#cw: astarion literally being dead | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loviatarsluv-old · 1 year ago

Note

Request!

I posted details here, it’s for Gale!

https://www.tumblr.com/cherifrog/739699979425333248/anyone-else-interested-in-like-a-super-jealous

YUHHHHH now THIS is what im talkin about!!!!!!!

*cracks knuckles* lets get this party started shall we

(I am so sorry to be answering this literally a million years too late I’ve redone and rewritten this prompt like 100000 times but I finally like this version!!! so here we go!!!)

Gale x AFAB f!tav

rating: oh boy this one is certainly rated M for mature

CW: smut, inappropriate use of mage hand, rough sex, PiV, oral, gale being jealous and going absolutely FERAL

word count: 5.4k

let’s get itttt

If looks could kill, surely, Astarion would have been long dead— well, even more so— by now.

Gale was never exactly fond of the pale elf from the start, and he was well aware the feeling was likely incredibly mutual— but gods, he swore he was beginning to actually hate him.

At least, he hated the way he looked at her. The way he leered at her. The way he purred her name with that practiced and over-rehearsed seductive charm of his. The way he would lock piercing crimson eyes with Gale’s blazing umber ones as he cozied up to her at the fire with that deviant and knowing smirk on his stupid pointy face. The way she would smile at him the warmest, kindest, most hopelessly and adorably oblivious smile in response to the charlatan’s blatant advances.

Maybe he did hate him, upon further reflection. If only for the last reason alone.

Astarion would find any way to touch her and be able get away with it— his hand lingering on the small of her back as he passed her, touching her shoulder to get her attention, brushing hair out of her face when stray pieces fell over her eyes— all things that seemed innocent enough until you realized who was doing them and the devious smirk on his face when his gaze would meet that of the wizard that was surely plotting his second untimely demise.

Though, he could hardly blame him.

And Gale never got upset with her, of course, he knew it wasn’t her fault and honestly, he truly didn’t blame Astarion for wanting her— gods, who could possibly resist her?

Certainly not Gale, not even if he tried; and he had tried, to no avail. Yet that didn’t quell his frustration toward the silver haired and equally silver tongued vampire for attempting to swoop in on what was likely the first real chance at mortal love he’d had in a very long time.

He’d spent the early days in their adventure together absolutely beside himself with how taken he was by her nearly instantly. He felt like a smitten schoolboy all over again when he thought about the feeling of her soft but strong hands gripping his as she pulled him from the stone by the nautiloid crash with most impressive ease, the way she looked at him with wonder and curiosity, and even a flicker of something else that he recognized as attraction because he imagined it was mirrored in his own face at the sight of her.

It was then only worsened by the night that they channeled the weave together and the kiss she’d pictured them sharing— the way their limbs tangled and their lips pressed together softly, then passionately and fervently. Her fingers wrapped in his chestnut tresses and his hands gripping the fabric at her waist— that image will be burnt into the fabric of his mind forevermore, he’s certain.

Not to mention, the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flared and flushed a heavenly shade of pink at the way he praised her as she successfully mimicked the incantation and his motions. It was enough to have him panting and attempting to tame the straining erection in his trousers when he retired to his tent that night.

He thought he’d mastered the art of managing to keep such thoughts like that at bay during his time of isolation as he tried to keep the orb sated and calm and very nonexplosive— but that was before her, after all.

It was pathetically easy at the time, considering his amount of interaction with other humans had gone from healthy to nonexistent entirely so he didn’t have much to think about aside from himself; perhaps when he was truly desperate or feeling especially lonely, he’d think about Mystra and the nights he’d spent in Elysium with her (literally and metaphorically).

But now, any attempts to be chaste or think chaste thoughts were moot in her presence.

Especially after the night they shared under the stars in the wilderness of the Shadow Cursed Lands.

They’d hardly been able to go more than a few hours without some kind of touch in the days following that perfect evening— whether it be a hand on her lower back, or holding one of her much smaller hands in his as he helped her scale a wall or hop across a boulder that she was more than capable of managing herself. A stolen kiss when no one was looking. Or, if they were lucky, they could steal a few moments alone in some ruined and crumbling crypt where he could bury himself between her thighs and send a silent thank you to whatever gods had a hand in creating a creature as divine as her.

That being said, they hadn’t been entirely discreet about their affections— not that they really wanted to be. Gale certainly had no reservations about making it known that he was claiming her for himself, despite his gentlemanly nature chastising him for it and reminding himself she was a person, not a prize to be claimed.

He would never say that she was, anyway, do not mistake it— being raised solely by a woman such as the inimitable Morena Dekarios had beaten into his core that women were not to be claimed or to be owned but to be cherished and treated as your equal. He would never claim otherwise, he couldn’t.

On the other hand, he was also acutely aware that his were not the only set of eyes that wistfully tracked her every move and every breath throughout the day within their strange band of wayward souls, and a very base part of him needed to send the clearest message he could muster without flat out verbally declaring that she was his.

It was very unlike him, this sort of possessive and primal nature, but he couldn’t deny that a small fraction of himself that he usually shoved into the deepest recesses of his being loved it for that fact. It was a part of him reserved only for her, as she was the only one who’d ever been able to coax it out of him.

And thus, he felt absolved of any guilt about the way he glared daggers at the side of Astarion’s head and pictured hurling a fire bolt at the undead man as he spoke to her in hushed tones across camp.

At least he knew it wouldn’t kill him. Although, he’d probably slit Gale’s throat for singing his singlet in return.

It was enough to keep the heat in his palm at bay for the time being.

He tried to discreetly move close enough to hear their conversation, moving toward Wyll’s tent that happened to be just a few paces away from Astarion’s and disguising his intentions as simply having a chat over a glass of wine with the warlock.

Wyll’s eyes light up as the wizard approaches, shooting him a dashing and very princely smile that he was certain had made many a maiden swoon in his younger years as the duke’s son, galavanting through ballrooms and dragging said maidens to the dance floor after either one too many glasses of brandy or none at all.

“Gale, my friend! Fancy a glass of wine?” He kindly proposed, tilting the glass in his hand in Gale’s direction.

Gale offers an almost genuine smile, nodding. “Thank you, Wyll. I think a hearty glass of wine is just what I need at the moment,” he laments with a sigh.

Wyll disappears for only a moment before returning with a glass and wine bottle in hand. “That bad, huh?”

Gale gratefully takes the silver glass and holds it out for Wyll to pour the rest of the Amnan Liquer he’d been holding onto since their escapades at the former Rosymorn Monastery turned Githyanki Crèche.

He turns his body just enough to keep both his lover and the offending vampire in his line of sight, attempting to tune into their conversation and realizing that he can faintly hear the melodic hum of her voice, as well as the silky tones of Astarion’s.

Firebolt. No, no.

Wyll’s eyes dart between Gale, then Tav, then Astarion, his eyebrow raising. “Astarion certainly doesn’t lack in the gall department, I’ll give him that.”

Gale huffs a bitter laugh. “Can’t fault him. As much as I want to.”

Wyll gently bumps his shoulder into Gale’s with a reassuring smile. “One can’t always be a gentleman, Gale. I respect your restraint, but if I were you, even I would be cutting in on whatever it is that he’s doing with her. Love the fellow, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

Gale goes silent, giving himself a moment to try to catch any of what was being said between them, only hearing the sound of her laughter intermingling with Astarion’s— and suddenly Wyll’s advice had become all the more tempting to follow.

I could just go over there, he thinks. ‘Assert my dominance’ the old fashioned way. Or…

A wickedly devious idea flutters across his mind, and a smirk forms on his lips. Before he can realize it and stop it, Wyll’s tadpole connects to his, and Wyll snorts as he sees what debauchery Gale’s brain had concocted.

“She’d have your arse in a second,” he jokingly warns. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Gale wanted to listen to reason (Wyll Ravengard being the voice of reason, in this instance) and just do the diplomatic thing as he always did— but a part of him wanted to make a show of it all. To show her as well as everyone else the lengths he’d go to for her.

He whispers a simple cantrip and waves his hand, blue light glowing from his palm as he calls for a spectral hand to appear before him. He eyes the mage hand for a moment, waving his fingers and watching it as it mirrors his movements with perfect accuracy. A rush of excitement passes through him as he ponders the possibilities, but debates for a moment whether he should— only to hear the lovely melody that was her laughter once again and his decision was sealed.

He commands the hand to become invisible, the only way for him to tell it was still there was the very faint outline of it that you could only notice if you had been looking for it. He flicks his hand in her direction, commanding it to fly toward her.

“Your funeral,” Wyll chuckles, taking a long sip from his chalice, eyebrows raised.

The hand obliges, quickly floating to her but stopping just beside her. She shivers slightly as it grazes her bare shoulder, her head snapping in the direction of the sudden sensation.

Gale freezes for a moment, praying she doesn’t catch on too soon. When she finally turns her attention back to Astarion, he relaxes, then motions for the hand to gently brush her hair over her other shoulder, causing her to jump and look again, her eyes narrowed as she scans the area. Her gaze lands on Gale, and he tries to remain composed but cannot hide the pleased smirk on his face. She furrows her brows, a look of confusion and suspicion on her face as she turns away once again. She still hadn’t caught on just yet, much to Gale’s delight.

He continues once again, now commanding the hand to gently caress the back of her neck, the cool sensation of its spectral palm causing goosebumps to rise and her hair to stand on end. She sucks in a sharp breath, causing Astarion’s eyes to snap up to her.

“Everything alright, dear?” He hears Astarion ask, his signature shit-eating grin still on his lips.

