.

“No, not all,” you breathed out. “But I was having such a wonderful dream.”

“Oh, is that right? Won’t you tell me about it?” Blinking away the remaining remnants from your sleep addled eyes, you peer down to find those familiar orbs of crimson gleaming in the dark already locking with your gaze that was filled with his fondness and endearment for you.

“Well let’s see,” you closed your eyes and pretended to recollect on your dreams as if they were fading away, but the truth was that you could never forget those vivid visions that your mind had conjured. This earned a playful nip at your sternum from Astarion and it made you squeal in surprise, the sound of him chuckling in response to your squirming only further tested you, but you didn’t have the nerve to complain. You loved it when he was playful with you like this.

“Don’t keep me waiting, love. The anticipation is killing me.”

You looked upon Astarion once more and smiled sweetly at the sight before you. He watched your eyes flutter with his chin resting against your solar plexus and you couldn’t help but lower your hand from his hair to cup his face, stroking your thumb across his pale cheek absentmindedly as your other hand brushed down his arm that was wrapped around your waist. His smile matched your own and let out an unneeded sigh of contentment as he grasped your hand to place a kiss at the inside of your palm, making your breath hitch slightly at the simple gesture. He truly was a vision both in your dreams and reality, a beautiful and somewhat ethereal being that you would instantly gravitate towards.

“It was much like this actually,” your voice barely above a whisper. “Our limbs entangled with each other’s beneath these sheets, gliding across the bed while we take our time caressing and kissing our bodies, mapping out the spots that made us whimper and sigh with pleasure.”

The thought alone made you squeeze your thighs together in search of friction and you could feel a blush rising from your neck to the tip of your ears. Astarion’s eyes seemed to darken in the already dim lighting at the subject of your tale and you could tell that you had his rapt attention by now as he rose from his position to lay on his side with his chin resting in his hand to stare down at you with a look of growing desire consuming his facial features. That sight alone left you breathless and you couldn’t take your eyes off his own gaze, licking your lips in anticipation of his next move.

“Go on, darling. Tell me everything.” His voice emitted a low growl at the sensation of his member hardening against the soft satin, trying to rein in his control before he lost all sense to take you right then and there.

“I-I remember you taking me into your arms,” you began, a slight chill running down your spine at the hungry look in his eyes. Oh gods, those eyes. You knew that look very intimately. It always made you weak at the knees and if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying in bed, you’d be quite sure that he would have you lying in a puddle instead. Trying with all your might to not break eye contact with him was rather difficult, but you couldn’t stand to not see his reactions. “And you devoured me in more ways than one, as if you were completely starved until I begged you to stop, making me cry out your name while you took your fill.”

Your breath was shaking towards the end of your sentence, but Astarion was quick to silence you as he cupped your jaw in both hands at a better angle and leaned down to take your lips in a tender, desperate kiss. The sensation of his mouth was electrifying to say the least and you froze up in surprise for only a second until you hastily reciprocated his actions. There was a familiar pool of warmth that sank in the pit of your core and it grew and grew into a rising flame when your beloved vampire started to tease your bottom lip with the edge of his fangs and a lick of his tongue, silently requesting your permission for entry. You complied willingly and gasped at the touch of his tongue, the two of you moaning softly as you explored each other’s mouths. He tasted utterly divine in what you could only describe as him with the slight undertone of your blood and a hint of red wine he indulged in the night previous. It was simply intoxicating and you never wanted this moment to come to an end. You were floating in a cloud of bliss with only thanks to his attentive ministrations as you held onto him for dear life, tangling your fingers in the curls that rested at the nape of his neck and tugging oh so gently to tease him even more. This earned you another bite from those gorgeous fangs, pricking your flesh until you felt a drop of blood pool to the surface of your lips which Astarion gladly lapped up, making him groan in delight at the taste of your precious essence. But before you even took notice he pulled away suddenly and rested your forehead against yours, the ghost of his cold instinctual breath entwined with your warm gasps of excitement as you tried in vain to regain your breathing. It was all for naught though as you looked up to Astarion and the oxygen left your lungs to see him panting with the pupils of his eyes blown by his carnal thirst that he only held in his undead heart for you.

“Maybe,” you wheezed. “Maybe I’m still dreaming after all.” A chuckle rumbled from Astarion’s chest at your statement and it made your blush darken at the thought of amusing him. It pleased you to know that you could have these little moments of teasing banter that came as a second nature to you both.

“Perhaps you still are, my sweet.” He quipped back, stroking a few loose hairs behind your ear and kissing you at the tip of your nose. “But if this were a dream, then how does it end?”

His smile was infectious and you were completely enamored by his sultry flirting. He knew you couldn’t stand to be teased by him for so long and he knew which buttons to press to get you right where he wanted you. It was infuriating, but you loved it all the same. Brushing your nose along his own, you leaned up just enough to kiss him briefly and wrapped your arms over his shoulders.

“What if there was no ending?” You questioned him. “What if we stay in this dream forever, in each other’s arms just like this?”

“Oh darling,” he thumbs at the bottom of your chin to catch the remaining blood that dribbled from your lips and sucks it into his mouth, licking it away as you whimpered at the sight. “You had me at forever.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #dungeons and dragons #18+ only #18+ content #fluff #smut #little star library

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feyascorner · 4 months

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NO BECAUSE I NEED TO TALK ABOUT ASCENDED ASTARION FOR A SECOND

I feel a lot of people think he just lost his soul when he went through with the ascension (myself included) but replaying for the third time (this time w/o rushing lol), it’s more obvious that he’s still him.

Of course, there’s a very obvious difference between spawn astarion and ascendant astarion in his dialogue, especially if you romance him. Ascendant astarion, in the state that he is immediately after ascension, is absolutely not a healthy representation of what a relationship should look like and should not be desired. Obviously some people think he’s hot but for the sake of the argument just go along w me here.

Regardless I don’t think the ascension changed him THAT much as a person. In fact I’d argue that NOT ascending changes him more (for the better). Ascending just made parts of him (the less forgiving traits) that much more prominent.

Looking back on Act 1 during the tiefling celebration (assuming you don’t side w the goblins), he clearly says he doesn’t revel in being a hero. And throughout the game he makes it very clear he’s willing to be selfish because he hasn’t been allowed to be selfish for the past 200 years.

And this selfishness manifests into him wanting power so he won’t face the same environment again. He’s always wanted power, and if he chooses not to ascend, he’s letting go of that part of himself. Not only does he go against what he’s believed for most of his life as a spawn, but accepts that being a spawn is okay with him. If he chooses to ascend, he’s amplifying that power hungry aspect of himself, putting act1/2 astarion’s personality in the basement, but he’s still there.

This applies to how possessive he is of Tav after the ascension too. He’s always been possessive, even if he doesn’t make it alarmingly obvious. Though rather than possessive I’d describe it more as a fear of being abandoned in act 1/2.

For example, when you drop the Githyanki Crèche on him he gets genuinely annoyed for a few seconds and then he thanks you for apologizing in a much softer tone, like he’s trying to repair any damage he might’ve done by getting mad at you. At the time, he still thinks of himself as weak, and therefore cannot bring himself to be possessive since he has no power to back it up. Instead, he manifests these feelings by doing everything in his power to please you even if it goes against his emotions. And while he doesn’t particularly love Tav going off with other people (as seen with the dialogue after you sleep with Mizora), he pretends that he’s okay with it just to keep you by his side. This tendency to please Tav in hopes they’ll stay is also seen in how he asks for your permission before he kills the Gur at the hag’s house.

Now, once he does ascend, he realizes he has the power to support all these darker emotions he feels. It turns twisted as a result, bringing us to the ascendant astarion we have today.

Spawn astarion, however, lets go of these emotions in a way, or displays them in a more healthy manner. It’s why his arc feels much more satisfying this way because ascendant astarion isn’t really changing, just adjusting. Spawn astarion goes through more raw character development which is also why I cannot bring myself to ascend him even in my evil durge play through!!

anyway yeah I made this account to do stuff like this hope you enjoyed my little rant🫶 this is just my personal opinion obviously but pls lmk if anyone thinks differently bg3 lore is so interesting

#bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate spoilers

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 29 days

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

TW: Astarion's past abuse under Cazador is mentioned/visited in this chapter.

She has been cold and withdrawn since their discussion when he refused to say what she wanted to hear. She avoids him if possible and ignores him unless he directly speaks to her. When she walks around the manor, she is like a phantom gliding, lifeless and vacant, the ghost of a ship long ago wrecked at sea that still wanders the waters wayward with no purpose. So far, he’s left her alone in her misery. Should he be trying to cheer her up? His heart tells him he should, but his head tells him it’s unbecoming of the Vampire Ascendant to postulate himself in such a way. He should not have to seek her attention. She should give it to him willingly. If she wishes to wallow in her desolation, so be it.

He’s missed her in their bed, against his skin, and on his lips. Her silence is as deep as demise and simultaneously deafening. He misses her laughter, happy giggles, and his name on her tongue in her sweet, musical voice. Hells, he would even take a scolding from her right now as long as she’s speaking and more expressive than this wall of dysphoria. He will take anything but this pale apparition of surrender and hopelessness. He’s tried to goad her into arguments if only to get a rise from her, but she does as he requests without question, challenge, or emotion.

She wants a real relationship, but what does that mean to him? What kind of relationship is he capable of giving her? That presence in his head bids him to control, claim, and make her belong to him with or without her consent. It encourages him to give the command to make it so. The Vampire Ascendant does not request love - he simply fucking takes it because he is entitled to it. He is entitled to have anything and everything he wants, including her.

No.

There his thoughts go again, getting away from him, towing him down like quicksand. He must be careful not to let himself be cast down that ungodly rabbit hole. He may not get the chance to surface. Astarion’s hands rack over his face and through his hair. He needs the physical sensation that often interrupts the slow descent into madness.

Astarion. He reminds himself. I am Astarion.

She does not acknowledge his presence when he enters the library. Her sullen eyes are moored to the book lying in her lap, and she flips the pages idly. She did not even bother to light any of the candles, scones or oil lamps. She sits in the shadows like a lone lily, white and fair, against a pond reflecting dusk.

He clears his throat to get her attention, “I need you to attend my business meeting with me today. It may put you in a position where you are… uncomfortable, but I will be there to protect and stop you if needed.”

She closes the book, staring straight vacantly, not bothering to look at him. Her voice is as whisper quiet as a catatonic echo, “You’re taking me to a business meeting?”

“Yes,” he replies softly, making his voice as warm as a summer day as if he could warm her with it. “I need my consort by my side.”

“I am not your consort, Astarion,” she shakes her head with a despondent expression. She is so cold it makes him shiver. He’s used to flames veritably leaping off her tongue when she speaks. This... He has never witnessed this in her, but he recognizes it. This is how he was when he all but gave up after a few lashings, “I will go with you if you need me, but I am not your consort.”

Please, don’t give up on me... just yet.

“If you do not like the word consort, that is fine,” he crouches and takes her hand. It remains limp, and she still does not look at him. Astarion gently cradles her cheek and walks her eyes to him. They seem to look through him instead of at him, and his heart seizes in his chest. “Tell me what you would prefer. Partner? Girlfriend? Soulmate? Bride? Hells, wife? Just tell me what you want me to say. Please.”

The words scour his tongue like steel wool. Can his spawn truly be his partner, girlfriend or… Good Gods, he said wife, didn’t he? Where in the Hells did that come from, and why does the notion fill him with genuine joy? Will he be able to see her as an equal? He is the Vampire Ascendant… No one is his equal, and no one could ever be. But he is also Astarion. Which him does he want to be? Does he even have a choice?

He stares at her, trying to discern how he views her. When he looks at her, does he see an equal? Or does he see his spawn, his puppet, his favourite little toy to play with? He views both versions in parallel spaces of his mind. He cannot ascertain which one is him and which is the Vampire Ascendant.

“Consort. Partner. Girlfriend. Soulmate. Bride. Wife,” she repeats hollowly as if she’s saying the words without thinking about them, just a recording being played back, “None of them because we are none of those.”

“Perhaps not yet,” he retorts with a plea clinging to his voice. “You said you want something real, and I agreed to try and give you just that. Let me try.”

“Are you capable of love,” she whispers, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re view of what love is may differ from mine, but perhaps we can meet in the middle?”

“When do we leave?” She asks dryly and slips her hand out of his, “And what do I wear?”