She nods, clearing her throat. “Mhm, sorry, I just— ah, got a bit chilly.”

He cocks a brow at her. “I would offer to warm you, but I don’t think that I am qualified for the task,” he jokes, causing Gale’s jaw to clench.

Firebolt. Ooh, better yet, Fireball. Ice knife. Lightning bolt, perhaps?

She laughs, then gasps once again as the hand has now relocated to the front of her, gently tracing the outline of her collar bone. It then follows the curve of the top of her breast, settling between her cleavage for a moment before continuing down further and further, grazing her abdomen before stopping just at the waistline of her breeches.

“Gods, I shouldn’t be watching this,” Wyll grunts, shaking his head and allowing his gaze to drop to the ground.

She turns and shoots a piercing look at Gale, now fully aware of what was happening. He winks at her, before commanding the hand to continue its journey down her body, ghosting over the spot between her thighs. She squeezes her legs shut tight, in an attempt to quell the heat pooling low in her core despite her rising frustration toward Gale and her embarrassment.

“Darling, do you need a blanket? Perhaps we could move into my te—”

“I’m fine,” She blurts, loud enough so that she knows Gale hears her, as she refuses to give in to his childish behavior. “What were you saying?”

As Astarion continues whatever riveting story he’d been telling before she distracted him, she shoots Gale one last pathetic glance, not sure whether she was begging him to stop or keep going. He smirks, taking her pleading eyes as his queue to continue, moving the mage hand southward and grazing her blazing hot center.

She sucks in another breath, this time a lot quieter, her head falling back that she attempts to play off as if she were simply looking up at the stars.

Astarion’s head shoots up to look at her again, almost as if he were beginning to get frustrated.

“S-stars are bright tonight,” She stammers, eliciting a chuckle from Gale. He was enjoying this far too much to stop now.

He wills the hand to press two fingers down right where he knows her clit is, reveling in the way her back arches at the sudden touch, right where he knew she loved it.

Astarion’s eyebrow raises as he eyes her, her face flushed, her hair in disarray and her legs clamped shut tight. He was— unfortunately for her— very good at reading body language, even more specifically hers, and he was beginning to catch on to her predicament. His eyes dart over toward Gale who was not at all subtle with the devious smirk on his face as his hand continued commanding the spell.

“Your wizard is clever, I’ve got to hand it to him.” He smirks, stifling a chuckle.

Her eyes go wide, the hot blush in her cheeks only increasing.

“I’m going to kill him.” She hisses through gritted teeth, before twisting and facing Gale, who could not contain the triumphant grin on his face despite her very displeased expression.

“Do it out where I can watch, won’t you, darling? I’m quite overdue for a good show.” He calls after her, watching her storm toward Gale, shaking his head and chuckling with delight.

Gale dismisses the spell as he spots her making a very angry beeline toward him, then crosses his arms behind his back innocently as she approaches him.

“I warned you, you cheeky bastard.” Wyll grumbles, watching with anticipation and vaguely hidden amusement as she stomps toward the wizard beside him with murderous intent.

Gale offers her a smile as she approaches, to which she only offers a grimace.

“Hello, my love. Feeling alright?” He says equally as innocently, in spite of the devilish grin on his face.

She shakes her head. “Tent. Now.”

He raises his hands in defense, shit-eating smirk ever persistent. “Your wish is my command, darling.” He draws out the pet name to mimic the way Astarion says it, earning a rather angry eye roll.

He trails behind her as she continues her warpath toward his tent, his heart racing as he imagines exactly what he plans to do the second he gets her alone— he’d saved those thoughts for after Wyll’s tadpole’s connection broke from his own to spare him the filthy details.

She ducks into his tent brusquely, the flap slapping closed behind her before he makes his own way in after her. He chuckles at her ire, and the fact that in any other situation he’d be on his knees begging her for forgiveness in response to her irritation toward him— but this time, he planned on using it much to his advantage. Fuel for the fire, so to speak.

The second he enters the tent, her wild eyes are on him and she’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest which was still heaving, her face still completely flushed.

“What the hells is wrong with y—”

Her tirade is cut off by lips roughly crashing onto hers, her words being instantly smothered then swallowed by him and his tongue and the bittersweet taste of wine on his breath. She wants to fight back but finds her efforts moot as she instantly melts into him, allowing him to maneuver her exactly as he wishes.

Rough but elegant hands grip her waist, pulling her body flush to his, enough for her to feel the erection straining to be freed from his pants against her lower stomach. The heat that had been coiling and pooling low within her had only reignited with a vengeance now, partially fueled by her anger toward him and mostly fueled by her ever present desire for him.

His hands migrated to palm the swell of her ass, kneading the plush but still firm flesh that always caught his attention even in the worst moments such as the middle of a tense battle— something he almost felt the need to punish her for, even though it wasn’t truly her fault.

His tongue explores her mouth hungrily as her hands move to begin undoing the buttons of his linen shirt, before one of his hands catches her wrist and holds it, lacing her fingers through his. He breaks the kiss, dark umber irises pooling with pure liquid lust and carnality as they meet her more perplexed ones.

Leaving her unspoken questions unanswered, he unbuttons her pants with one hand, yanking them down her legs until she takes it upon herself to kick them off and discard them somewhere on the ground within the tent. He tugs at the bottom edge of her shirt, and she wordlessly grants him permission with only a small nod and a raise of her arms to afford him some ease in ripping it over her head and adding to the growing pile of clothes scattered across the floor of the small space.

She’s lit only by the soft orange glow of the campfire leaking in through the crack of the tent flap that neither of them had bothered to seal, her skin radiant even in the dimness of the night. He drinks in her frame, eyes skimming along every contour of her body, every rounded edge and every sharp one— even the shadow she cast against the back wall of his tent was erotic, all hips and curves and the most heavenly structure.

As if she’d been lovingly built by Sune’s own gracious hands.

“Lay down,” he commands, pointing to the bedroll that he’d preemptively fixed and made extra comfortable with several more layers of blankets, pillows, and furs. “And spread your legs for me.”

She obliges instantly, quickly but gracefully laying atop the nest of cotton and fur and velvet, her hair splaying around her head and framing her like a halo— only serving to make his already painfully stiff cock twitch against the fabric of his pants and a bead of precum leak from the tip. He feared he may not even be able to make it long enough to be inside of her at this rate.

“That’s my girl,” he almost moans, his voice low and husky and reverent as he drops to his knees before her, moving to kneel between her legs. “My beautiful girl.”

She blushes and shyly looks away, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to bite back a smile. He leans over her, gently gripping her chin with his fingers and moving her face back to look at him. “Eyes on me, my love. My love.” He drawls, dragging out his words in hopes that they’d have more time to sink into her precious mind that he cherished just as much, if not more than her wholly divine body.

Gale was all together a typically patient man. He did almost everything meticulously and gracefully. He would spend hours studying a particular topic just to ensure that he’d get it right the very first time.

Gale as a lover was no different.

He’d spent hours and even days at this point learning everything he could about her body— every sensitivity, every weak spot, ticklish spot, every scar or freckle or blemish. The things she was insecure or shy about, the things that would send her eyes rolling back into her head.

He had become a consummate virtuoso at worshiping her body and what granted her the most pleasure possible. He lavished her in it, bathed her in every ounce of bliss he possibly could until she could no longer speak, much less think properly.

Tonight was no exception— though he was considerably less delicate than was typical for him, as he hungrily lapped at the heat between her thighs as if it contained the last drop of honey on the face of Faerun. He licked and kissed and sucked and drank in every bit of her essence he possibly could, not stopping even after she’d already come just to wring out every last bit of her pleasure for his own selfish need. The selfish need to taste her, to savor her. To devour her.

He didn’t stop until she was a tangled mess of shaking limbs and clammy skin and teary eyes, and she whimpered his name like a plea. Whether it were a plea to stop or to keep going was unclear for both of them.

He lifted his face, his beard and lips drenched in her slick as he licked the remains of her off of his lips and fingers, causing her to clamp her legs together at the sight. He smirks triumphantly, knowing full well that she was nearing being entirely spent and yet she still wanted more.

“Please,” she whimpered, leaning up (very unsteadily) to finish unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons and the fabric. He relents and allows her to make her best attempt with her trembling fingers before he takes over for her, lifting it over his head and discarding the linen nearby.

Her finger gently trails from the dark purple mark of the orb on his chest down the hard planes of his torso until she reaches the waistband of his pants, dipping her finger underneath and tugging at it. Her eyes meet his full of intent, and he feels the tadpole in his head stir as she tries to connect to him.

I need to suck your cock. Please.

His eyes darken as he looks at her, the image of her perfectly pink lips wrapped around him searing into his mind— whether it being his own thoughts or hers invading his didn’t matter— but he shakes his head, then severs the connection.

She frowns, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He rubs his thumb along the swollen softness of it as he caresses her chin, tilting her head back slightly to get a better view of the elegant column of her neck. He had plans for the perfect and smooth expanse of the area between her jaw and her clavicle that he soon intended to enact. But not yet.

“Naughty girl,” he chastises her, but not without a devious smirk and a hint of lustful playfulness.

She whimpers again, sending goosebumps down his arms and the hair on them to raise on end. “Please, Gale. I want to make you feel good, I need to make you feel good,” she stammers, her eyes peering up at his, wanton and needy.

It was enough to almost oblige her request, but he knew if her mouth came anywhere near his already all too sensitive cock that he’d come apart at the seams instantly, and that just wouldn’t do.

“And I need to be inside of you,” he retorts, his voice soft but stern. “I need to claim what’s mine.” He nearly growls.