“I had something made for you,” he smirks. “It’s in your room. Wear it or don’t. The choice is yours.”

“You’re giving me a choice?”

"Darling," he drawls in an unemotional infection, “I admittedly do not know much about relationships, but I don’t think forcing you to wear something would be very… nice. You are free to dress yourself in whatever you wish.”

“What if I decide I wish to wear a burlap sack?”

“Well…” he cringes. Gods. He would not put it past her doing just that to prove a point. Would he let her do that? Could he? His skin crawls just thinking about it. “You would look very foolish, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Hells below, he hopes she does not wear a sack.

Truthfully, he does want to control what she wears, where she goes, and even how she does her hair and makeup, but he does not understand why he is so drawn to it. He does not recall feeling the need to be so controlling when he was a spawn. He must quell those desires and untoward thoughts if he has any hope of showing her that he can be what she wants and needs.

Because he needs her…

He’s almost afraid to look when she walks down the hall, scared she’s going to see if he truly means what he said, but he’s elated to see she decided to wear the ensemble he had fashioned. An extravagant, high-necked navy-blue robe with delicate golden lace sleeves and a bodice embellished with dragon wings with gleaming rose-gold scales to match hers.

His coat is very close, except it is raven black, inlaid with deep purple and golden embroidered dragons revolving around his arms. His chest is embellished with dragon wings expanding across the breast.

“Dragons?” Her hand glides down the breast of his coat, “I thought you were fonder of bats.”

“It seems I have become rather smitten with dragons as of late,” he winks. He feigns puzzlement, bringing his finger to his lips, “I wonder why.”

She gives him some semblance of a smile. It’s the first time he’s seen any emotion in days. It fades quickly, and her face is once again a smooth plane of vacancy.

“What do you mean I will be uncomfortable?” She mutters, eyes fixed straight ahead as if looking at him pains her like staring directly at the sun. “You promised you would not put me in a situation I cannot handle.”

“And I won’t. You have my word.” He bows slightly, “There will be people around. If you need to leave, you say the word, and we will go. You know I could compel you not to feel that hunger…”

She scowls at him and hisses, “Do it, and I will walk out that door. I will not return.”

Well, even anger is better than emptiness.

“It is just an offer,” he nods curtly with his hands up. “I would not do it without your expressed permission. Shall we go?”

You follow Astarion, twisting down alleys and paths in the Lower City. You refuse to hold his hand and are attempting to use pure willpower to ignore all the tasty citizens scurrying about. They smell good, and it’s making your mouth water. No matter how much you eat, bloodlust is insatiable, unquenchable and never fully slumbers. There’s always this stitch in your side and a dryness to your throat that will not ebb. When you smell blood, you are immediately starved, and your stomach pinches in your belly. It could easily send you into hysterics. Astarion always keeps a close eye, sticking by your side and matching your pace instead of his usual elongated strides.

You recognize the alley with the guards and the secret door, “The guild?”

“The very one,” he nods with a cunning smirk.

“Lord Ancunin,” the guard bows low and stiff. “I see you have brought a guest.”

“Lady Ancunin,” Astarion drawls, confident and poised. If your heart was beating, it would surely have skipped beats and possibly stopped. “She is to be treated with the same respect as I. You are to follow her orders as you would follow mine. Is that clear?”

“So you command, so shall it be,” the guard bows low before you. “Lady Ancunin.”

You stare detached past the guard, barely noticing the reverent display before you. A welcome numbness has incorporated itself into your psyche. You felt so much, and now you feel nothing. You’re not sure which is worse.

“Come,” Astarion gestures to the stairs.

The Guildhall has been rebuilt with more extravagance. The walkways are now properly constructed and far less shabby looking with richly coloured wood. It is organized, not the haphazard mess you remember. There are so many hearts beating the chant of life. Their blood smells like Elysian fields teeming with ichor blossoms. Pressing your eyes shut, you try to tune out the thump, thump, thump assaulting your ears. You clutch Astarion’s hand and squeeze as hard as you can.

Yes, this will be a challenge.

Astarion senses your apprehension and squeezes your hand reassuringly, “We can leave whenever you want. I do not have to be here long.”

“You operate the Guild now?”

“Yes and no,” he grins, devilish and handsome enough to make you melt despite your discomfort. “Nine Fingers still handles the mundane day-to-day. You know I have never been a details person.”

“How did this come about?”

“Simple,” he smiles wolfish and sly. His eyes glint mischievously. “If you know the right people to coerce, anything can be taken. Grease a few palms here, blackmail some merchants there. You know how it is.”

“Coerce or kill?”

“Well, negotiations don’t always go as planned,” he chuckles with a cavalier shrug. “But I do not go around killing everyone, just those who need killing anyway. Gods. What do you think of me? I’ve been manipulating people for 200 years. This was hardly a challenge.”

“Ah, Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers strides up with a tight look as if she’s working hard not to frown. “How nice of you to bless us with your presence. I do not believe we have a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I’m here to make sure you’re running my,” Astarion accentuates the word with a low, threatening growl, “Guild befittingly. I received reports of your idiot pickpockets getting caught by the authorities and inconsistent yields. Do I need to appoint someone more suitable for such a role?”

“Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers snickers, and you wonder how he hasn’t killed this one yet. She was always snarky. “The pickpockets have been dealt with. They did not even make it to prison. As for the yields, I’m looking into it. You will not find anyone more proficient at running your guild than I.”

Astarion and Nine Fingers continue to talk business. Boring. You walk away, down the stairs and watch the people flitting about, ledgers in hand, counting shipments of what looks like silk from Cormyr and imported liquor. Others with clearly stolen pieces of art and other antiquities. The bottom of that cesspool pit has been cleaned up, and it appears new tunnels have been put in place, with more still being constructed.

You catch bits and pieces of a conversation between a short, rotund man in a burgundy coat speaking about a shipment being lost or damaged. Leaning on a railing, you watch the conversation play out with a shrewd eye for a while before you make your way over there. The closer you get to people, the harder it is to control yourself, but you’re getting better.

You sit close to the conversation so you can listen and watch. Nine Fingers sits beside you, “I remember you. Jaheria’s friend, right?” she gives you a scrutinizing once over and then her eyes finally settle on yours. “I remember you being much more… alive the last time you were here. The lords doing, I presume.”

“I wanted it,” you growl through your clenched jaw. “There is nothing further to discuss on it.”

“I’ve seen his little compulsion trick,” she says sourly. “It’s not a stretch to believe-“

You cut her off by grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against a support beam. The rhythmical pulsing of her vein is felt on the pads of your fingers. Good Gods, you are tempted to take a nibble. Just a little sip...

No. You throw her away from you before you lose your precarious control.

“Watch your tongue,” you snarl, baring your teeth. “I am just as deadly as the lord.”

“Deadlier even.” Astarion chuckles, leaning close to your ear, “Are you okay?”

“I’m managing…” you whisper. Raising your voice, you point to the man, “Who is that?”

“A local merchant. He caters to the aristocracy.” Astarion arches a brow, “Why?”

“You were talking about inconsistent yields,” you watch the man circumspective, who now stares at you wide-eyed. “I think you will find he is the reason for some or all of your inconsistencies.” You sneer at the little fleshy liar, “Won’t we?"

“No,” Nine Fingers interjects. “That can’t be. He’s been working with the Guild for many years and is well-known and respected by the patriars. He’s an invaluable asset.”

“Silence!” Astarion orders brusquely, making her flinch. “Your superiors are having a discussion.” Astarion’s fingers come to his chin. “Go on, darling. How do you know?”

“His speech pattern is all over the place. He does not make direct eye contact. He’s fidgeting nervously. I can hear his heartbeat kick up from here every time he has to alter his story, and he’s sweating like a pig,” you smirk. You are good at this, and it feels natural. You give the man a grin as you virtually hear his heart sink, “You are a terrible liar. I think you’ve picked the wrong business.”

“Well,” Astarion cocks his head while watching the man as sweat rains down his face, “Let’s find out, shall we?” He points at the rotund traitor, “You. Come here.”

“Y-yes, Lord Ancunin.”

Astarion hauls the man into the air by his coat with an eerily cordial smile, “You’ve been stealing from me. Come clean now, and I will consider allowing you to keep your pathetic life.”

You expected to hear the anger in Astarion’s voice, but it’s matter-of-fact and impassive.

“My lord,” the man’s eyes widen, and his feet kick uselessly in the air. “I would never dream of it. Honest!”

Astarion’s eyes glow that wicked crimson of compulsion, and he brings the man close to his face, “You will tell me the truth. How long have you been stealing?”

The man’s eyes become glossy as the red tendrils of compulsion twist around him and into his mind. His body becomes limp. “I will tell the truth.” He repeats hollowly. “I have been skimming off the top for years. I misconstrue reported earnings and inventory, record shipments as lost or damaged and keep them for myself.”

The man continues spewing his transgressions, and you can see the rage start building in Astarion.

“That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Astarion smiles manically. His eyes start to flash as he draws his dagger.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “Astarion…” You soothe and request the connection with his mind. You do not want to undermine him, but you need him to stay in control. He opens it, and you wince at the pain that splits through your head. It feels as if your skull has been cracked open. You push through it and roll your thoughts over the bridge, “His death will not gain you anything, Astarion. Hold onto yourself.”

His muscles strain under your fingers, and sweat starts to sheen his skin, but he answers in your thoughts, “His death would serve as a reminder to these insolent fucks that no one betrays the Vampire Ascendant and lives.”

“Astarion, please.”

“I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He bellows in your head so hard you wonder if your ears are bleeding, leaking your brain matter.

“Is that all you are? Is that your entire identity?”

He growls viciously aloud, snarling and turning his head to look at you with violence humming in his flickering eyes. With a pained grunt, Astarion throws the man on the ground and hisses, “Leave. If I ever see you in my city again, I will kill you and your family.”

Astarion whirls, taking your chin roughly in his fingers, bringing his mouth to yours, savage and hungry, with enough force to split and bruise your lips. You can hear that tittering in his head, straining against his control, trying to claim him. It bites like a serrated blade at your mind, and Astarion tries to close the connection to save you from that pain, but you rue against it.

“Don’t,” you think. “I can be your light. I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His fingers curl into your hair, and his tongue laps at the blood smeared across your lips, sucking on the cut gently. Your fingers caress the back of his neck. You’re not exactly sure how you do it, but as if on instinct, you flood Astarion with every iota of your love, light and fire into his psyche, upending the darkness and silencing his demons.

His body relaxes. His fingers no longer grip aggressively but embrace, and he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours as he pants. As your senses return to you, so does the angelic chorus of beating hearts and the enticing smell of blood, and you clench your jaw as your stomach does cartwheels in your abdomen. Your fingernails incise your palm.

“I’ve got you, my treasure.” Astarion interlocks his fingers with yours to stop you. “Hold onto me.”

Astarion turns to Nine Fingers. She’s staring at you with a speculatively arched brow, “We will be taking our leave now. I expect to see improved totals on your subsequent report, or we will have a very unpleasant discussion, and if any more pickpockets get caught, you will not be calling yourself Nine Fingers any longer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lord Ancunin,” she nods curtly with a twisted mouth and narrowed eyes. “Do bring your spawn along more often. She is incredibly useful, it seems.”

Astarion roars, slamming Nine Fingers against a wooden column, splitting it. He bellows when he speaks, making sure everyone can hear him, “No one is to call her “spawn.” If I hear anyone utter that word in reference to her, I will hang them from the rafters by their intestines while they still draw breath.” Astarion looks around with a frightening scowl, verifying everyone is paying attention, “She is my right hand, and you will treat her with due respect. Any orders from her should be treated as if they are coming from me directly.”

“Astarion,” you whimper, scratching lacerations into the top of your hand to keep yourself grounded. “I need to go.”

He releases Nine Fingers, spins and grabs your hand. He keeps a tight hold on you until you’re back in the alley. He orders the guards to stand further away. You sprint to the dead end and grip a fence as hard as you can, taking in large gasps of air to try and quiet the bloodlust ravaging your mind, bullying you into mania. Astarion’s hands come to the rail on either side of you, caging you in with his chest pressed against your back.

“You did well in there,” he purrs. “Controlling the bloodlust.”

“You could have warned me that I would want to eat everyone with a beating heart,” you groan, leaning into him.

“I suppose I could have been a tad more forthcoming,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “To be fair, I was a young spawn centuries ago. It’s not exactly fresh in my mind.”

“How did you learn to control it?” you sigh. You’re falling into him again, slipping into that blissful completeness that melts that icy numbness keeping you sane.

There’s a quiver of torment that dithers across the harmony. “Cazador…” he starts, spoken with a desolate undertone. He folds his arms around you, holding you close, and he trembles, “Cazador would starve me and then have people stand in the kennels while I was chained or caged. He would cut them, small at first, but gradually worse. They would get progressively closer. If I made a move or lost control in any way, I would be punished. Severely.” He pauses with a sigh, and his brows turn down at the sides. “I lost control a lot.”

By the Gods. You would not have been able to understand how torturous that would be without being a vampire yourself. Bloodlust hurts, a physical pain that progressively gets steadily worse until you are nothing but a writhing, rabid animal with no semblance of sentience.

“Astarion…” you turn to him, wrapping your arms around him. “That’s… Gods, there are no words. I’m so sorry.”

“Come,” he clears his throat, uncomfortable with the emotion as if he does not believe he deserves your empathy. “Let’s go home.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You murmur, hoping you’re not overstepping, “About… him. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“Partners talk about this type of stuff openly, yes?”

“I…” you balk at the question. It seems so out of character for him. You expected him to ignore you or scold you for bringing it up further. “I suppose they do, but-“

“Yes,” he cuts you off. “I know what we aren’t. You keep reminding me every chance you get. You requested real and real you shall have. I never wanted you to see that side of me.” Astarion sighs and looks at the setting sun reverently, his face softening, a glimpse of his former self, “Cazador is no longer an off-limits topic for you.”

What?

Can you trust him not to fly into a blind rage when you speak of his former self, the pathetic spawn he is so genuinely disgusted with? Perhaps this is not the time to test the limits of this newfound freedom.

“Lady Ancunin?” You quirk a brow at him. “That’s not my name.”

“Not as of yet, it’s not,” his arm wraps around your waist, and a smile flashes over his face like wintry sunshine. He whispers, “You bear my name beautifully, my love.”

Your eyelashes flutter open, and you’re shocked to be in the familiar halls of the Crimson Palace, but it does not appear as you remember it. Everything is washed in a drab sepia tone, and you blink, trying to clear your vision. The walls and floors appear to wave as if they are an illusion. Servants blink in and out of existence as they flit around. You try to walk in the way of them, waving your arms to get their attention, but they pay you no heed, blinking out and reappearing behind you.

A scream you would recognize anywhere reverberates through the ghostly halls, shrill and bone-chilling.

Astarion…

You sprint toward the sound, descending the dark staircase two or three steps at a time that appears to end in a black well of nothingness. You’re trying to grip the weave and call on your magic, but when you reach for it, you find nothing but a yawning void where it should be. Staring at your palm, you shake it, confused, as you burst into the hall leading to the spawn quarters. Another cry echoes. You forget about your lack of magic as horror grips your heart, and you sprint around the corner and halt dead in your tracks.

Astarion stands in the hallway. He’s hunched over with hands pressed against the doorframe as he stares distantly into the room before him - the kennels. He is the only thing in undulled, vivid colour. It’s a stark contrast to the atmosphere of mousy undertones.

“Astarion?”

He jolts, whirling and staring at you with a disoriented tangle of sorrow and perplexity. His jaw tightens, and his eyes shift quickly from side to side, “No,” he mutters, shaking his head, “No, this isn’t right. You would not have been here.”

“What’s going on?” You sputter, voice breaking. “I don’t understand.”

Another strident shriek. You are stirred into action, dashing down the hall at full speed. Astarion’s eyes widen as he gauges your target, and he takes long steps to cut you off. His arm wraps around your waist, hauling you backward from the open doorway.

“No, darling,” he coos, trying to swath his voice in velvet. “You don’t want to go in there. Please, trust me on this.”

“What?” You’re panicked, clawing at him, trying to push his arms away. “I can’t just stand here! Let me go!”

“You can’t help him… Me. You can’t help me.” Astarion rasps. His eyes are sad, but he tries to smile. “This is long over and done. It’s a memory - my memory.”

Anguished wailing reverberates, making the walls appear to shudder. You can’t take it, you can’t fucking take it, and you push out of Astarion’s arms and charge into the kennels.

The scene that greets you makes tears instantly flow down your cheeks, and you can’t help but dry heave as your stomach shoots into your throat.

“That’s right, my boy.” Cazador snickers, compulsion glowing in his eyes, tendrils stirring the air. “Sing those sweet, sweet cries for me.”

You try to grab Cazador, screaming in anguish, but your hand swishes straight through the apparition. Arms come around your waist, hauling you up and out of the room while you reach and clamber, trying to do something. Anything.

Astarion sets you down, folding his arms around you, “Shhh, little love,” he purrs. “It will be alright.”

“Astarion,” you sob, knees quaking. Astarion braces you against himself, “What in the Hells is happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We are tranced, in the manor, I think. This... it already happened long ago. So long, I cannot even recall the colours anymore.”

His thumb clears the rivulets of tears storming down your cheeks so sweetly, like the whisper of a fairy dream. His eyes, so intensely crimson, are doting, inviting you to get lost in them.

Another soul-crushing outcry discharges from the room, and you can’t help but scream with him. Astarion firmly but gently places his hands over your ears, trying to provide you amnesty from the howling cries.

You lean into him and beg, tugging on his clothes, “Make it stop, Astarion. Good Gods. Make it stop. Please. I can’t… I can’t… Wake us up.”

“I’m trying,” he breathes faintly, pressing harder on your ears as another jarring yowl rolls over you, and you start slipping to the floor in a puddle of sorrow.

Everything dissolves around you, turning black and silent, and you’re pitched into a bottomless void that makes your stomach lurch.

You thrash in your bed, convulsing so violently that you throw yourself to your hands and knees on the floor with a discordant shriek. Your bedsheets and clothes are soddened with sweat, the delicate fabric clinging to your body, and you tremble so turbulently that you can barely push yourself to your feet.

You blink rapidly, trying to see through the distortion caused by unshed tears. Your chest heaves in quick, rapid breaths as you sprint into the hallway. Astarion is already running toward you, and you slam into his arms as your legs give way.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you with a soft, deep baritone, a salve to your pain. “Everything is alright.”

Your mind sees that gruesome vision, a ghostly layer veiling the man before you. Your stomach twists and knots. Saliva floods your mouth. Pushing out of his hold, you scramble away as far as you can, and your liquid dinner is a sanguine spill spreading across the floor. Astarion holds your hair back and rubs your back as you continue to dry heave between your rapid breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

“It is I who should be sorry,” he sits on the chaise, beckoning you into his arms. You curl up in his lap once the wave of nausea eases, desperate to be close to him. Astarion strokes your arm, “I left the connection open. I did not know you could get transported into my dreams. I will not make that mistake again.”

You look up, cupping his cheek in your palm and searching his eyes. That beautiful face is calm and carpeted with earnest affection but otherwise unfazed while he sweeps strands of your hair behind your ear, “Are you okay?”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he kisses your palm. “I have relived many of my memories hundreds of times over. There are only a few that truly disturb me anymore. Thank you for asking, but I am fine.”

“Okay...” you breathe deeply, unsure if your mind can accept how undaunted he is. The last remnants of your weeping shudder through your body, “I’ll clean that up.”

Pushing yourself away from him is a monumental task. He is warm like sunshine and comforting like darkness. You hate him a little for being so… him.

“Will you come to bed?” Astarion looks at you longingly. “ Our bed, I mean.”

“No.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” He laments, following you while you grab a rag and bucket of soapy water from the rarely used kitchen.

“I’m not punishing you for anything, Astarion.”

“Bullshit.” He exclaims sourly. “Do not think me blind. You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me purposefully. I- I miss you.” Astarion’s arms fall limp at this side, “Tell me how to make it right.”

You hand Astarion a cup, “Break this.”

His brows pinch as he turns the cup over and over. He looks at you, confused, but throws it to the floor, shattering it. “What was the point of that?”

“Now, fix it.”

“I have many mind-blowing abilities,” he stares at the shattered pieces strewn across the floor, brows pinched. “Fixing broken goblets is not one of them.”

“Because not everything can be fixed."

You start wiping up your sick in the tense muteness between you and Astarion. He sits on the chaise, just watching with a grief-stricken expression that makes you want to weep.

“I can run up walls, walk upside down on ceilings, turn into a bat and mist, among other things. All this power…” A low laugh rumbles in his chest, crestfallen and mournful. “All this fucking power,” he clenches his fists, craning his head to look up at the ceiling, “and I still cannot have the one thing in the world I want most.” He sighs, shaking his head. Astarion cocks his head to look at you and smiles bleakly, “Sleep tight, my love.”

Astarion disappears into his room, and you bite your tongue to stifle your crying. After you’ve finished cleaning up and are back in your bed, you toss restlessly. How long will this harrowing purgatory go on? You take deep breaths, but it does not even begin to fill the void in your chest. You are fragmented without him in your head or against your skin. As if you’re soul has deformed, warped and splintered into a mangled husk.

This is why you’ve been avoiding Astarion. His words tear your heart open, dissect it, and then you must stitch yourself up anew. How many times can your chest be torn open and your heart ripped to pieces before the scarps are too small to glue back together?

I don’t care.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

In the hall, you jump at the sight of Astarion halfway up the long corridor. He halts, and you stare at each other in reticence. His hair is a disarrayed jumble of soft silver curls. The moonlight streaming in from the windows brilliantly sets the ivory skin of his bared chest aglow. His shoulders are slumped in a disconsolate stature you’re not used to seeing on him. The iron countenance and steely confidence he oozes are absent.

“Love,” he whispers wearily. “Lay with me tonight.” Astarion gestures toward himself, splaying his hand on his bare chest. Desperation clings to his voice, “Be with me. We can workshop the details as we go.”

“Tell me you love me,” you say, moon-eyed, lips quivering.

“I-I,” he pauses. Anticipation clenches your heart in your chest. Please, you think, please just fucking say it so we can stop playing this game. You think he just might until he grimaces. “I can’t.”

“No. Of course, you can’t,” you mewl. You wrap yourself in your comfortable cloak of numbness to preserve your sanity, “Because how could you love a lowly spawn like my good self?”

He does not answer, and that is answer enough.

You’re crouched low in a dark alley, skulking around in the shadows in the Lower City. Astarion went out to deal with some business you were not invited to, so you’ve taken the chance to survey the tavern you last saw that purple-haired bitch at - Elowyn. Your intuition tells you she has something to do with the Gur attacks, regardless of Astarion’s assurances that she’s harmless. The earth-shatteringly handsome man can be blinded by his overconfidence at times.

You’re not sure what Astarion will do if he gets home and you’re nowhere to be found, but you left him a note saying you went for a walk. He probably won’t tear the city apart looking for you. You’re not a caged bird. You can come and go as you please.

... Right?

You’re about to give up for the night when you see her. She glances out the tavern doors, askant, surveying her surroundings before pulling up her hood and slinking down the street. Elowyn takes an oddly winding route, up and down dark alleys and paths, often doubling back. She strolls confidently but takes acute notice of her surroundings. She is practiced and methodical in the way she observes. You should have eaten her when she cornered you with her singsong voice and dainty little face, spewing filth and lies. Maybe you should eat her now…

No, no. You can eat her after you figure out what she’s up to. You smile sadistically at the promise to yourself, licking your lips. You will eat her when you’ve ascertained how she means to harm your master.

Gods. Where did that thought come from?

Elowyn turns abruptly down a side street. Casting Misty Step, you appear on a roof, crouch at the edge and watch her intently. She walks up and down the pathway, looking in all directions except up, much to your delight.

Hardly anyone looks up.

She leans down and opens the entrance to the sewers, climbing down and replacing the cover. The sewers… You fucking hate the sewers. It’s the last place you want to follow her, but nothing can deter you.

This place is a maze of tunnels and run-offs. It’s an arduous task to track her with any degree of certainty. The rayless, glum passageways look similar, but you glimpse her here and there. Her course is consistent with the streets above as she makes arbitrary turns left and right, retracing her steps before continuing. It makes you question if she spotted you and is just taking you on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles, but it’s doubtful. There is purpose in Elowyn’s steps, even if you’re not quite able to understand it yet.