Gentleman Gale reprimands him in his mind, but is quickly overtaken by Her Gale— the one that only answers to her and belongs solely to her. The one that hoped with everything in him there was also a part of her that was his and only his.

Her mouth opens to speak, and he half expects her to yell at him and berate him for reducing her to a prize to be claimed— and is pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t.

“Please. Please come here, please fuck me,” she begs, the rasp in her voice as she does nothing short of absolutely erotic.

He needs no further instruction, and quickly removes his pants and undergarments, his erection springing free and already slick with his own desire. She eyes it with a hunger that he recognizes and has to ignore before the temptation to fuck her mouth grows any stronger.

He presses his strong but gentle hand against her chest, slowly pushing her back against the pillows as he moves to position himself at her entrance, her legs wrapping around his hips and urging him forward impatiently. He taps the side of one of her thighs in warning, rubbing the head of his cock across her already soaked folds to further lubricate it and tease her.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

She whines, her voice broken as if she truly might cry if she goes another second without him inside her. “Gale.”

He chuckles darkly, once again pressing the swollen head of his cock at her entrance, slipping in as slowly as he can manage, mustering every bit of strength and willpower he has left not to just bury himself in her as deep as he can.

“Tell me,” he commands, his voice low and gruff but still needy, almost desperate.

She connects the dots instantly, knowing exactly what he wanted. What he craved. “I’m yours, Gale. Only yours.”

She cries out in shock, slight pain, and pure ecstasy as he harshly snaps his hips into hers, his cock burying to the hilt in her velvet heat.

Home. This felt like home.

He knew that he probably should have given her more time to adjust to him, and it was something he’d surely feel guilty about later, but Her Gale wanted her to feel it tomorrow. He wanted her to be reminded of this moment as she goes on about her day through the ache between her legs as she walks, constantly reminding her who fucks her like this, who loves her like this.

“My pretty girl, my perfect girl,” he chants, his words leaving his lips like a litany of prayer as if he were in a temple of worship. He’d always been a man of religion, but this was holier and more divine than anything he’d ever experienced— even sharing a bed with an actual goddess couldn’t compare.

She throws her head back, her eyes shut tightly and she desperately grips at the pillows around her to ground herself, her neck on full display. He leans down to place wet kisses in a trail from her jaw to her collarbone, biting and sucking in very obvious spots that she’d be hard pressed to be able to cover in the morning.

She writhes and moans underneath him, one of her hands moving to grip the back of his head and fist the hair at the nape of his neck, the sensation of her fingers tugging at his scalp blending from slight pain into pure pleasure earning a throaty grunt from him that rumbles in his chest.

He feels her tighten ever so slightly around him, her walls clenching and pulsing in a sort of warning. He continues his pace, driving her closer and closer to the precipice.

“Gale, I’m gonna—”

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” he coos, leaning down and pressing his lips to her sweat slicked forehead, then whispering, “come for me, my love.”

It wasn’t so much a demand as a desperate request, as his need to feel her come on him and to ride out the waves of her pleasure alongside her became almost devastating.

To urge her on even further, he slipped a hand down and began to rub quick circles around her clit as he pounded into her until she saw stars— it wasn’t long before she completely shattered underneath him, tumbling into free fall off the edge of the best orgasm she’d ever had.

She cries out a jumbled mess of I love you and I’m yours with his name sprinkled throughout as she reaches the peak and dives off the edge, her hips rocking upward into Gale’s as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm. He feels himself quickly approaching his own finish line, the feeling of her cunt pulsing and hugging his cock tighter and tighter driving him further and further.

A few more thrusts and he was done for, spilling everything he had in her and grunting her name as he came, the entire fiber of his being ripping apart and repairing itself as he went limp above her, barely having enough strength to brace himself with his hands on either side of her head as he gripped the pillows so that he doesn’t crush her under his weight.

They both fall silent apart from the sounds of their breathing steadying and slowing to a calm and regular pace, the only other sounds being that of the distant crackling of the fire and the even more distant sounds of their companions still wrapping up for the night and preparing for bed.

Her eyes flutter open to find his in the dim light of the fire, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek. He sighs and leans into her touch, turning his head to place a kiss to the center of her palm, the coarse hair of his beard scratching her skin and tickling it, making her giggle quietly.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” she jokes, causing him to nibble at the skin of her palm playfully. “That wasn’t funny, Gale.”

He smiles and reaches for a rag to clean her up with. “I had hoped this would serve as an adequate apology.”

She sucks in a breath as he pulls out and rubs the rag across her still sensitive and throbbing core, her hips bucking upward slightly with some discomfort. “You expected to fuck me into complicity?”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as he finishes cleaning her, then tosses the rag aside and lays beside her, pulling her onto his chest.

“Not exactly,” he says, earning a disbelieving grimace from her. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I just— I don’t think you realize that seeing the way he interacts with you and the way you interact with him is nothing short of agonizing for me.”

She saw the hurt in his eyes even in the dark— the ache and the gnawing need for reassurance. She understood it all too well, as she’d done the same when the topic of Mystra would get brought up in the earlier days of their relationship.

“There is no other set of arms I’d rather have wrapped around me right now than yours. There is no other company I’d rather share in the way I share in yours. Don’t you know that?” She asked, shifting so that she’s leaning over him, his big brown eyes resembling those of a puppy being told it was a good boy.

“I am yours, Gale Dekarios,” she whispers. “Body and soul.”

Relief and pure elation smoothed out the concern from his features. He pulled her closer to him, until she was mostly on top of him and her head rested on his chest and he could press a long kiss against the top of her head, breathing in her scent and shutting his eyes, both of them drifting into a peaceful slumber.

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pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

Text

“The Fourth Day” of Bats, Blood, and Mirror Smut in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Reader |E| 2.3K of Batstarion and Self-indulgent mirror sex

Summary: He’s late to arrive back, and then you hear… scratching at your window. Bat nibbles and head scritches quickly shift into other sensual indulgences. Ones that allow him to experience other benefits to his ascension… and to your own pleasure.

CW: “Right Hand” puns, Batstarion bites, cunilingus, mirror sex, Extra Emphatic performance from the Ascendant cause he likes the way he looks, “oh yes, I see what all the fuss is about”

Previous Ch | Ao3 Link | Masterlist

A gift for @icybluepenguin

🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning. Waiting for Astarion to return. The camp needed supplies—potions and scrolls and armor. And it was Astarion’s turn to go fetch, even as he had grumbled how beneath him it was as the Ascendant.

Of course, Wyll had only laughed all the harder, shoving the purse of coin in his pale hands and slamming the door on his ass. The goods had been sent ahead by a maid from the Elfsong’s tavern, the Ascendant adding in the message delivered along with the bundle that he would return anon, once he deemed his presence sufficiently missed.

That was hours ago… Now even sleep sounded good. Long, lonely sleep. With him somewhere out there in the dark of night.

Your stomach swirls, knowing he is powerful, knowing he is experienced in how to care for himself, but… you have so many enemies now. So many assassins and monsters and soldiers. The list of beings that wanted you dead seems to grow ever bigger.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

Stupid, arrogant, exalted idiot.

Every sound in the tavern, every creak on every floor reaches your ears. And it’s not your heightened vampiric senses.

You’re worried. For as much as he preens and postures and bites and drinks, you can see it plainly with your eyes and your heart. You see what others can’t since his Ascension.

He’s still just the same, poor at planning, smooth brained rogue. Good with his hands, silken with his words, bad at anything to do with plots or logic or calculations or…

A soft scritch scratch at the window made you sit up from your good- humored, condescending musings.

Something… big… rests against the panes of glass. You look closer. Something largish and fluffy and… white.

“My dear consort, let me in…” he speaks in that way that caresses your mind with his own.

“You have got to be kidding, Astarion. Are you stuck again…”

“No, not stuck. I am positively famished. I need to rest, to feed, before I can use my magic to return to the handsome body you know and crave and worship….”

“Pfft,” you roll your eyes. “So you need help, is that it… mighty Vampire Ascendant?”

“You wound me, my darling…. My treasure…” he flaps against the glass again. His little claws scratch so hard as he grows clearly more and more agitated. “My right hand…” he purrs so silkenly.

You cross from the bed, your body naked as you stroll so slowly towards his blurred shadow on the other side of that pane. “It’s funny, my love, that night you offered me this…” you pause to flourish your hand the same way he had, “gift of immortality… I didn’t realize by your Right Hand, you meant things so literally.”

That made him flutter harder and bang his little bat feet against the window. “I swear when I do get in there… when I do finally feed and shift back… I’ll make that right hand do so much more for me than opening this fucking window….”

You laugh…. So adorable. So dramatic and ridiculous. So… him. “You should see yourself, my love. I suppose II would miss you if I should leave you so… indisposed.”

You cackle, reaching for that handle. The instant a gap was big enough, he flapped his way inside. Circling on his beautiful, membranous wings, you feel the wind brush your hair away before he lands on the back of your shoulder. His itty, bitty fingers hook onto the crest of your back, the only warning you get before you feel his small razor fangs bite into your neck.

So much smaller than normal, you gasp in surprise more at the sensation of warm fur on your skin. His little claws hook tightly, and his quiet breath snuffles beneath your ear as he drinks. You reach your hand around, his little ears twitching as you blindly brush them, scratching one finger in that small space at the top of his head. His mouth still contentedly suckles on your blood.

Tingles of magic wash down your back, and suddenly your hand raises with the top of his head, that silken mess of curls wrapped around your finger. Lips replace bat teeth, the wide span of his warm tongue swirls lazily over the teeny marks he’s left.