Elowyn steps onto the wooden platform, pulls the lever, and floats up the nauseating river of excrement and contamination. You recognize the area she is going to by smell alone. She’s heading into the lowest floors of the ruined temple under the Crimson Palace. You frown. You’ve been all through those lower, ravaged corridors.

You used to try and hide from Astarion down there, but he always found you. You shudder at the memories of playing some sick, twisted version of hide and seek, where the consequences were more dire than being tagged “it.”

What could be down there that’s of any interest to her? Does Astarion know? Is that where he set the Drow up to do her assessments? Unlikely. He would not want Araj that close to home.

There’s a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere. The chilled air starts to warm unnaturally, embers floating around. Your skin prickles as the hair on the back of your neck and arms rises. You smell the smoky stench and pollution of sulphur crawling through the air. It stings your nostrils, twisting in the back of your nose and down your throat, choking you. A liquid black maw opens in the stone before your feet, and the inky, viscid silhouette emerges from the gaping orifice, taking shape and wings stretching with a boastful flare.

You jump backward, filling yourself with the Weave, heating your palms and skin with spells dancing on your fingertips and primed on your tongue.

“Darling,” a toothy grin greets you. “Now, now, Sorceress. Put those spells of yours to rest. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Mizora.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

It's never a good sign when Mizora shows up. We are getting into the thick of it now :)

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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attackmybutt · 3 months

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my one and only complain about romanced astarion ascended route is the dialogue choices given during the night after his ascension when he asks tav/durge what reward they want and the options are as follow 1. "I want to be a vampire", 2. "I want your body", 3. "Hope you learned a lesson from this" and 4. "don't call me pet"

And frankly, from a role playing perspective, NONE of these dialogue align to something my character would say at moment. Their true answer would be something along the lines of "Nothing" to "For you feel safe and powerful" "You got what you wanted, that's enough for me."

1. My character never thought of becoming a vampire, it never crossed their mind, they have other things far more important than the possibility to be one. That is until Astarion himself brings up the subject, then that's when they will think about it, but not before that.

2. They don't want Astarion for his body. If anything they want ALL of Astarion, that includes his heart and soul and only if he wants to. And its not something they'll ask for in the context of what is being asked of them at that current moment.

3. Lesson to be learned? Lesson what? There's nothing to be learned from anything. I fail to see what kind of lessons needs to be learned from this. But it's apparently something along the lines of learning to love the player, not becomign Cazador and not being asshole for gaining power. It just feels like a stupid choice.

4. Bro, since when a term of endearment is offensive? Is it because ascended Astarion is saying it and thus it's evil an dobjectifying the player? Whaaa? Why is the only place in the game where a player character gets to be offended by pet names, if it's going to be a thing at least make it so across the game.

That's it that's my only complain, the lack of being able to roleplay the scene the way I want to that fits my character and none of these answers are it. The only thing they wanted has already been granted- for Atsarion to get what he wanted, whether it be a good choice or bad.

#bg3 spoilers #ascended astarion

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ozthedm · 5 months

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Vampire Ascendant Ramblings!

I love Baldur’s Gate 3. I love the vampire genre. I am particularly fascinated with the concept of the Vampire Ascendant for a number of reasons that mainly boil down to “what does it mean to be the Vampire Ascendant and what is the true cost of this power?”

This post is essentially a collection of my observations, thoughts, and headcanons regarding the ascension ritual. Think of this as fanfic inspiration material. Get ready folks, because we’re about to dip a toe into 5e lore and get existential.

What does the Rite of Profane Ascension actually do?

Raphael explains the ritual as thus:

“If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun. But the ritual has a price, as all worthwhile things do. Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls including all of his vampiric spawn if he is to ascend… Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”

TLDR: If Cazador offers up the souls of 7000 vampire spawn, then maybe he’ll feel less like shit.

Other specific perks include:

The hunger for blood that plagues all vampires will no longer affect him.

His heart will beat again (Could he even be considered undead at that point?)

He still gets to remain immortal in the sense that he will never age

He can choose to extend his protection from the sun to his spawn, but this protection can be revoked

He can be reflected in mirrors.

There are some details that remain unclear, so here’s where we step into headcanon territory:

Running water will no longer harm him

A normal wooden stake won’t be enough to paralyze him. You’d be better off with a magical weapon

Although he will still need an invitation to enter homes, His enhanced vampiric charm practically makes it a nonissue

And now a couple of notes on Mephistopheles and the contract itself:

“Devils bargain with mortals to upend the divine order. They stake claims on souls that would otherwise go to the gods or be cast adrift somewhere other than the Nine Hells. If you are already a creature of Law and Evil devoted to no other entity, your damned spirit is of meager value.”

- Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes

Mephistopheles is an arcane innovator. His realm, Cania, is essentially a giant laboratory where he conducts extensive experiments.

When it comes to souls, Mephistopheles prefers quality over quantity. He mostly acquires the souls of highly accomplished wizards and sages to help him with his research. To demand the souls of 7000 vampire spawn seems uncharacteristically beneath him (especially for the power he’s offering)

My thinking is that Mephistopheles is working on something that specifically requires vampiric energy and lots of it. The 7000 spawns are nothing more than fodder.

A devil’s deal never ends well. This is repeatedly stated throughout the game. Considering what we know of Mephistopheles and how little Cazador cares for his spawn, this whole contract sounds far too good to be true. So what’s the catch?

A few possible ideas as to the downsides:

Mephistopheles is always watching. After all, this is a completely new kind of being that warrants study.

The Ascendant’s hunger for blood is replaced with a different hunger. A hunger that is indescribable and insatiable. He will always yearn for more. More power, more control, more anything. He may even return to Mephistopheles in an attempt to fill the void.

The Ascendant’s own soul is included in the price, albeit differently. Where the other souls were simply consumed by the ritual, his will serve another purpose. (Not gonna lie, this one sent me on a whole existential journey trying to figure out what is means to have/lack a soul)

I might post more thoughts later, but this is enough for now

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fic #astarion #cazador szarr #fanfic ideas #headcanon #ascended astarion #vampire ascendant #vampires as existential horror #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 meta #dnd 5e #dungeons and dragons

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 7 months

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Your Astarion works have got me in a choke hold, I swear- and I'm feeling angsty right now 😅

So there's that dialogue in game, where Astarion tells you that he was locked in a coffin for a year and just- imagine ascended astarion punishing Tav in a similar fashion, and it's only after he frees her/them that he realizes what he did.

Tav meanwhile, is understandably an inconsolable mess and starving and has no idea what to do.

Okay so anon this request literally had a mind of its own and decided it would be great to just do the ascension scene but for tav cuz Astarion fucked up lol

rated M

Warnings, spoiler about Szarr family line, cult cult this is not good, trauma

1k words of PAIN

"Astarion! No, please! Please, don't do this! I'm sorry!"

Astarion has not stopped staring at the portrait of you hanging in the grand hall, The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. That painter you saved gifted you this as payment for saving him twice.

His eyes fall to your sweet closed smile, your beautiful handsome face captured in this frame.

"You promised!"

He promised he was nothing like Cazador… He isn't anything like Cazador, Astarion loves you. Oh, he loves you more than you can comprehend. However, he has to be fair even with his beloved.

His hand makes a fist as he tries to make excuse upon excuse for punishing you the same way that twisted bastard punished him. This… This is the lowest form of punishment he could give you. You had to be punished!

He releases his hand when feels blood, opening his palm to see the blood seeping out from the cuts.

Astarion eyes closed, you must be starving by now. In ten days he will release you. Just a few more hours. Then he will have you in his arms.

A thrall runs up to him, bowing, "My lord!" Panicking and out of breath.

"What is it?" He can't brood in peace.

"The– The coffin," Astarion raised an eyebrow, "It's missing, my lord."

"..." He turns calmly towards the thrall, "Gone?" He grabbed the fragile human by the neck, "I gave you one job to watch over a single coffin and it suddenly is gone!?" Astarion's fangs bared and eyes glowing with murderous intensity, "I should skin you alive!"

"My deepest apologies, my lord! I was caught off guard by–" Words choked out as Astarion's grip nearly asphyxiated the life out of them, "A vampire came from nowhere! She–"

"She?" Astarion dropped the thrall, "Explain quickly."

You were there locked away in the attic all alone with nothing but the creaking of old wood and the scurry of rats to fill the silent void. The darkness, Gods, you tried to picture anything in the darkness or sleep it away with dreams but all you had were nightmares. You cried, pleaded, but with no answer not even a ‘no’ in response. There was nothing, isolation, emptiness, a small space that felt like it was closing in, to the point of swallowing you whole.

Astarion told you for ten days you will be sealed away. This is the lowest form of punishment he could give you after what you did.

He lied to you and broke his promise, you should've known better but you are a naive fool.

Then the coffin opened, your arms covering your face as you had not seen the light in a while.

"Come on!" A little girl's voice.

You burst out of the coffin like a scared creature on all fours, your claws red with your own blood from scratching, but the warding seal had locked you away. Breathing hard, you barely can see before her young voice centers you.

“Easy there,” She reaches out to touch you but stops unsure if you want to be touched, “You’re not trapped anymore.”

Incognita the reason for your punishment: you stepped between Astarion and his murderous judgment to kill every last Szarr. Including one who disowned her family.

She is innocent! You showed proof and defended her.

"What—How are you here!? No, better yet you shouldn't be here!" Panicking as the girl waves it off.

"I wasn't going to let that asshole hurt you!" She helps you out of the coffin, "Here, drink this. Then follow me." Handing you a healing potion bottle but the liquid is clearly not a potion but blood. "I'll explain everything along the way."

The niece of Cazador Szarr found you as she has been watching within the walls of the Crimson Palace the new owner and thralls with spawns alike walking about.

Her uncle is dead and a new master has claimed his home.

She hates Astarion, though doesn't fault him completely for how he is. Cazador knew well how to make monsters.

"Thank you." You say as Incognita guides you through the deeper sections of the crypt. Your mind on the monster you love-- loved… Should no longer love.

Astarion, what has happened to him?! He swore never to hurt you the way Cazador has hurt him, broken him, yet the proof is the coffin with his magic to seal it.

A broken seal… He is going to know someone let you out.

Once outside the Crimson Palace, she takes you to the sewers. There is a hideout she found abandoned and has been using for some time. She explains that found a way to get out of the city and that she wants you to join her.

"He doesn't deserve you!" Defending her case once inside the hideout, "You aren't like the others, are you?" She has seen it. Astarion is cruel to you yet loving to you, it is confusing and all types of wrong in her eyes.

"To love is to be changed as they say." You are not sure you could explain to her why you stay, though it is not by choice these days.

"... Isn't that supposed to be in a good way?"

You laugh dryly, "Yeah. It is supposed to be." When you look at her you can't see why Astarion wanted her dead, sure you know why but she is nothing like her family members. Her diaries told as much. She tried to rename herself, tried to be better than them. The girl fights with her nature. A child vampire is not looked upon kindly and most vampires see them as wild creatures who need to be fed too much.

You protected her because it was the right thing to do.

"We can run away." She offers.

You smile, "You can run. He will track us both down if I run with you." You grab a piece of paper from the many on the wall, "Find the Devil's Fee, tell them I sent you. Tell them you will only speak to Hope. She can help you."

"What about you? You can't go back there." Confused as you remove a simple necklace off of your neck and put it on her, "(Name), what are you—"

"This is an amber with the blood of Lathander inside. May his blessing find its way to you."

The girl touches the warm amber and then looks up at you, "Is this a goodbye." You nod at her statement, "Find a cure. Live a proper life."

Astarion would and could rip the city apart to find you. If the search had not ended with a messenger bird delivering a letter with your handwriting and a location, Astarion might have started doing so. Instead, he moves swiftly to meet you.

Meet you in the ruins of the temple of Bhaal, there are bodies everywhere of what seems to be cultists who were trying to restore the temple. Runes everywhere, blood magic, glow whispering the abyssal language.

All of them speak in half nonsensical rhymes, but all with a theme about a prodigal child.

The temple smells fresh with death and blood, the symbol of the skull long gone and now a statue of a bat with ruby eyes is crafted into the stone.

"Never again will they control me." Your voice echoes, there you stand in the pool of blood.

The blood smells sweet, sickly, and wrong.

"Astarion," Your back facing him, "Thank you." You gaze up at the statue, "There is only one way to stop evil in this world." A conversation when he suggested controlling the cult of the Absolute rather than destroying it, "To control everything. To rip freedom from them." The room glows, the power raw, and has him dropping to his knees, "You showed me the powerful do not protect the weak. They enslave them! Forcing us to crawl, beg, and suffer!"

You summon forth your gift, the beast consuming your body and morphing you into a bat-like creature.

"I will never live in fear of anything, especially of you!"

#anon ask #reader insert #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x vampire spawn!tav #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader

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carooosa · 2 months

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A Chance to be Normal

Word count: 2.3k Rating: Fluff/Hurt Pairing: Ascended Astarion x GN Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: None AO3 link: A Chance to be Normal

Summary: After the Absolute has been defeated, Astarion wishes to fulfill your every desire. However, he didn't expect your desires to be so pedestrian.

A/N: This is literally the day after The Absolute has been killed. I’m going with the Vampire bride/husband theory, however I’m slightly changing it. Since Astarion has yet to fully understand and grasp his power, he isn’t able to fully extend all of the blessings that came with Ascension to you. This can be read by itself or as a prequel to the other works in my "Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness" series. Also yes this was part of a February fic prompt and yes it is now March. Life sucks sometimes ok.

“Just one day of normalcy.”

That’s the only thing you requested when Astarion asked what you’d like to do now that the Absolute was banished. He had been prepared for you to ask for anything in the world. You seemed hell-bent on taking revenge on any remaining Bhaalists, although you were worried that you may see familiar faces and turn back into your ‘Slayer-form’. You were ready to jump into Avernus with Wyll and Karlach, but a shared whisper between the three of you ended with them plunging into the hells together and you staying behind.

He meant it when he’d said, “Of course, my love. Anything you want, you shall have.”

Even for a creature with such immeasurable power, what you desired was trivial in comparison.

Although, he would have to admit that the last month was more adventure than he had ever wished for. Perhaps a day of being a normal elf and a normal tiefling would be a nice change of pace.

When he tried to question what you wanted to do with the day, you simply smiled and whispered, “It's a surprise.”

And a surprise it would be.

He wakes to hear you frantically running about the room you’re staying in at the Elfsong. You’re mumbling something to yourself before starting to giggle like a school kid. He turns on his side and opens his eyes, only for you to screech at him and slap your hand against his face to obscure his vision. “What are you doing awake?!” you shrill at Astarion.

He tries to gently remove your hand from his eyes, but you retaliate by placing your other hand on top of the first and pushing against him harder.

“Darling,” he says with a breathy chuckle. “It’s hard to stay asleep with you running around like you’re covered in timmask spores.” Although he can’t see it, he assumes by the way that you fidget that your cheeks acquired a deep blush.

He takes one of your hands and brings it down to his lips, placing his lips against your palm as he speaks into it. “My pet, what’s got you acting so strangely this morning?”

Your hand flexes against him and for a second he thinks you’re going to relent. If there’s one thing about you that’s true, though, it’s that you’re as stubborn as a donkey (although Astarion would never say it to your face lest you unleash your ‘gift’ onto him).

“I told you last night,” you respond with a cheeky grin. “It’s a surprise.”

“Very well,” Astarion says while letting your hand drop. “If it must be so, then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to surrender.”

He grimaces at the words as soon as he says them. He’ll need to keep his tongue in check upon returning to the Crimson Palace; it wouldn’t do to let anyone think there’s someone with power over him.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat before rummaging through the nightstand next to the bed and moving your hand so that only one of Astarion’s eyes is covered. “I still have some prep that I need to finish but I can’t trust you to not peek, so I’m gonna blindfold you.” Astarion smirks at you and raises his uncovered eyebrow. “Does your day of normalcy include a certain kind of exercise?”

His eye flares at you, and in response, you blush even harder. You shake your head violently at his implication, and he can’t help the genuine smile that forms on his lips. For someone who thoroughly enjoyed his body, you were quite shy whenever he teased you.

“No, I have something special planned. It has to be a surprise though.”

He thinks for a second that he may continue to rile you up, but ultimately he decides against it. This ‘day of normalcy’ was the only thing you asked from him, and what kind of lord would he be if he couldn’t grant his consort’s first wish?

So with a dramatic sigh, he says, “Alright, get on with it.”

Your other hand falls from his face to hold the handkerchief and he waits for the fabric to wrap around his eyes but it never comes. Instead, you’re focusing intensely on the blindfold, rolling the fabric between your fingers. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when you answer before he has the chance to.

“Do you trust me?” you ask him, your eyes round and full of vulnerability.

You always asked these questions at the strangest of times. How could he say no? If anything, you were the only being he trusted.

You could have killed him two tenday ago back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands in order to ‘fulfill your Bhaal-spawn duties’, but you didn’t.

You could have forced him to drink from that blood Drow to gain a powerful potion, but you didn’t.

You could have left him to perish in his old master’s ritual, but you didn’t.

You stayed, you released him from the ritual and helped him to ascend instead. And later that night, you gave over your life.

You were so, so selfless and devoted to him. You could have stabbed him in the back many times, but you stayed by his side.

It was quite foolish on your end, honestly.

Astarion didn’t have much before the ritual, and even though he’s now the Vampire Ascendant, all he has is that empty mansion. All of the old servants were either dead or had escaped into the shadows, leaving behind a mess that would take days to clean up. Astarion Ancunín was unknown amongst the elite, nothing but a whisper of a pretty face with a nice body.

Yet…for some untold reason, he was all you wanted.

It's been a few seconds since you asked Astarion the question, and you fidget beneath his silence. He plasters on a confident smirk to hide his insecurity, answering in the only way he knows how.

“More than anything in the world,” he whispers.

Grabbing your hands, he places a kiss on your knuckles before lifting them up to his eyes to put the blindfold on, and his world goes dark.

After you finish preparing your surprise and help Astarion get dressed, you lead him out of the tavern and around the bustling noise of celebrations in the town. All the while, he’s still wearing the blindfold. You pull him along, weaving in and out amongst the crowd. He’s not able to do much whenever he bumps into someone, and he’s convinced he must look the part of a bumbling idiot.

Suddenly, you yank him hard to the side and continue on as the noise from the city fades. The sounds and smells of nature start to flood Astarion’s senses when you stop moving without warning and he stumbles into you.

“My love, can I please take this wretched thing off?” Astarion whines. He’s unable to see your reaction and you don’t answer, but he can still smell your scent so he knows you’re nearby. He waits a few more seconds before asking, “Darling? Are you there?”

His newly beating undead heart starts to quicken as all he’s met with is silence. Has something happened to you? You were just pulling him along not even a minute ago, surely you were fine.

But what if you weren’t?

What if in the one moment he let down his guard you had been taken, or worse?

He’s about to rip off the blindfold from panic when he feels your presence behind him removing the handkerchief.

As his eyes adjust to the brightness of the sun, you let out a big “Surprise!” before wrapping your arms around him.

On the ground in front of him is a red blanket with golden lace trim; arranged on it are two glasses filled with an expensive champagne, an ornate plate stacked with chocolate-covered strawberries in a precise circular pattern, and a single rose in a small glass vase.

Astarion lets out a sigh of relief and kneels down to the arrangement on the blanket. “What’s this?” he asks while looking up at you.

There’s a smile plastered on your face and your eyes are full of pride. He realizes that he hasn’t seen what you’re wearing yet and his eyes trail down to your body. You’re wearing a simple outfit that’s the same color as the blanket, and looking at himself, the same color of his shirt as well. It’s not something he would have picked out for the two of you (as it’s far too plain), but since this was a day for blending in, he supposes it’ll do.

“This,” you say while plopping down next to Astarion, “is a picnic!”

He laughs at your straightforward response and he can’t help but admire the blush that spreads on your cheeks. You stick out your bottom lip in a fake pout and cross your arms.

Astarion wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a tight embrace while whispering soothing words in your ear. “My sweetness, you never cease to make me smile. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.” You push him away with an eye roll. “I wasn’t laughing, Lord Ancunín.” Astarion tuts his tongue at that response. “Ah, ah, ah. Today I’m just Astarion.”

You quickly envelop his face with your hands and move closer so that your lips are just out of reach from his. Your eyes are full of love as you say, “My Astarion.”

His mouth goes dry at your proclamation.

Was he really yours? If he was, would that be a bad thing?

Of course, he would need to make sure that no one ever found out just how deep the bond was between the two of you, lest they use it against him. Or worse yet, they use it against you. His thoughts begin to race but before he can spiral into his insecurities, you snap him back to the present with a gentle kiss on his nose.

Astarion blinks once and you smile, grabbing a strawberry and holding it up to his mouth.

“Open,” you say while pressing the fruit against his lips.

He obliges and takes a bite of the fruit, staring at you as you watch him intently. The flavors dance in his mouth, the bitterness of the dark chocolate melting on his tongue combines with the sweetness of the strawberry to taste like pure bliss. It’s been centuries since he tasted food that didn’t immediately cause bile to form in his throat.

You fidget from his silence. “You haven't had anything other than blood in over two centuries, so I thought I'd share my favorite food with you. Although saying that out loud, I probably should have asked what your favorite food was instead of –”

Astarion cuts off your rambling with a hungry kiss, pushing his tongue against your lips. You let him in and almost immediately you push him away, retching and coughing.

“I-I’m sorry, let me just get something to drink,” you hurriedly reassure him as you grab a glass and drink some of the champagne.

You spit out the drink and begin to retch just as before.

Astarion quickly jumps to your side and reaches out to rub your back but hesitates for a moment, looking around to see if anyone else is watching. Noticing that no one is nearby, he begins to rub soothing circles against your back, similar to how he noticed you comfort others during the last few months. Tears threaten to spill out from the corners of your eyes; whether it be from the pain or from something else, he’s not sure.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks while peering over to look closer at you.

It takes you a few more seconds to catch your breath before you respond. “The taste… it’s horrid.”

Astarion’s head begins to spin at the revelation. When he was just a mere spawn, anything other than blood tasted vile. But you weren’t a spawn, you were more. You were his consort; hells, you drank some of his blood. Maybe it wasn’t enough blood, maybe you needed more of his life source flowing through you.

Or maybe he wasn’t as powerful as he originally thought.

Yes, he was able to protect you from the sun, however, it wasn’t to the extent of total invulnerability. You were only able to last under the direct rays for a few hours before your skin would start to simmer and bubble. It was a bittersweet end to the celebration of the Absolute’s defeat.

In exchange for your complete devotion, Astarion had stolen your freedom in the sun.

How many more of his weaknesses would afflict you? Your reflection was still visible, but without the need to traverse through moving water or eat food, it hadn’t crossed his mind that you were affected in negative ways.

His inner monologue is cut short as you still his comforting arm on your back. “I’m okay, really. Why don’t you enjoy the treats I brought? We wouldn’t want to make my time out in the sun today to be for nothing, would we?”

You look at your love with a heartbreakingly pitiful smile.

While he has always admired your strength, he could feel the sorrow emitting from you. Quite literally, he was overwhelmed with a sadness unlike his own. His stomach began to twist in knots and the edges of his eyes became damp.

“No, we wouldn’t want to do anything of the sort.” He plastered on that fake smile of his and looked into your soulless eyes, your mind miles away as he agreed. “Come, darling, lay your head on my lap.”

The rest of the picnic was quiet, and later that night once you both returned to the Elfsong, Astarion impatiently waited for you to fall asleep. Once he was sure you wouldn’t stir, he quickly scribbled a correspondence to Waterdeep. If he was going to protect you, he needed to have more power, and there seemed to be a saying about knowledge leading to power.

Special thanks to @starryjuicebox and @enterthedreams for helping me finish this fic!

#bg3 astarion #astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x you #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x gender neutral reader #fluff #astarion fluff #angst #astarion angst

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y-rhywbeth2 · 3 months

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While it might be an interesting enough topic to explore, personally I don't think attachment issues are going to be much of a problem for Astarion, ultimately. This particular angst is sort of a non-issue to me. He's most likely going to have them, yes, but he will work through it.

Player: "I care for you a great deal. That's never changing." Astarion: "After all this, I've realised it's all right if it does change. If anything changes."

If you break up with him obviously he's upset, but as he tells you, he is living again and will continue to do so. He can and will dump you, and has multiple opportunities to do so and be perfectly fine on his own afterwards (assuming Cazador isn't still alive, which has nothing to do with his potential romantic attachments).