“Now… about that defiant, rebellious right hand of yours,” he rasps against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Oh…. This little thing?” you taunt, wickedly, childishly, gripping that bulge between his legs from behind you. The “oof” that comes from his smirking mouth is music to your ears. You spin smoothly, pivoting your grip on his cock, and you give it just a few hard strokes to make it harden under your touch.

It doesn’t take much. It never has. He bucks against your palm. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands clutches underneath your chin, dragging your lips for him to consume. You taste the blood on his tongue, feel his hunger mixed with yearning. The way his tongue dances with yours hides nothing of the want you were so quick to incite in him.

You lose your breath as he shoves you against the wall. Moonlight floods from behind him, his sharpened face barely lit in the shadow. But those curls, ravaged by the winds of flying, mussed from his shifting, those silver-white curls sit like a halo in the pale light. Left hand closing around your right, he presses it against the wall, a silent command to hold still. Very still.

A single kiss on your lips, a rakish arch to his brow, and he drops to his knees. His hands force your leg over his shoulder so quickly, you have to grip that wall behind you, caught only by the way he shoves his shoulder under your thigh. His face already presses hard into your mound, fingers already prying your folds wide for his tongue to lap. Careful, you use your left hand to comb through his curls, riding the circling of his head as he licks through your seam.

The same sort of little noises come from between your thighs, little low hums of feeding, muffled grunts amidst the wet suck of his tongue on your clit. Your hips buck, catching on his nose, his hands keeping that new angle for him to push deeper into that wet.

You pound your right hand into the wall, a closed fist, and your legs shake. He drives you closer and closer, pools of heat and lightning racing to your belly and down your nerves. He laughs into your cunt, fingers slipping into your channel from somewhere below your ass. You can’t see, can only feel that rhythmic lap and suck of his perfect tongue and thick smirking lips. But those fingers crook hard to catch your spot, that itch he knows how to scratch and make you shatter.

You pant, riding the brush of his nose on your clit and the suck of his tongue as he devours you even in climax.

“Fuck me…” you groan, head smacking against the wall as you raise your hips even higher. His hands hold you firm, even as your legs twitch and threaten to go boneless in your orgasm.

“Oh yes, darling, I am about to do just that,” he stands to rasp into your ear. “You did say… if only I could see myself… a delightful suggestion, my pet. Come now,” he purrs, “but you will only use those defiant hands of yours as I see fit. And…”

He flips you around, drags you across the room to the corner, until you’re staring at your own reflection. The simple wooden-framed mirror shows every pale line of your bodies as one. You can barely tell where your soft curves melt into the edges of every hardened rise of him behind you in the moonlight. “…you’re going to watch ever little way I fuck you…”

“You mean you’re going to watch every little way you fuck…”

His hand reaches from behind you, clawing around your mouth and twisting to bring your ear against his smirking lips. His crimson eyes lock into yours in that reflection, a matching color. “Well, it was your suggestion, my love, since we both have been given such a gift. And I haven’t yet seen how ruinous I am in this process…”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth, a humored and condescending shake of your head. “Fine… it is a sight to behold. And after all, these days are about you discovering yourself, indulging in your powers.”

“And I’m so grateful it’s you who enables my indulgences, my darling,” his silken voice croons. His tongue visibly sticks out to run that warm, wet pad up the curve of your ear.

His gaze watches yours flutter, your body shivering involuntarily as you want more. “Bend,” he growls into those little circles and folds of your ear. His grip fastens on your wrist, making you reach for the wall beside you, turning you sideways to that shimmering mirror glass. You look through the messy curtain of your hair, watching in that reflection as his hand smooths down the vertebrae of your spine, his other grips and pumps his cock. That hard, veined length dripping onto the floor, twitching relentlessly as he catches your eye with a wicked grin.

“You keep those insolent hands where I can see them, darling, and you… will… watch me.” His voice drops into a deep-throated growl, his head cocked back, hips bucking into his fist. Even as he clutches the cheek of your ass, his sharp nails finding purchase, drawing blood to the surface as he marks you.

His. Forever.

Fingers leave your skin, pulling back that long, tousled mess of your hair so you can obey him.

So you can watch.

Watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, watch as he drags that blunted tip, forcefully and slowly back and forth through your slick. Watch as his hand beats his shaft against your folds, smearing your arousal up and down his velvety smooth skin as he does so.

It’s… burning in your belly, the way he’s licking his lips, stare alternating between watching his body in the mirror and your eyes drinking in his every sensual stroke.

You can’t look away, watching him shut his eyes, head thrown back in pleasure, arching as he sheathes himself until you feel that brush of his balls against you. You want to shudder and hang your head, instantly filled and throbbing and so… very… full.

“Don’t you disobey me, pet,” he hisses. “Best keep watching, or else…” Eyes still shut, he groans in deep delight as he pulls out once more only to grip your hips and shove inside again.

Deeper. Harder. More punishing. Fangs bared, he smirks down to watch his perfect shaft entering you, a slow beating rhythm to the snaps of his hips. Every little ripple of muscles in his body, you get drunk on the sight of him. Even that slight gleaming slick on his cock that you see, that base of his shaft as it glistens before it disappears to ram you full again. It makes your mouth water.

He picks up the pace now, your body so warm and wet from how he pleasured you. He smiles at himself, tilting his head back towards the mirror. You can feel it, the extra undulations of his body, a little extra shove, a little harder buck of his hips to make your ass slap hard on his body.

A performance of pleasure just for him.

Deep, subtle pants leave his gaping mouth with each thrust, his eyes watching the way his own flawless, ruinous body clenches as he fucks. Every tweak of his abs, every clench of his ass, you can see his eyes dart in the mirror to savor the sight.

You laugh, well, barely laugh. As breathless as you are, riding every pummel into your cunt, you manage to speak. “Careful, or I’ll have to get a blindfold if you can’t stop watching yourself…”

“Oh darling, I finally see what all the fuss is about,” he pants between his words. And you hear it, that edge to his voice, reckless and uncontrolled. His words catch in his throat just as stilted as his thrusts become.

Hard and random and rough.

Your cervix grows numb, your channel walls so swollen, so hot. Pounded over and over again until he finally groans and folds over you. Arms yank you back against him by your hips, slamming your body against his wild bucks. You watch that magnificent reflection as he unravels, how his knees buckle as he comes.

How his seed spills so hard from his cock deep inside you, it’s already dripping to the floor at your feet. The sight of sweating pale skin and undulating muscles bent over for you… you shatter too. And it makes another groan, a whimper come from where he’s laid his head on your back, just below your shoulder blades. Your walls milk him of every last drop, your own arousal joining the mess on the floor beneath your feet.

Breathless, your arms shake, still extended towards the wall. A naughty grin on your mouth as he looks at your lust-hazed eyes and tousled hair. His face is a matching set of post-coital mess and beauty.

You reach that right hand of yours between your legs, slowly, delicately teasing over your own slick clit, drenched in both your cum. Stroking further to brush the soaked base of his cock that is still buried inside you, he nips into the skin of your back, not hard enough to break the skin.

Just enough to make you look again in that mirror.

“Your right hand is forgiven… I’ll allow it…” he purrs one more time.

His crimson gaze still looks hazy and dunk on that sight of you coupled. And you wonder if he will ever let you stand.

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mumms-the-word · 1 year ago

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Release

Day 18 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

holy hells I am still doing this huh

Fortunately, today was a fic I had already written for funsies and just polished up for today.

In Ardynn's game (first time I played the game ever) she had Gortash try to strike a deal with her, Orin kidnap Lae'zel, and Mizora come and visit the camp all in one day, not to mention fights with githyanki in the emperor's hideout and the start of a few sidequests. It was a busy day, and I remember being slightly overwhelmed by all the sudden progress all at once. And if I was overwhelmed, my Tav must be on the literal verge of panic.

So that's how this came about. It's one of my fave little fics I've written for BG3 :)

CW: slightly nsfw, not graphic

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

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18. Angst with a happy ending

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Mizora deciding to stay in camp was the last straw for Ardynn, whose patience, resilience, and emotions had been tested too many times that day to suffer another major inconvenience. She stormed away, snatching up a dagger from amongst her armor as she passed it, wishing she’d had it on hand when Mizora first appeared with her damned witnesses to torment Wyll. She could have thrown it in that treacherous bitch’s chest. It wouldn’t have done anything but at least she would have tried.

She hated this city. Nearly every person they’d met that day who was not categorically poor or downtrodden had tried to manipulate them, use them, and torment them. Gortash, with his offer of kingship if they did his bidding. Orin, kidnapping Lae’zel while they tried to find a way to her lair, and manipulating them to target Gortash first. And now Mizora, leveraging Wyll’s father against him with his pact in the balance, and staying in camp simply for her own amusement, like they were her playthings. All in one fucking day.

Ardynn was at her limit. Despair, hopelessness, and, most of all, rage swirled within her like a black hole that consumed all other thoughts and threatened to explode with disastrous energy. A fleeting thought came to her, that this was what ceremorphosis felt like, based on what she’d sensed in others as they transformed. Not as much of the pain, but all the rest. Feeling as though your body was too limiting for the horrible thing that was trying to escape, as though your body needed to separate and crack and split apart to release the energy inside.

Clearly she was spared ceremorphosis for now, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she might rip herself apart if she didn’t find a way to vent.

She hurried past the campfire, past poor Yenna who had slunk back into camp after hiding from Mizora and her demons, past Gale and Astarion as they followed her with their questioning eyes. She wanted a secluded place, a high place, but this city was the antithesis of secluded. Every rooftop just made you more visible. She pushed on past Karlach, heading for the heavy doors of an abandoned building just next to her, hoping whatever was in there would suffice.