Nor does he appreciate the notion of relying on somebody for anything, including his lover. He appreciates the sentiment of wanting to keep him safe, but he's clearly irritated by the notion: "It would be nice not to have to rely on you as my great protector". He wants his freedom and his self-determination and he's going to have it.

Note that if you fail to convince him not to ascend and then try to stop him, which he perceives as robbing him of self-determination/freedom, he either tells you to "die screaming" and walks out or tries to kill you himself. No amount of approval will stop him: Your love is not more important to him than his freedom and ability to determine his own destiny. The only reason you can talk him out of it is by pointing out that he's being ruled by fear, that ascension will rob him of that and turn him into someone he hates. The fact that ascension is not on the table anymore might knock that drive back a bit while he takes the time to recalibrate and find his feet again, but I highly doubt it will stick: He didn't suffer 200 years of misery, come out the other end ready to fight, and then claw back his freedom, then decide it's time for him to reclaim his life only to sell it to somebody else, no matter the pedestal they might stand on.

If he does ascend and you leave him he gets over it in a few days. He might think of you from time to time between schemes and blood orgies, but he considers it beneath him to seek out your attention. If you turned illithid then the dev notes will happily point out that he didn't think of you or miss you at all. Possessive as he might be of his property, you're not actually that important to him compared to himself.

He tells you he will be fine without you, and if he loses you he demonstrates that he will be fine without you. He's a very self-interested person, and imo, at his core remains so when romanced (people can talk about how sweet he is with Durge all they like, but as a durgestarion enjoyer I find he's actually incredibly insensitive a lot of the time. It's a bonus. Get the feral ending and he flat out tells you your relationship is doomed because you'll remind him too much of the aspects of vampirism he hates the most and he's going to prioritise his wellbeing. Sure, he'll carry you in his heart forever and grieve your horrific ending, but he's clearly ok enough in life to go to the party, dressed up nicely, and share a toast with other people he cares about: He'll live). Selfishness is a flaw and a strength of his.

Astarion wants his partner: he doesn't need them. If he identitifes co-dependent behaviours in himself he will want to unlearn it. He sets boundaries and he expects them respected, and he will enforce them - as he does in-game. The lover is not that important in the grand scheme of things.

#I mean it would be interesting in an “I want them under a petri dish” way if he WAS that unhinged over them but nah we're really not special #I'm still going for immortality but that's more for eternal shenanigans that piss off the Planes themselves #And not my concern over what will become of Astarion when his SO dies - which is nothing; he'll grieve and move on with you in his heart #and sappy shit like that #I just don't want Vel to die: He's too deranged for something so panifully common #They will live forever and it will be everyone else's problem #/astarion #babbling

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baldurs-writers-3 · 11 days

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Angst: A BG3 Rec List

This week, we have Angst! Check under the cut for 12 fics that include a lot of that oh so tasty pain (both emotional and physical!), and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

The lick of poison by astarionfreak (4994,Explicit) Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck or die, dubious consent, forced orgasm Pairings: Astarion/Naenia (Fem!Tav)

This is a sex pollen/fuck or die fic. Naenia is the only one affected. Astarion has some complex feelings about consent. It's set in Act 1 in the Underdark.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Daisies On My Nightstand by Thedrowlock on AO3 and bhaalbabebardlock on tumblr (158000,Explicit) Warnings: PLEASE be mindful of all tags and chapter notes especially as you progress through the story. This fic takes a hard, hard dive into dead dove territory at chapter sixty and stays there (the angst stays too). This is an ongoing, updates almost daily longfic. Part one is almost complete. Pairings: Named Dark Urge (Ilara)/Astarion; Ilara/Gortash, Ilara/Shadowheart, Ilara & Raphael, Ilara/A!Astarion

The story of a Bhaal-spawn who only ever wanted her freedom, and how far she'll go to find it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

In Another Life (I Found You) by grovyrosegirl (74380,Mature) Warnings: Violence, Death, Grief, Kidnapping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse Pairings: Gale/Tav

Five years after the Netherbrain’s defeat, Gale and Connie (Tav)’s happy married life is interrupted when Connie is suddenly kidnapped by a mysterious intruder. This intruder turns out to be another Gale, from a world where he claimed the Crown of Karsus.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Deo volente by cyranonic (33529,Mature) Warnings: astarion's past is mentioned, so i guess TW: Astarion :( Pairings: Astarion/Gale

Astarion is having a shitty time post game, miserable without the sun. Gale is having a miserable time as well. Watch them drag each other down even worse!

Reccer says: a darker look than many fics at what could occur after the game is over, with some characters feeling abandoned. Super well written in general, great Astarion voice.

Oathbreaker by Mellybaggins (173240,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, rape/non-con, religious trauma, some dead dove content Pairings: Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Tav/OC

A longfic about an oathbreaker paladin navigating the events of the game, and working through her own memories of why she broke her oath.

Reccer says: It seems like a standard Tav fic at first, but takes a sharp turn into OC territory when Raphael messes with her memories.

jackrabbit by tomorrowsrain (15589,Teen) Warnings: past abuse (really, CW: Astarion :( ) Pairings: Astarion & Karlach, Astarion & Wyll

Astarion wakes up on the beach in the sun and realizes he has a chance at becoming a person again. Maybe.

Reccer says: Seriously one of the best examinations of Astarion's transformation during the game from the start of act 1 to mid act 2 that is out there. A treasure to read.

You'll hate me (make love) by astarionfreak (5305,Explicit) Warnings: Character About to Die, Smut, Sad and Sweet, Angst, Bittersweet Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion pretends to be his spawn self as Tav's dying wish and they fuck on his grave.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Diary of a Dark Consort by NottaBear (8,619 and growing ,Mature) Warnings: Implied/Referenced sexual assault, emotional manipulation Pairings: Named Tav/Ascended Astarion

A found diary style story following the life of a Vampire Lords consort.

Reccer says: I liked it!

i still want to live by fetch_me_penguins (7750,Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Jaheira, Tav & Jaheira

An angsty take on the premise of Cazador kidnapping Tav to replace the spawn she killed on the Ascension ritual and to teach Astarion a lesson on obedience.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Ruin. by Thedrowlock (3859,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, smut Pairings: Astarion/f! reader

It's been five years since you left The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered you, but now you're back to handle him. Why is that so hard?

Reccer says: I liked it!

Stolen Futures by onlymine139 (2530,General) Warnings: Major character death Pairings: Gale/Tav

Gale and Tav journey to Waterdeep to start their new life together, only to be interrupted by a devastating realization.

Reccer says: Just some good old fashioned heartbreak.

when the work needs doing, she will see it done by vampireposter (7940,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: The Dark Urge & Jaheira

A small neglected and abused child attempts to assassinate Jaheira, so she adopts her about it

Reccer says:

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!

Next week, we’ll be back with Fluff Fics!

#bw3 #Baldurs Gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #angst #angst rec list #fanfic rec list #astarion #the dark urge #durge #gale dekarios

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lets-just-daydream · 4 months

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I Loved You First - Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A/N: We're officially getting spicy from here on out!

Chapter 6: Fate Sealed

You'd had quite the day with Astarion in the library. You might even say you had fun. You read tome upon tome about vampires and one particular book had caught your attention which you brought back to your room to read in privacy should Cazador come looking for you.

The book explained about all different vampires, including the rarest of all - the Ascendant Vampire. So rare that only one Ascendant Vampire has been documented in history. The abhorrent sacrifices that vampire had to make to become ascendant was too great even for the most morally dubious, it seemed.

The prize offered to one who did these crimes against humanity were great. The ability to walk in the sun, to cross running water, to see their reflection… a cure to every weakness a vampire could ever encounter.

You read on, your nose buried in the book. It explained that if a vampire wanted to ascend, they would have to make an infernal pact which would be carved into seven vampire spawn of their creation, and then sacrifice seven thousand souls.

Your eyes widened and you read the sentence over and over again. Seven spawn. Seven thousand souls.

This sacrifice was part of something called the Rite of Profane Ascension. You paused when you read that sentence and your head fell back as you stared at the ceiling. This rang a bell for some reason and you tried your best to remember where you'd heard it. Astarion hadn't mentioned it - you would have remembered and there was no way Cazador would have let something like this slip. After his display at breakfast that morning of dodging your questions, he was too good to slip up.

Then it hit you. You reached for your bedside table and pulled your makeshift bookmark from the book you'd previously borrowed.

‘--cension.’

Your heart dropped and your brow furrowed. You weren't one hundred percent certain, but you had a feeling this scrap of paper was Cazador's own research on this rite of ascension. While you weren't a fan of Cazador in any terms, you could hardly picture him turning seven thousand people into spawn and sacrificing them.

Although, he did creep you out. And as far as evil vampires went, his clothes, his home, the decor, the constant feeling of oppression throughout the halls. It wasn't impossible to imagine.

You pressed your lips together and considered what this could mean for the future and what it could mean for Astarion. It spelled the end of their eternal lives and you were sure that with something called The Rite of Profane Ascension, that end wasn't going to be clean or painless. As you perused the book further, a few pages fell out of the book and you picked one up. In the middle of the page was some sort of rune with writing in a language you didn't recognise.

Under the rune there was a passage that explained this was one of seven seals to be used in a sacrifice for this ritual. You looked at the other loose pages and found similar seals in the same foreign writing with the same passage underneath.

A soft but quick knock on your door startled you and you scrambled to shove the pages back into this book and under your pillow. You got up to open the door, a wave of relief crashing over you when you saw Astarion standing there.

“Hello,” he greeted, a little more shy than usual.

“Come in,” you said, stepping aside for him to enter. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Astarion said. He spotted the tome peeking out from under your pillow. “A fine hiding spot. Have you found anything interesting?”

You looked at the book and winced. “I have, actually. Have you heard of… The Rite of Profane Ascension?”

Astarion thought for a moment before shaking his head. You went and sat down on the edge of your bed, picking up the book and patting the spot beside you for Astarion to sit.

“At first I didn't think much of it but then the name of this ritual rang a bell. And then I remembered this bit of paper I found in the library.”

You showed Astarion the bit of scrap paper you'd found and he looked at it before leaning over you and reading the page you had open on your lap.

“Seven spawn? Seven thousand souls?” Astarion asked. “That's… impossible.”

“Astarion…” You said slowly. “These people you've been bringing to Cazador, do you think he's…” You couldn't bring yourself to say it out aloud.

Astarion stiffened and his brow furrowed. “He said that he was working on something big, something that would set us free but we had to bring him more people. Of course, we’ve always thought that they’re for him to drink their blood.”

You worried your lip between your teeth. “Do you know when he's doing this? Astarion if he goes through with it, he'll be unstoppable. And then I'll have to stay here forever, and if this is right, he can walk in the sun and I won't be able to run away from him even if I wanted to.”

Astarion took the book from your lap and held your hands in his. “We can figure this out. I don't know when he's doing this but I'll be damned if I let him sacrifice me for some ritual that will make him all powerful.”

“I'm scared,” you whispered.

Astarion awkwardly patted your arm in a feeble attempt to comfort you. You needed more than just some arm patting, though. And with this revelation, Astarion probably needed the same.

You might have felt some reluctance in embracing Astarion so close to accepting Cazador's proposal but with what you'd learned today, you couldn't care less about him. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tight, which caused Astarion to stiffen for a moment before he slowly wrapped his arms around you in turn. He nuzzled his face into your hair and inhaled your scent, a soft hum escaping him.

Astarion's stiffness and reluctance in touching you was plainly obvious and you honestly believe he'd never felt a real hug before. You rubbed his back and he melted into your touch, a soft exhale coming from his nose. You weren't really sure how long you'd sat there in each other's embrace but it didn't feel long enough.

“Now, for the actual reason you came here tonight,” you said, pulling away.

“I'm not sure I'll be able to actually do it,” Astarion said, his brows pinching in concern.

“Well, we can try,” you said, placing your hand over Astarion's and giving him a reassuring smile. “You have my overwhelming permission to drink my blood, Astarion.”

You shuffled back into the bed, laid back and nestled into your pillows, holding your hand out to Astarion. He took your hand and straddled you, concern etching his features.

“I trust you,” you whispered. “Just don't go overboard,” you added with a breathy laugh.

Astarion smiled and cupped the back of your head and leaned down over the skin where your neck met your shoulder. You could see hesitation in his eyes, hopefulness was there but his face screamed trepidation. You craned your neck to the side for him and your heartbeat increased slightly; Astarion could sense it, a slight breath escaping his lips before he pressed them to your skin. You winced at the contact of his cold lips, expecting sharp fangs but he softly kissed the skin there before pressing his tongue to you. His kisses turned into open-mouthed sucking and you squirmed under him, arousal flooding you at the sensation.

“Are you biting my neck or making out with it?” You asked with a breathless giggle.

Astarion pulled back and looked at your now flushed face. “I also want to make sure this feels good for you.”

“Oh.”

Astarion buried his face in your neck again, this time he pressed a chaste kiss to your skin before he pulled back and offered you a final out. You nodded at him to continue and then he leaned down, pressed his fangs to your neck at the junction of your neck and shoulder before applying pressure and puncturing your skin. You let out a groan at the sensation. It hurt, as though someone had stabbed you with icicles where Astarion now began to drink.

You tried to relax your stiff body to no avail, but you felt a swell of affection when you heard Astarion let out a groan of what you could only describe as pleasure.

Allowing a vampire to drink your blood was a lot more intimate than you'd anticipated. Astarion cradled the back of your head delicately with one hand, his other holding his torso up so as not to crush you. But the rest of his body was flush against yours in his straddled position.

Astarion drank deeply from you and while you would have loved to let him drink forever if you could, you could feel the blood loss now. Your vision blurred and darkened at the edges and you shook Astarion's arm and softly said his name. He took a final gulp and took a moment with his lips on your skin before he pulled away.

Though it had only been a few seconds, Astarion already looked different. His sallow skin was more substantial, his eyes were brighter and when it came down to it, he just looked healthier.

His head was tilted back, still straddling you. But in the low light you could see the expression of pure ecstasy on his face and it caused something to stir in you, but you ignored it.

“That was… amazing,” Astarion all but groaned. He had many more words to describe your generosity but they all failed him. “You taste delicious.”

You were sure this was a compliment but you didn't know how to react. “Thank you?” You said.

Astarion let out a chuckle. “Thank you, my sweet. In all my existence I've never felt this… happy. I never thought I would ever feel even remotely close to this.”

You reached up and caressed his cheek but winced at the new wound in your neck.

“I'm sorry I hurt you,” Astarion said, looking at the weeping wounds.

“It's alright. I'd do this again and again for you.”

Astarion gave you a smile before he leaned down and licked the last dribbles of leaking blood. You let out a soft groan and Astarion then came and kissed your lips.

“I'll let you get some rest,” he whispered. “Then, I'll make this up to you.”

“You don't have to-”

“I want to. You don't know how much of a gift this is.”

You looked up at Astarion sleepily. Now that he mentioned rest, you could definitely use some. You were lightheaded and definitely sleepy, struggling to keep your eyes open. Astarion pressed a final kiss to your lips before dismounting you and leaving the room, but not before sparing you a quick affectionate glance before he left.

You awoke with a groan the following morning, your neck and shoulder were killing you. You pressed a hand to your delicate flesh and felt the bite marks Astarion had left, a warm wave of satisfaction and longing for the vampire washing over you.

You hopped out of bed and rang for a bath, keeping your hair or hand strategically placed over your neck so Violet wouldn't see.

After that, you dressed in a high-neck dress just in case and made your way downstairs for breakfast. This morning routine was getting tedious. But it was raining so the curtains were drawn open to let the gloomy day light the room.

“Good morning,” you greeted as you entered and took your seat offered by Cazador.

“Your father and I are going back home the day after tomorrow,” your mother said, ignoring your greeting.

You'd barely sat down for breakfast but had already been served a slap in the face.

“I see.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It's time to give Lord Cazador your answer.”

You froze and glanced at the vampire seated beside you at the head of the table. “Right now?”

Your parents nodded.

You then noticed all of Cazador's servants lining the edges of the room again, Astarion included. You gulped.

You scrambled in your mind for anything, any sort of out for this situation and you wanted to scream at your parents that everyone in this room was a vampire, that Cazador was a cruel master and they shouldn't want this fate for their daughter.

But you couldn't. You were sure that breakfast and your lives would end in a bloodbath if you did. Or you'd be ridiculed by Cazador and sent home, packing. Not a horrible thing all things considered. But the wrath of your parents scared you more.

You took a shaky inhale before turning to Cazador and reluctantly placing your hand onto his cold one, a forced smile on your face. “My Lord, I apologise for taking so long with my answer,” you began. “I've enjoyed my time here at Szarr Palace. I'd be honoured to accept your proposal, if you'll have me.

You had to keep your eyes trained on Cazador. You knew if you faltered you'd look over at Astarion and Cazador would certainly notice. A smile spread onto Cazador's lips as he stood from his seat and pulled you from yours into a stiff hug.

Your body went cold as it made contact with Cazador's. “This truly is happy news.” Cazador cupped your cheeks with each hand and forced you to look up at him. “We have a long and happy life together ahead of us,” he said before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You winced, on the verge of throwing up but you held it in as your parents stood from their seats and came around to embrace you and shake hands with Cazador, all the while you stood still, staring out at the rainy garden. Hardly the blushing bride.

You managed a glance at Astarion who wore a sour look on his face, but he kept it together. You were pulled into a hug by your mother and you painted a smile on your face as your parents asked Cazador endless questions about the wedding.

“We have much to discuss,” Cazador said with a smooth smile on his face. “Come, my love.”

You looked up at Cazador and saw that his hand was outstretched to you. You glanced at your parents before taking the offered hand and being led away. “Violet, Astarion, come,” Cazador barked.

The pair followed you as Cazador led you to the ballroom. “This room has hosted the city's elite countless times. Countless parties, countless balls. But no event will be finer than our own wedding.”

You nodded silently, barely listening as Cazador explained his grand plans for what he described would be ‘the wedding of the century.’ You were sure in his what must be hundreds of years of life he'd been to many weddings and knew just how to plan such an event. The thought made your stomach drop.

Cazador then wandered further into the ballroom and down a hallway you never realised was there. At the end sat a desk, chair and shelves lined with even more books. Parchments and books littered the desk and you looked up at Cazador questioningly.

“This is where I do my work,” he explained.

You also noticed empty bottles that used to contain some sort of red liquid. A couple of days ago you would have assumed they held red wine. Now you knew better.

“We shall be wed within two weeks,” Cazador said, shuffling through papers on his desk. “I know it seems quite sudden but trust me, I've had everything we need already prepared for this day. Flowers, food, music and drink. I just knew you'd say yes.”

You wanted to retort that he also knew you had no choice but you saw no point in starting this… relationship on the wrong foot. You didn't know what he might do to you if you caught him in a bad mood.

“You're very prepared, my lord,” you said.

“Please, we're due to be wed soon. You can call me by my name.”

You glanced at Astarion, and then at Violet who met you with mixed expressions. Sure, you called Cazador by his name around Astarion, but this was different. Felt more intimate.

You said nothing and Cazador took your lack of response from discomfort for bashfulness.

“How adorable,” he remarked. “Now, I have a dressmaker on standby ready to come and take your measurements. They'll be here later this afternoon, Violet, see to it that…”

As Cazador continued, you zoned out and let your mind wander to other things. Like not marrying him, what it might be like if you were getting married to Astarion instead and what your life could look like then.

“Precious thing, she's already excited. She can hardly keep herself from daydreaming,” Cazador said smoothly as he pulled you against him.

You looked at Astarion over Cazador's shoulder and shared a look of longing. His eyes raking over you and a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Now, I must attend to the preparations. Please see to it that you're ready when the dressmaker arrives,” Cazador said as he sat at his desk and waved the three of you off.

You looked at Violet and Astarion before leading them out of the ballroom and into the expansive entryway.

“I believe congratulations are in order, my lady,” Astarion said with a bow, but no trace of a smile on his face.

Violet followed suit, a smile painted onto her face. “Congratulations, I'm so pleased to see Lord Cazador happy.”

You caught Astarion rolling his eyes in your peripheral vision and smiled, playing it off as an excited bubbling.

“I'll go prepare the room for your fitting,” Violet said before she left up the stairs.

Then, you and Astarion were alone in the entryway. You pressed your lips together and swung back and forth on your feet.

“Thank-”

Before you could finish, Astarion pulled you around the corner into the entryway and under an alcove, pressing you against the wall.

“You accepted his proposal,” Astarion said, his voice husky.

“Y-yes.”

“I don't like that,” Astarion almost growled.

Anxiousness washed over your body. “You know I didn't have another choice.”

“Hm,” Astarion hummed. “You can marry him, but I still want you.”

“Astarion,” you sighed, your brows pinching. Your longing for him almost felt like it physically hurt. “I don't think I can, as much as I want to.”

“I finally meet someone that I want. That I'm not forced to seduce and bring back to him, and he’s taking you away from me.”

“You know I would choose you if I could, Astarion,” you whispered.

Astarion growled and buried his face in your neck. He inhaled and pressed his lips to your skin. “I don't care what it takes. I will have you.”

Your body shuddered and you couldn't formulate the words to answer him. You simply blushed and looked down at the ground.

“Though, you seem reluctant. Perhaps I misread your affections for me,” Astarion said, pulling away.

“No, no,” you said hurriedly. “You know that if I had the choice, I would choose you. I’ve said as much.”

Astarion gave you a satisfied smile before his face turned stony. “I'm going to kill him.”

You said nothing, but stared at Astarion as he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before turning to leave. “By the way,” he said without turning to look at you. “Don't forget to make it to your… dress fitting.”

You winced and hurried off, as much as you'd prefer to delay every part of the inevitable.

The following day, your parents bid you farewell as they prepared to travel back home without you. Everything still hadn’t felt like it wasn't quite set in stone until that point.

“Are you sure I can't come with you?” You asked as you followed them to their carriage.

“You're about to be wed! Why would you come home now?” Your mother cooed. “We'll be back for the wedding, don't worry about that.”

You watched tearfully as they climbed in and settled, the tears slowly falling as the coach ushered the horses on and they began their journey back home. You watched until they'd left the grounds and disappeared from view. Turning slightly to look at the palace behind you, you'd never felt more alone in your life than this moment.

No family, no friends, no security blanket of people who had known you your whole life. They had forced you into this and you could swear that you hated them for it but at this moment your heart ached for the comfort your parents provided.

You sighed, slowly shuffling back inside and shutting the door.

“It's just you and I now,” Cazador said as he stood in the middle of the entryway. “Our wedding is a tenday away and I can hardly contain my excitement, my love.”

You forced a smile onto your face. “Yes, my-” You stopped your sentence at a slight glare from him and corrected. “Yes, Cazador.”

He smiled and approached, pressing a dry kiss to the crown of your head before stepping away and looking down at you with a slight possessiveness. You'd normally not recognise such an expression but you'd come to be familiar with a similar look Astarion had started giving you these days.

“I'll be out of town for a couple of days, I have some work to attend to before we celebrate our union,” Cazador said.

“Oh? What kind of work?”

Cazador's jaw stiffened. “A couple of urgent things for the city. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

“Will I be here alone?”

Cazador chuckled. “No, all the servants will be here at your every beck and call. And if any of them disobey you, tell me.”

You gave Cazador a wide-eyed nod and he turned away and retreated up the stairs and out of sight.

You gulped. You would be here, alone. Well, not alone alone but your parents had left and Cazador would be gods know where doing gods know what. You couldn't help but wonder how much of this “work” he was always so busy with was actually for Baldur's Gate and how much of it might be work for this ritual. You didn't have solid proof that he was doing this ritual but you couldn't help the uneasy feeling that grew in the pit of your stomach the more you thought about it.

Your mind wandered to Astarion and the other vampire spawn, how they might spend their time with Cazador gone. You doubted it, but you hoped they'd be able to have some fun in his absence. You wondered what vampires even did for fun. A question for your favourite vampire, perhaps.

At dinner time, you wandered through the quiet halls and down to the dining room where a single place was set for you. Regardless, a feast that could feed half of the city was placed before you. You sighed at the waste and took your place at the table, alone. It felt weird sitting in this grand dining room alone and you had half a mind to fix yourself a plate of food and retreat up to your room to dine.

“Oh, sorry I'd hoped to be back before you made it down.”

You turned to see Astarion enter the dining room with a carafe of wine and two goblets in hand.

“Astarion,” you perked up. “I'm glad to see you.”