“Soldier,” Karlach started to say, but Ardynn flung out a staying hand.

“Just—give me time to think,” she snapped. She yanked open the heavy doors to the abandoned building and stepped inside, slamming them closed after her. She was a little disappointed when she saw the interior.

An old chapel of some kind. Hewn stone and carved statuary, metal candelabrums, simple wooden benches and banisters carved from hard, unyielding wood. Everything dead and lifeless, and very hard to destroy.

She kicked over one of the benches but it gave her no satisfaction. Her breath grew labored, almost frenzied as she paced up and down the aisle of the little chapel, her dagger in hand, wondering, in her state of half-frenzy, that if she couldn’t find anything to tear to shreds, she might resort to turning the dagger on herself.

The doors opened again and she whirled, holding the dagger at the ready to stab or to throw, whichever might be the case. But the figure who stepped inside was no enemy. It was Halsin. His eyes fell on the dagger and he slowly held up his hands in a gesture of calm surrender.

She said nothing at first and it took her a moment to lower her blade. She turned away, pacing back up the aisle toward the stone altar. She wanted to tell him to go away, but in the next breath she wanted him to stay, so she said nothing.

He apparently took her silence for consent, and closed the doors behind him, quietly approaching until they were only a few feet apart, while she continued to restlessly pace to and fro in front of the alter, separated from him by a few wooden steps and the carved banisters.

“I’m here if you need me,” he said. “Just say the word.”

“I don’t know what I need,” she said, passing her dagger to her other hand. She turned then, descending down two of the steps and pointing the dagger at him, not threatening, just gesturing. “No, I know—I need everyone in this gods damned city to stop toying with me and everyone I care about. It’s too much, Halsin,” here her voice cracked and took on a tone of desperation. “I can’t have every day be like this—with Gortash and Orin pitting us against each other like we’re captured pawns on a lanceboard, and Orin stealing and torturing us one by one. And Mizora—gods—“

She choked on her own rage and slammed her dagger into the carved banister at her left, the blade sinking only point-deep into the hardwood. She grit her teeth and tried to yank it out again, but it stuck fast. She pulled harder, fiercer this time, and it gave way with enough force to send her stumbling down the last two steps and driving her to her knees, the dagger flying from her hand and skittering across the stone into some cobwebbed corner.

The fall nearly broke her. She pressed her hands into the stone floor, panting, almost desperate for air, her body trembling with the rush of emotion. Weak. Stupid. Ineffective. Naive. Gods, could she do nothing right? She slammed her fist into the stone, gritting her teeth against a groan when the pain jittered up from her hand up into her arm and shoulder.

Halsin was immediately before her, kneeling and placing a hand on her back. “Ardynn—“

“Is this what it feels like?” she interrupted, lifting her head and pressing a hand to her chest, clenching her fist in the fabric of her shirt. She felt like she couldn’t get enough air, as though her lungs were constricted and every harsh breath was too shallow, choking her. “For you? I’m so angry, I can hardly breathe. Like there’s—some monster inside me that is—bigger than this body can hold—and it—it needs out, fast.”

Halsin studied her with a face full of concern. She shook her head, sweat slipping down from her temples.

“Not like ceremorphosis,” she panted. “Like this little body wasn’t meant to contain all of—of this.” She flung a hand out wildly. “One person can’t be this angry or desperate, or they’d shatter.” She pressed her clenched fist harder against her chest, grimacing as the next several breaths came in short, harsh hiccups of air. “Gods I can’t breathe—“

“Ardynn, look at me,” Halsin said. He cradled the back of her neck with one hand and held up his other hand between them. “You have to breathe deeply, or you will faint. Do you understand me? Focus here. Breathe with me, on my count.”

She focused on his hand, watching his fingers as he counted to five while breathing in, and then five again while holding his breath, and then five again as he slowly blew out his breath. She tried to mimic him, her breaths stuttering and shaking, until at last she could match him breath for breath. It wasn’t until she felt like her lungs had relaxed again that she noticed his hand at her neck was icy cold, a bit of ice magic maintained there to cool her overheated body.

“Better?” he asked quietly when she was no longer gasping for air. He began gently massaging some of the tension at the base of her neck.

“Only a little.” She could breathe again, but she still felt wrong, constricted, like all her emotions were still trapped inside her with nothing to release them. His breathing exercise had helped, but only so much. She pressed both palms against the cold stone of the floor between them, trying to ground herself. “You never answered my question. Is this what it’s like for you?”

Halsin settled on the stone floor, seating himself near her and propping his arm on one bent knee. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, now rubbing into her back, both soothing and firm. “There are times when the blood rages or…burns with desire, as you’ve seen. But changing your shape doesn’t always release you from your rage. Trust me. You simply rage in a different body. A more dangerous body.”

“But what can I do?” she asked. “If I was outside the city, I’d...I don't know." She thought about it, picturing in her mind what seemed like it would be cathartic, helpful. If she were back in nature, where she felt like she belonged.

"I would claw my hands into the earth until I struck stone," she said. "Or I’d climb a tree until I was breathless and hidden by the leaves. Or I’d plunge into a lake and swim deep down and scream until all the air had left my lungs and forced me back up again." She looked at him again. "What am I supposed to do here—tear the buildings down brick by brick? I dare not dive into the river here, with all the garbage that flows into it. I must do something or I’ll return to Mizora and try to strangle her, and then we’ll all suffer for it.”

Still rubbing her back, Halsin glanced quickly around the chapel. He must have come to the same conclusions she had, seeing only unyielding stone, metal, and carved wood. His gaze fell back on hers while she struggled to pull together some semblance of composure.

“Then use me,” Halsin said.

She stared at him, taken aback. She straightened slightly, sitting on her knees, and regarded him warily. “What does that mean?”

“I said before that changing your shape does not give you release,” he said. “But action does. Running, climbing, fighting…” He fiddled gently with her earlobe, tracing the curve of her ear up to the sensitive tip, causing her to shiver slightly. “Laying with someone.”

She blew out a slightly frustrated breath, though her cheeks were already warm from his touch. That was his solution? “Halsin. I’m too distracted to be good company for you just now.”

“That is not what I meant. I’m not suggesting this for my own benefit.” He took one of her hands, turning it so that her palm faced outward, parallel with him, and ran his thumb over the edge of one of her nails. “You want to claw something—claw into me.”

He curled her fingers into a fist. “You wish to beat against something, then beat your fists against me.” He pulled her fist to his chest, as if showing her where to land her punches.

“You’re suggesting fighting, not laying,” she said, though she didn’t move her hand from his chest. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

He smiled crookedly. “I can take it. These smooth nails are not so dangerous as the claws of a wildcat or a panther.” He sobered slightly, his smile fading. “I am serious, Ardynn. You want to destroy something and you don’t at the same time. With me, you can do as you please, and you will be safe. You will always be safe with me. You need release—seek it in me. Use me as you see fit.”

She could only stare, her heart racing in her chest. It shouldn’t make sense, but it did. Even the mere suggestion of being with him, of having something to do, of sinking her nails into his skin, had cooled some of the anger in her chest, or at least redirected it. But she felt guilty and embarrassed too. She was thinking about intentionally hurting him, drawing blood or bruising him. It was one thing when she got caught up in the moment and didn’t realize she’d scratched him, but to begin that way…?

She uncurled her fist and pressed her hand flat against his chest, near his heart. She watched her fingers tremble for a moment before she bent them, pressing her nails into the pliable leather of his camp shirt.

“Any way I see fit?” she asked, meeting his gaze, uncertain.

“Any way you see fit,” he repeated, his voice already husky.

She clenched her teeth and pressed harder against his chest, pushing him to lie on his back against the cool stone of the chapel. As he settled there, she straddled him and leaned in to kiss him, a deep, searching kiss that he returned with equal passion, until it left her desperate for more.

“Are you sure?” she asked one final time, murmuring against his lips.

She felt his rumbling chuckle in her entire body. “I am. I am yours, Ardynn. Do as you wish.”

———

In the end, despite her uncertainty before, she had used her nails, and her teeth besides. Halsin had encouraged and coaxed her into something like a focused frenzy, a controlled passion fueled by the energy her anger had given her. When she’d sunk her teeth into the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder, he’d encouraged her with his deep voice and his hands on her thighs. When she’d dug her nails into his bare chest, he hadn’t even flinched, even as she felt a twinge of guilt for even attempting it. As he’d said, he kept himself there to be used, following her direction or her whims, until she, wanting so much more from him, had all but begged him to take her.

He had more than obliged, shifting their bodies so that she was beneath him, the weight of him pressing her into the stone as he rocked into her. He’d nuzzled his lips against the soft skin of her neck and pinched the lobe of her ear between his teeth and dug his fingers into her skin, careful at times not to grip too tightly while also encouraging her through rumbling growls of pleasure or husky whispers to not be afraid to rake her nails against his skin. With him back in control, she lost herself to the pleasure he gave her, finding at last an outlet for all the tangled, knotted-up, thorny emotions that had threatened to overwhelm her just minutes (or hours?) prior.

Now, spent, she lay panting beneath him, gazing half-listlessly at her handiwork. She ran her fingertips gently over the marks she could see in the dim candlelight of the abandoned chapel. Bite marks, some fading, some bruising, wherever her teeth had found purchase on his taut muscles. Red scratch marks, raised welts in lines of four or five, curving, sometimes criss-crossing across his skin. A few rare lines were dotted with the tiniest beads of blood. The worst must be on his back, but she couldn’t see it at the moment. For all his encouragement to use her “claws,” she had held back until he’d taken over. After that, she had gotten perhaps too carried away.

He shifted, lifting his weight off her and making to move away, but she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back down. “No,” she mumbled. “Lie here for a moment. Against me.”

“I could crush you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her temple. Even now, he held most of his weight off her, distributed to his arms and knees.

She pressed her face into his neck. “You won’t crush me. Lie here. I don’t want you to go too far yet.”

She felt his sigh ruffled her hair, but he submitted to her request. He folded his arms beneath her head, leaning his head against his arm, and settled his body against hers, tangling their legs together. He was heavy, at least twice her weight or more in pure height and muscle, but she welcomed the weight of him against her, even if it made breathing just a little bit harder.

She kept her arms wrapped around him, her hands gently seeking out the markings she’d made on his body where her eyes couldn’t see beyond his thick-muscled shoulder. She contemplated the marks silently as he nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, tracing one raised line on his back. “What I did to you?”

“It is nothing that will not heal, given time,” he said. “But no. Nothing hurts any more than an insect bite would.”

She didn't know whether to believe him or not. “Still…I should heal you…”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, touching his forehead against her temple. “But I think I would like to bear the markings for a day or two anyway.”

She turned her head towards his, nearly bumping noses with him before he lifted his head to give her room. “Why? We’ve more battles ahead of us tomorrow. I want to find where Orin has taken Lae’zel as soon as possible.”

“A few scratches and bruises will not hinder me in battle,” he said, smiling slightly. “My armor covers most of it, but I would show off the rest with pride. Unless, of course, it embarrasses you.”

“No, of course not,” she said, though maybe it did embarrass her, a little. Of all the people in camp, she sometimes felt she was the least interesting as a sexual partner, which made it all the more surprising that Halsin had reciprocated her interest. Then again, Halsin was also awakening plenty of new desires and ideas in her, now that they were together...

The more she thought about it, the more she rather liked the idea that Halsin would show off some of the scratches she'd made. None of her companions would say anything, though that didn’t stop some of them from wearing their amusement plainly on their faces. She could handle that. And if Halsin considered them marks to be proud of, then she guessed she could think of them that way too.

“What of you?” he asked, bending his head against to press a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Do you require healing?”

“Erm…” She had a few bruises, to be sure. The stone floor in particular was more unforgiving than hard earth, and Halsin’s grip was sometimes stronger than intended. But she was used to that. There were, however, other…new pains that had left her little more sore than usual, the result of a few pleasures Halsin had granted at her request.

“I might be sore in the morning,” she said, flushing despite herself. She was sore almost every morning after being with Halsin. She ought to be used to it now. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He chuckled, his laughter rumbling deep in his chest. He didn’t believe her. “Yes, but it is as you said. We still have battles ahead of us. And out of all of us, we need you at top form.”

He shifted his weight off her, settling just at her side, and laid a hand on her waist. As he whispered the words for the healing spell, the blue glow of healing magic illuminated the air between them. She felt the magic settle into her skin and spread through her body, bringing with it the same cooling relief as usual. She was left feeling slightly chilled but no longer sore. She shivered slightly and moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and tucking herself into his side.

“Cold?” he asked, gathering her close. “We can get dressed and return to our bedrolls.”

“No.” She held on tighter. “I don’t want to be anywhere where Mizora can leer at me right now. You are warmth enough.”

She could sense his smile even though she couldn’t see it. “Very well. But if you get cold, I can always change into a bear. The fur is warmer.”

She considered for a moment. He had a point. His bear form would radiate twice as much heat, not to mention the warmth of his fur and the fact that she could curl up in the crook of his body and practically hide from the chill of the air. But perhaps another time.

She shook her head. “Not right now,” she said. “I want this. Skin to skin.”

Vulnerable, yet safe. Maybe it was a bad idea. Orin had already taken one of them, and they had only barely appeased her by agreeing to murder Gortash first. But surely the others would keep decent watch, right? And they had a damned devil in their camp, now.

“Very well,” he said softly. “Skin to skin. Now sleep. I will be here when you wake.”

“Okay,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Thank you, Halsin. For…everything tonight.”

She felt him kiss her forehead before leaning his cheek against her head. “There is no need to thank me, my heart. I am only glad I could give you what you needed.”

“You are everything I need,” she murmured. “And will ever need.”

If he said anything in response to her words she missed it. Exhaustion from the day, from Halsin, dragged her into sleep faster than she expected, and soon she was asleep in Halsin’s arms, safe and warm in her lover’s embrace.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3ficfeb #my fic #oc #ardynn #ardynn harrow #halsin #i love these two #and i love the idea that halsin knows how to handle panic attacks

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lotusillustration · 2 years ago

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having my annual ✨️christmas eve breakdown✨️ so I'm going to ramble some lilistarions/liliths. it's 3am don't expect it to make sense

cw: toxic relationships, cults, nfsw, dsh if you squint (it's more scarification)

-lilith is dead fucking terrified after the I-tried-to-kill-him incident and refuses to meditate out of fear for days. astarion stays up with her and figures out how to cuddle pretty damn quick when she's a sopping wet cat

-when lilith figures out gortash is their ex they're like "babe. stari. is it cheating if I try get some just so I can divorce him again" (they wouldn't actually go through with it bc they know it'd make astari uncomfortable but I love a good divorce meme ok)

-astarion is basically the only reason lilith didn't become bhaal's chosen, like how he didn't ascend for her. that's codependency babes! they can fix each other (in like, the worst way possible)

-lilith bites too bc ofc they do

-every time someone scathingly calls lilith a heretic she really has to think abt which cult they're referring to bc gods she's joined like 5 at this point

-after cazador dies and astarion is comfortable with sex again. they are fucking nasty All The Time. everyone in camp has caught them probably. they probably sneak off into abandoned rooms and shit literally in the middle of their quests and the rest of the party is just "sigh"

-lilith has a shitton of scars, some are "art" from their time as bhaal's chosen. I will make a ref for this eventually prommy

-it takes a long ass time for astarion being okay with his back being touched, and tbh for both of them to have people come up behind them. it would be very in character for them to be the gross couple who sit on the same side of the table, but they do it so they can both have their back to the wall. lilith slowly acclimates him to allowing her to touch his back, and he periodically asks her to try going "further" (it starts with back of shoulders/hips being okay, and slowly he gets used to her touching the whole thing.

-re: above. lilith is a scratcher so they tend to scratch his thighs during sex since they can't scratch his back. meow.

-knife kink. that's all.

-they can basically instantly sense when each other is triggered, and are naturally the only ones who can calm each other down. they'll near instantly whisk the other away to help them through it.

#lilithcore #lilistarion #mmgh therapy (inflicting The Horrors on my oc)

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chaoticbardlady99 · 8 months ago

Text

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me, MDNI 18+

Chapter 11: Lullabies for the Restless

Astarion x Ghost! Reader

Synopsis: You and Astarion run into trouble in Daggerford. With both of you separated and Astarion being God's only knows where- you are forced to comply with a Priest of Lathander to save him.

CW: Violence, blood, kidnapping, dead dove, smut, PIV sex, fingering, bathtub sex

Chapter 10: Chapter 12 : AO3

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You turn in the direction of the voice and don’t see anything. You have to be losing it- that’s the only explanation.

“Goodness- DOWN HERE MISS!”

You look down and see the smallest Gnome you have ever seen. His eyes are bright green with a hint of worry and his hair stands out on all ends- he has either just woken up from a bender, in the middle of one, or he is preparing for one. He reeks of booze and it takes everything within you not to gag.

Daggerford has easily become one of your least favorite towns. Everyone is self-important and they seem to think they are a big City and not the sneeze of a former dynasty. It’s quite literally a farming town- yes, the market is nice and there are quite a few vendors, but other than that, there isn’t much else.

You were waiting for Astarion outside the only tavern and inn in town when this Gnome approached you. Where is the man when you need him?

“I apologize,” you say awkwardly, “uh what can I do to help you?”

The Gnome hiccups and points at your violin laying in it’s case.

“It’s too damn quiet in there- I am piss drunk and can still hear myself think!”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

The Gnome looks irritated.

“You aren’t even going to offer to help?”

Oh. OH!

You don’t even squeeze the words out of you as you go racing into the Tavern- people cheer upon your arrival and the sight of the violin. It smells like the Gnome died in here- the smell of Booze is horrific.

You probably should have thought to wait for Astarion, but you are sure he will find you.

Right?

You take center stage and breathe deepily through your nose- the butterflies have surged to life in your stomach and if you were capable of throwing up, truly throwing up, you probably would have the moment you stepped up on the stage.

You feel dizzy, alive and yet you are barely present when you strike the first note on the violin. The music flits through the air and grabs at people’s hands, pulling their stumbling figures towards the dance floor.

Lovers swing around with each other, friends goofily dance while trying to attract the attention of a lovely patron goer, but the best sight in the Tavern is when Astarion steps in and smiles at you from the door. He looks so proud of you and you would be lying to yourself if you said it doesn’t make you happy. You like that Astarion is proud of you- proud to be with you.

The adoring eye contact certainly makes it even better.

Song three, four, and five go by without any issues- the energy is still lively and everyone seems happy. A few individuals came up to ask you if you would sit with them for a drink afterwards and you awkwardly stumble through the conversation- most of them going.

“I uh have an Astarion- sorry.”

No one has any idea what that means so it hasn’t really deterred them, but Astarion coming up and kissing you in front of the whole crowd after one of your songs seemed to pass the message along. You can hear some people whispering about how jealous of you they are- apparently quite a few people had had their eyes on Astarion this evening.