The vampire offered you a smile. “And I'm happy to hear that.”

“It's so quiet,” you mused.

“Well,” Astarion sighed, placing the wine and goblets down on the table. “It's just you and me here tonight.”

You raised your brows. “What?”

“Cazador is away doing… whatever it is he's doing and the other spawn are out. Drinking, dancing, fucking. Who knows?” Astarion smirked.

“And you're not out with them?”

“Oh darling,” Astarion began, pouring wine into each goblet and sliding one over to you. “I'd much rather be here with you. This whole palace to ourselves. Who knows what mischief we might get up to?”

You glanced down at the goblet and then back at Astarion who took a deep drink of wine. “Join me, won't you? It's no fun drinking alone,” he said as his fingers traced along the rim of his cup.

“Who knows, indeed,” you said as you took a drink from the wine offered to you.

You began to eat but you noticed Astarion was quieter now, his fingers drumming on the table nervously.

“What's on your mind?” You asked.

“Hm?” Astarion hummed, sitting up and ceasing his drumming.

“I can practically hear your mind turning from here,” you laughed.

Astarion let out a small laugh. “Well… You've caught me. I wondered if you might grant me another nibble tonight.”

“Another nibble?” You asked, confused.

“Just a small bite, I won't drink much… And I promise I'll make it worth your while,” Astarion breathed, his voice low.

“Oh,” you gulped, realising what Astarion meant. “Of course.”

You felt yourself blush before Astarion took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. “You sweet, generous thing. Finish your meal first of course, we have all night.”

Your body flushed as you watched his lips meet your skin. Then the implication behind Astarion's words hit you at full force and you squirmed in your seat. Whether there would just be blood drinking on the table tonight, you weren't sure but Astarion's tone had a hint of lust to it that you couldn't ignore.

You finished eating and finished off your wine with a final gulp, your belly now full of delicious food and good wine. Astarion stood before you did and pulled your chair out for you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Your body felt like it caught fire in every spot he touched you and you had to hold it together so as not to push him against a wall and explore his alabaster skin with your lips.

“Now, for the main course,” he whispered darkly as he led you out of the dining room and up to your bedroom.

Between Astarion consuming all of your senses and the wine you'd consumed, you could hardly focus on anything around you. Astarion's arm around you kept you grounded and you leaned into him without even realising you were doing it, looking up to observe his pretty face. He looked down at you with a smirk and leaned down, capturing your lips in a hot kiss that took your breath away, his tongue stroking yours before he pulled away again.

Your face went hot and the sly smile on Astarion's lips had your stomach doing somersaults. You quite liked what he was like when Cazador wasn't around. Cazador. You shuddered slightly and Astarion looked at you curiously.

“What's the matter, darling?”

“I was just thinking about Cazador and-”

Astarion's brow furrowed and he cut you off. “Cazador's not here, I am. So put him out of your mind.”

He opened the door to your room and you stepped inside.

“I wish it were that simple but you know we're getting married soon,” you lamented.

“Is that what you want?” Astarion asked, stepping behind you and closing the door.

“Of course not.”

“Is he who your heart yearns for when you're alone?” Astarion came up behind you and pulled your hair aside. He pressed his lips to your ear lobe and kissed slowly down to your neck.

“N-no,” you stammered. “But I'm still a lady with her duties, Astarion.”

Astarion let out a slight scoff before wrapping his lips around your pulse point and sucked. You let out a soft moan and Astarion's arm snaked around your stomach and pulled your back flush against his chest.

“Do you really think he could make you feel like this?” Astarion whispered against your skin.

You shivered and Astarion's other hand came and rested on your chest, his pinky resting on the swell of your breast. He had you caged in his arms and you didn't mind one bit. He could rip into your flesh with his fangs and tear you up but you could swear you'd never felt safer in your life.

“Answer me,” Astarion said, brushing his fingers over your breast.

You could swear that you were about to melt into a puddle on the floor but Astarion's grip on you was strong. You had your reservations about doing this with Astarion since you were technically spoken for by Cazador now but your body screamed that you weren't married yet.

“No, he couldn't.”

“I didn't think so,” Astarion said huskily.

The hand he had around your stomach lowered slowly and he ran his fingers along your thighs through your dress. You let out a shuddered breath and leaned your head back against his shoulder.

“I've tried to be a gentleman, my love. But my patience has reached its end.”

One of Astarion's hands hitched your dress up and he rested it on the waistband of your underwear. Your breathing became laboured at the feeling of his fingers on your sensitive skin.

“Astarion…” You whispered.

His other hand came up and he wrapped his deft fingers around your throat. His lips came to the side of your neck and he scraped his fangs against the skin. His fingers slipped under your waistband and inched closer to your center, his fingers finding your clit.

You let out a gasp as he rubbed softly, his fangs now pressing into your skin and his lips sucking at the blood that now flowed into his mouth. His finger slipped lower, through your folds and inside you. You let out a moan and you felt Astarion groan against your neck as he pumped in and out of you, continuing to drink from you. You grasped for purchase on his arm and held on as he pulled away from your neck. He licked a stripe up the skin where he just fed and turned your head to capture your lips in a kiss.

“I'll never get enough of you,” Astarion whispered against your lips.

He pulled his finger from inside you and kept your gaze as he brought it to his lips, sucking your juices off.

“Delicious.”

You gulped and suddenly felt lightheaded. Whether it was from the blood loss, the intense arousal you could barely see past, you weren't sure. It was probably both, you figured as your knees wobbled. Astarion lifted you effortlessly and deposited you onto your bed.

“Gods, you're strong,” you commented.

“I suppose being a vampire has its perks. My strength being one of them.”

“This has been a great night,” you said, bringing your hand up to cup Astarion's cheek.

He raised a brow and the smirk usually painted on his lips came back. “Has been? Darling, we're just getting started.”

Part 7

#red writes #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic

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its-jaytothemee · 2 months

Text

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 6

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,506; Chapter 6, Tav then Astarion POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. Finally getting to some soft Halsin moments...my favorite!

Tav must have drifted off at some point while she was laying in Astarion’s tent. She woke to Halsin softly shaking her shoulders. Slowly, she sat up and took in her surroundings again. The pain she felt from today was still a crushing weight on her shoulders.

“I thought I might find you here.” He said gently, taking her hand in his. “Everyone has been very worried about you.”

She gave a small nod in response. Truthfully, she didn’t know what she was doing here other than punishing herself with the memories. Echoes of their time here whispered into her ears. It was as if she could hear their quiet laughs shared after everyone had gone to bed, she could hear his soft sighs in response to her gentle touches, she could hear his nightmares being soothed away by her comforting words in the depth of the night.

“I just found myself walking here. I…” Tears started to well up in her eyes again.

“Come with me, my heart. I think you’ve tortured yourself enough for one evening.” He stood up and slowly helped pull her to her feet. He hugged her tightly against his chest before helping her walk back outside.

She paused outside the tent, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest. She took a few deep, steadying breaths as Halsin wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. In that moment she was incredibly grateful to have him there with her. He had a soothing presence and his warm arms took away the chill of the evening. They stood there for a moment, looking over the familiar scene.

“Halsin…what’s wrong with me?” She asked softly.

“What do you mean?” He moved his head to the side to look at her.

“I feel so…stupid.” She suddenly felt embarrassed admitting this to him. “I’ve only known him a short time, but I really thought that maybe…maybe…” She trailed off, unable to finish her thought. She took a deep breath.

“I…I loved him.” With that, the tears flowed freely again. “I still love him. And I really thought that he loved me back.” She turned around to sob into Halsin’s chest.

“Why would that mean there’s something wrong with you?” He asked gently.

“Because I should be furious. I’m angry, but I should hate him, by all rights he should be dead to me.” She barely choked the words out between sobs.

“But I…” she continued, sniffling, “I don’t hate him, not even in the slightest. If he came walking back into camp right now, I would forgive him. I’d comfort him and tend to his wounds and let him share my bedroll. Why do I keep giving people chances to use me? How am I this pathetic?” She buried her face deeper into his chest, her entire torso ached from her sobs.

Halsin pulled away slightly so he could lift her chin to look into her eyes.

“Tav, there is nothing wrong with you.” He had tears in his eyes as well. “You have more love and compassion in your heart than this entire city combined. You give without thought of reward and you love unconditionally. You would plunge your hand into your chest and rip out your own beating heart if you thought it would save someone close to you. There is not a single person here in this camp who has not had their life changed by your infinite kindness, Astarion included. He may not realize it yet, but what you did today was a profound act of love. You saved him from himself, even though you knew it meant you could lose him. It may take a day, it may take a decade, but one day he will realize it.” He paused for a moment, studying her face.

“No one here would dare to call you pathetic, so why do you give that title to yourself?” He wiped away a tear from her eyes just as one fell from his.

“I…I’m no one Halsin, I’m nothing. All of my confidence is a façade, trying desperately to keep everyone together. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing here. They’ve put their lives in my hands, and today I lost one of them. Who’s to say whether I can keep anyone else from falling? How am I supposed to lead them? How?” Her voice was getting louder and more desperate, her words struggling to be understood through her cries. When Halsin spoke again, his voice was a soft whisper but the agony in his tone matched her own.

“I know something of the burden of leadership, my heart. I understand the doubt that plagues your mind. I have loved and grieved, carried the heavy load of hundreds of lives lost. Yet even I was all but lost until you came to my rescue in the goblin camp. You brought light back into my life, quite literally banishing the shadows that clouded my mind. You saved everything and everyone I hold dear. You are far too modest, my love.” He took her face in both of his hands, pressing his forehead against hers.

“You. Are. Everything.” He whispered, another few tears rolling down his cheeks.

Tav stared into his wise, gentle eyes, desperate to see the person he saw in her. She may not trust her own thoughts right now, but she did trust him. She slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a soft kiss. The tears mixing on their faces and dripping onto her chest. She pulled away and let Halsin hold her against him until she finally felt strong enough to stand on her own.

Tav took his hand in hers and was just about to suggest that they join the others around the fire when a strangely familiar voice called out to her.

“He’s right, you know.” The voice was very timid.

Tav and Halsin both spun around, readying themselves for a fight. A figure covered in splatters of blood and wearing a dark cloak stood maybe five meters away from them. The sight of his messy, white curls and tired, crimson eyes paralyzed her.

“Astarion?” She whispered.

***

Astarion finally arrived at the familiar camp. He kept himself crouched low and against the tree line. He carefully observed the figures around the fire, trying to determine if Tav was with them. Not finding her there, he slowly made his way around the camp’s perimeter, taking extra care not to alert anybody to his presence.

He heard some soft voices not far away, as he kept circling he realized they were coming from…his tent? He kept moving, following the sound of the voices he was now able to identify as Tav and Halsin. As he got closer to them, he could hear the sounds of Tav sniffling and crying, but they were muffled. He was finally able to get to a hidden spot where he could see the two of them. They both looked exhausted. Tav had her face completely hidden in Halsin’s large chest, her whole body seemed to shake from her crying. He could only hear pieces of what she was saying.

“I loved him…I should hate…I don’t…forgive him.”

His whole body tensed at those few pieces he caught. Could she really be saying that she would…forgive him?

Halsin was speaking again, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. He was looking at Tav with such a soft expression. Astarion strained his ears, trying to decipher their words when Tav suddenly cried out, louder than before.

“I…I’m no one Halsin, I’m nothing.” He heard her yell through her sobs.

His heart shattered into a thousand pieces hearing her say that. How could she not see how amazing she is? How could she ever think that she was worthless? He listened as she cried into Halsin’s arms, listened as he told her how incredible she was, how he owed everything he had to her. His praises echoing those in Astarion’s heart.

“You. Are. Everything.” He heard from Halsin’s soft, soothing voice. And she was, Tav was everything to him.

‘Go tell her that.’ He thought to himself.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his palms were sweaty. He thought he was ready to stand up and make himself known when he saw Tav pull Halsin in for a tender kiss. His courage faltered, all he wanted was for her to be happy. He wanted her to be with someone who deserved her and as much as he wanted to be that someone, it seemed like she may have already found them. But if anyone was capable of loving two people equally and completely, it was Tav. When the two of them separated from each other, Astarion made a choice. He needed her to know how he felt, even if she rejected him. Knowing all too well that the next few moments could crush his very soul, his very being, he took a deep breath and stepped out of the trees.

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