It feels like a fairytale- you finally get to perform in a Tavern again and this time, you won’t be drained by a Vampire!

The note of your last song rings through the air and you bow, but the majority of the tavern goers are begging you for an encore.

Minus one.

“Thank GODS- my ears can finally STOP BLEEDING!”

A drunk bloke at the bar leers at you and the entire tavern goes silent. Everyone looks quite furious, but they don’t want to say anything. They all look nervously at the very nicely dressed Human man as he continues to sling insult after insult at you.

“You are a homely little thing, aren’t you? You look like you need a good fuck- you are looking a little blue, Moss Licker.”

The one problem with being tinted blue- everyone thinks you are a half-drow and it has definitely caused quite a few people to walk away from you with a broken nose- courtesy of Astarion, of course.

You clear your throat, “I am sorry you are insecure in your masculinity that you feel the need to insult me in front of an entire crowd that was just enjoying my music.

“I bet your penis is as small as your vocabulary,” you leer back at him, “I bet it’s miniscule.”

The human male stands up and storms over- his face bright red with anger and alcohol.

“I should have you hung-”

And that was apparently Astarion’s cue. He grabs the man by the back of his shirt as he tries to climb the stage and he promptly throws him to the ground. The tavern erupts with chaos. Guards rush forward to help the Human Male and when they go to grab Astarion- you send them flying back across the Tavern- the patrons barely ducking in time to avoid the rush of wind.

You jump down and try to run towards Astarion who is trying to get to you and drag you out of the Tavern so you can both make a quick escape, but a woman is suddenly in front of you and blows a powder into your eyes.

The world becomes dark, but blurry and time moves slowly. The last thing you hear before going completely under is the sound of a door being closed.

**********************************************************************

You sit up with a jolt- your eyes hurt from whatever powder that had been blown into them and your body feels like a lead weight. The room is dark- darker than any room you have been in lately and Astarion is nowhere to be found.

You weakly get yourself up off the floor and you notice the door is barred, but there are some stairs that are poorly lit as well. The woman who blew the powder in your face stands on the other side of the bars- a wicked grin on her lips.

“Whe-where is-” you try to sound ferocious, but you are too disoriented.

“Your violence happy leech Lover?” she smirks, “don’t worry, he’s safe and still has his fancy sunwalking ring. I suppose we will find out if he’s meant to be in this world still or not, together.”

You feel absolutely frozen. Who is this woman and what does she wish to do with Astarion?

“My name is Maeve- I am a Priestess of Lathander- and you, you wretched, disgusting creature, insulted Daggerford’s Duke and your undead leech broke his nose.”

“Ple-”

“I’m not finished talking,” she snaps.

You gulp and the panic in your chest is overwhelming. Where is Astarion? Is he okay? What is going to happen to him?

“There is a yearly tradition here in Daggerford,” Maeve begins, “after the warm weather ends, a Bard of Lathander usually enters the tunnels, plays a little song, and soothes the spirits of the restless Undead as they wander about these halls.

“Luckily enough for you creatures, our Bard was stripped and experimented on by a Necromancer that has decided to make a home here. We can’t risk sending more people down there.”

Alive people, right. You think with a grimace, I suppose that means Astarion and I are fair game.

“Sooth the restless undead and I will tell you where I buried your lover- for safekeeping. I can assure you that he is still alive,” she says with another wicked grin, “but comfortable? Well- he was certainly screaming for your help as more dirt was piled on.”

No.

That is Astarion’s single worst fear- being buried alive was the most horrific thing that has ever happened to him and you weren’t there to save him last time and now you aren’t there this time.

You failed him.

Tears are falling down your face without your permission and you swear you see a flicker of empathy in the woman’s eyes as you fall to your knees.

“Pl-please,” you beg, “I will take his place- he knows how to sing at least, surely-”

“No- get rid of the necromancer and soothe the dead. That is the only way you will ever be able to see him or the light of day again.”

The woman walks up the stairs, leaving you in shock and fear.

The catacombs are beginning to become more and more present in your reality now that the initial shock is gone. The air is tepid and silent, the only thing you can hear is the creaking of things far away and you know that sound well enough as is.

Skeletons. Your least favorite, but maybe you should consider yourself lucky that you don’t hear a trumpet tooting in the background.

You look to your left and see a beaten up flute- it smells clean and obviously hasn’t been used in a while. You are grateful you are multi-talented when it comes to music- you just have a preference like every other Bard.

Your hands shake as you slowly make your way into the depths of the catacombs and you clutch onto the Flute like a lifeline.

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can save Astarion, and the sooner you can both get out of here.

And maybe you should stop playing at Tavern’s entirely- they seem to be bad luck for whatever reason.

Your footsteps don’t even make a sound as they hit the cobblestone floor- this place is immaculate, too immaculate. It is very well taken care of, you can’t imagine any undead are restless here.

“Miss?”

You whirl around to see a young child holding onto a stuffed bear- her throat is slashed and her eyes are bleeding. You have to resist the urge to gag.

“I- I am looking for my mommy,” she says with a serious face, “do you know where I can find her?”

Ow.

You walk over and kneel down in front of her- you look just past her and see her gravestone with the name of the woman you can only assume is her mother’s. They have the same date of death.

“All I remember is that daddy became really really angry,” she whispers, “and I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs.”

Her memory flows through your soul like a poison and weight- you watch her dad kill her, both her and her mother, but she doesn’t realize it’s her father’s doing.

“I-I am so sorry that you went through that,” you barely get the words out, “I think your mommy is asleep, but would it be okay if I played a lullaby for you so you can see her when you wake up?”

The little girl nods excitedly and disappears into her coffin. You bring the flute to your lips and let your tears fall as you play the tune of a wood elf lullaby- you can hear your own mother singing the words in your head.

Ter i lóme, nai lye ómanya rahtuva, (through the night, may my voice reach you)

Or i súre, nai lyenna órenya wilyuva… (over the wind, may my heart fly to you)

Nai loruvalye, (may you sleep)

Hendu holine… (eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

Á pata ter fend' ex’ Ardanna, (Step through a door to another Realm)

Á papátu mina tyelepta cala (Slowly walk into the silver light)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Hendu holine… (Eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilya (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

A blinding white light peeks out of the coffin and you can feel the little girl’s peace within your own restless spirit- it makes you happy, it makes you warm.

“I will see you later, little one,” you whisper, “when your next life comes, I hope it is kinder than this one.”

You continue your trek into the Catacombs- finding terrified Soldiers and helping them realize they are no longer in danger, you reassure Priests and Clerics that their God still loves them, and you come across more children, losing themselves and their loved ones to the Werewolf infestation that had taken over the outskirts of Waterdeep.

You have no idea how you are going to find a Necromancer down here- nothing looks out of the ordinary and you believe you are now at the end of the Catacombs. There is nothing at the end- just a wall- which doesn’t make any sense to you.

Remember, the obvious answer is usually not the answer.

You look around your environment- looking for a secret entrance or maybe a portal- but you don’t see anything. Anger bubbles up inside of your chest and you resist the urge to throw the flute and scream.

You don’t even know how long you have been down here and you need to get to Astarion- what if you can’t find the necromancer? Will Astarion remain underground or will they kill him?

No, you shake your head, don’t let your mind go there. There has to be an explanation- hells, she could have even been lying to me.

But she seemed genuine about her deal when she was describing it to you.

You will your mind to relax and sit on the floor- your ears flick with every little sound that enters your brain, but you remain there and don’t move. Something will show you the way- you can feel it in your soul. The hard part is swallowing your panic and impatience. You are worried about Astarion, but the longer you panic, the longer he will stay in the ground.

What do people normally do in this situation? You suppose they typically pray, but it’s not like any of the Gods have ever done you any favors. However, there is the possibility that Oghma might be ‘tuned in’.

Please, you think, Oghma, show me what I am missing- if not for me, then for Astarion? He did only save the world two separate times and lifted a Shadow Curse. He suffered for 200 years- please get us both out of this alive!

Something in the air changes and the ghost of another Bard is standing in front of you, he taps the instrument. The flute glows warmly and begins to play a tune all on its own. The wall in front of you is revealed as an illusion- there is far more to this Catacomb than you initially thought.

“Than-”

The ghost is gone, the air is filled with peace and you feel like you are meant to take this flute with you even after the Catacombs. It will help you stay safe and it’s pretty much the only weapon you have right now.

And maybe it’s experienced enough darkness for a lifetime.

You step past the wall and are immediately offended by the environment. The smell is awful- it smells like the place you had been held prisoner and there is gore all over the floors, the walls, and now your shoes. It’s absolutely filthy and any sight of white hair makes you halt like a statue.

He is safe- you know he is safe. He is buried but he is safe.

You continue your trek into the disgusting bowels of the Necromancer’s work space. You can hear him talking to himself and cackling wildly.

Your chest gets tighter and tighter as you walk down the stairs. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you are simultaneously drowning in your own air. You feel like you are right back in that room again, sitting next to the spawn monster, and unsure if Astarion would save you in time.

You feel numb as you walk into the room and the Necromancer is none the wiser. He is cutting away at something or someone trying to struggle against him and you consider turning back and calming down.

I can’t do this- I can’t.

“The sooner you stop your squirming, Spawn,” the man says while running a finger down the person’s chest, “the sooner you will be unaware of what is happening.”

He walks away and your worst fear has come to life- Astarion is on the table, fighting for his life and his skin is extremely cut into. A dirty coffin sits broken with Maeve staring widely into the darkness- unblinking and no longer alive.

Astarion’s eyes are covered by some kind of ick and he has his mouth rendered useless with a gag. The only thing he can do is wildly lash around, but you can even see where his tendons have been cut.

You are blinded by rage and the need for revenge when you put the flute in your mouth, the Necromancer turns to you and smiles.

“It’s not often a Ghost wanders down here!”

The thrashing from Astarion increases and his skin is burning against the silver chains around his feet and wrists. He screams through the cloth- surely telling you to run.

“You will be a fine experiment- tell me, how long ago did you-”

You play a single, sharp line of music and the man looks at you with confusion before his eyes grow large. His skin begins to fall off his body in chunks and blood pours to the floor as his eyeballs melt. He screams until he can’t anymore- his vocal chords falling out onto the floor.

Numbly, you walk over to the necromancer- still barely alive. You get close to his bleeding ear.

“I hope you suffer.”

And like that, he is a puddle on the ground and no longer exists.

You are dissociating still as you get the gag untied and wipe away the sealant over his eyes. Astarion is in tears, there is still dirt in his hair, and his body is trying to heal, but you can’t imagine that helps with the emotional trauma that just occurred.

You remove the silver shackles, burning your own skin in the process, but Astarion’s pleas for you to stop aren’t registering. Your hands are raw by the time they are all off and you are barely able to play heal wounds.

Astarion sits up with a significant amount of effort, his body is still healing, but he can move now and the rest will be healed with his vampiric regeneration.

You hug him- trying to be as gentle as possible- but you need to know he is here and he is real. Astarion holds you with equal amounts of strength and you can feel his tears falling onto your shoulder. There isn’t a single word you feel like you can say that will make this feel better, that will help him at all.

When he finally lets go, you walk over to Maeve and cast Speak with the Dead.

“Why did the Necromancer kill you?”

“I… was… going.. To… kill… spawn.”

As if this day couldn’t get anything worse.

“So you lied to me.”

“Unnatural… should be… destroyed.”

“How?” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, you hear Donella’s clipping of words in your tone.

“Sun… burning… sell… ring…”

For whatever reason, you decide to take your anger out on the corpse and use just about every heavy object you can find to hit her with. You are screaming words that are unintelligible and pissed off more than words can say.

He was going to be dead by the time you had killed the necromancer- if anything, he is the one Astarion should be thanking for saving him.

She lied, you feel your bitterness crawl up your throat, she lied and I would have lost him forever all because of fucking Lathander.

“We should light Lathander’s church on fire,” you say rather aggressively, “then raise them all up and turn them into the thing they-”

“My love,” Astarion says the pet name firmly and takes your shaking hands, “I know you don’t mean that- that is more of a suggestion I would offer up.

“I want to get out of here,” he pleads, “the sooner we can get out of this dreary filth pit, the better.”

You don’t remember leaving the Catacombs or the awkward pardon from the Duke, but you finally seem to come back to yourself as you stare into the fire of the free room you were given for your troubles. You wanted to leave, but Astarion isn’t in the best shape and you wouldn’t get very far without running into danger.

You definitely arcane locked the door and windows. Astarion had looked at you like you were a mad man as you made him drink at least three healing potions to jump start the process. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you work.

When it seemed you were done, Astarion had asked you if you wanted to bathe with him and you said you needed to keep watch. He frowned, but respected your choice. Astarion has been in there for 10 minutes and you still haven’t heard any water being sloshed around.

Maybe you need to check on him- was there a window in the bathroom? You can’t remember. Maybe you should check just in case- at least for your own sanity.

“My Love?”

You jump when Astarion places his hand on your shoulder and you struggle to steady yourself.

“Don’t scare me like that!” you get up with angry tears on your face, “I am trying to keep watch- what if I hurt you!? Or worse!? Do you have absolutely no respect for your life!?”

You expected him to give it back to you- he is the one suffering, not you, but instead he just pulls you into a tight hug and kisses the top of your head.

“I knew you were on your way,” he whispers, “I was scared, but I never doubted you, not even once.

“Please, come and take a bath with me. We are safe, my Sweet, I promise.”

Ugly sobs leave your mouth and you bury your face in his chest. How can he say any of that? You failed him. He was buried again and you failed him like you did when Cazador had buried him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasp, “I should have fought harder- I should have saved you faster.”

Astarion hushes you like one would do for a hysterical child and you only begin crying more.

“You saved me as fast as you possibly could,” Astarion states confidently, “it’s not like I had to wait here for three days- it was merely hours- and I heard the flute playing from up the stairs.

“My love- you, as always, are perfect. You smell a bit musty right now, but perfect.”

You laugh away the remainder of your tears at his last statement, they pour down your face in a waterfall motion, but you feel some of the tension release itself from your body.

“Something tells me you really want me to take a bath.”

“I have only been hinting at it for the last several moments,” he teases, “and your braid definitely needs to be redone.

“So? Can we please go take a bath?”

You nod tiredly and let Astarion guide you to the bathroom- you make sure to check for windows and thankfully there aren’t any.

The water is made up and steaming- there are candles lit and scattered around the bathroom instead of the sconces being lit. There is something in there that makes the water smell like roses and spring- you aren’t exactly sure what is happening, this may be the fanciest bath you have ever seen.

“I-I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says with an awkward chuckle, “I bought the soap and rose petals from that shop I went into. Granted, I wasn’t expecting there to be such a dramatic detour, but I thought it might help us both… relax?”

You blink a few times before looking at him with a wide smile- his nervous expression washes away and smiles back.

“I love it.”

“I knew you would.”

Touching him and having him touch you makes your nerves calm down immensely. You are sitting in his lap, facing him as you rinse out the soap from his hair.

Astarion, on the other hand, is just staring up at you as your eyes are searching for any bubbles that may have gone rogue.

Waking up in a coffin again was terrifying, but he was significantly more worried about you. He tried to break through the wood, but there had already been a substantial amount of dirt placed on top of the lid and all he could do was call your name while the Clerics of Lathander laughed above him.

Astarion was determined though- he crawled out of his own grave once. Sure it wasn’t fun and it was awful, but this time is different. You were waiting for him above ground and you must be scared out of your mind or worse. He would really prefer to not make another trip to Manifest without you.

He had begun to make a serious dent in the wood, but it didn’t matter because when he broke it open, they had already dug him up. The sun was high in the sky and the Clerics looked genuinely confused that he wasn’t burning alive and that wicked priestess looked infuriated- she knew exactly what was happening.

Karma, however, was on Astarion’s side this time- or so he thought. Someone had killed the clerics and knocked the priestess out, but that person also happened to be a Gods damn necromancer.

He had no doubt that you would save him and he would continue to fight back as much as possible. He had only been afraid when the Necromancer made it clear that you had arrived on scene.

As always, you are incredible and far more powerful than you give yourself credit for.

“I think I got rid of all the soap,” you inspect his curls by tangling your hands into them, “I think-“

Astarion’s fingers easily glide into your freshly cleaned tresses and he pulls you down to him. Your lips against his feels like Heaven every single time and he feels like maybe the Gods did hear his prayers after all.

Maybe they just flew backwards in time or something- he isn’t sure, but he is so grateful for you and your bravery.

You may be the musician between the two of them, but Astarion can still coax the prettiest music out of you like a professional. Perhaps he is in this regard, but this could be the only instance that he appreciates this expertise.

You break the kiss when one of his fingers slowly slides into you and your gasp is euphoric. Your lower lip trembles as you tease it with your teeth and he places sweet, loving kisses across your jaw as you continue to sing for him.

Your moans aren’t loud- you think they are, but they really aren’t. He adores it. It makes it feel real and not like an act- you aren’t trying to put on a show for the handsome ‘Magistrate’ who approached you at the bar.

You are moaning for him and him only- your gasps and keens are genuine. It’s his name that is tumbling from your lips- not some name he came up with once upon a time.

And after? Astarion will curl up with you in bed for a cuddle and rest until the sun comes back up.

The sun and he gets to enjoy seeing you in the sun.

Dim lighting does you a significant amount of favors too, of course. If anything, you are the only reason the lighting is attractive at all.

Your eyes are blown wide with lust and your forehead leans against his when he adds another finger. His thumb circles your clit and Astarion feels his cock twitch when you groan with pleasure into his mouth.

“Gods,” he whispers, “you are beautiful.”

You whine and buck your hips, he can feel how desperate you are for more. Your walls clench around his fingers and it takes everything within him to not give in.

He isn’t done teasing you yet, he finally has you all to himself again. No more weddings, no more campaigns, and hopefully no more necromancers.

Astarion can have you whenever he wants and he is going to take every opportunity he can to watch your pretty little face keen for him as he chases your pleasure.

“A-Astarion,” your hands are holding onto the tub behind him and your face is in the crook of his neck, “ins- side me- ple-“

He cuts you off by finally spearing you onto his cock. A guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth. You kiss and nip at the skin on his neck while softly whimpering with each movement.

You ride him slowly and Astarion continues to explore your figure with his hands- one of them teasing your clit.

Your own hands explore him, avoiding his back like you usually do.

Astarion trusts you- he trusts you more than anyone. You won’t hurt him and if it’s too much, you will stop. You have shown him that time and time again.

“You can touch my scars, my Darling,” his eyes meet yours while you sink back down, his , “I trust you.”

You smile brightly at him and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will.”

Astarion pulls you back to him for another kiss and your hips pick their rhythm back up in response. He could be lost with you forever like this.

He never thought sex would be a pleasurable experience for him, but love seems to change a lot of things.

You have changed his entire life.

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