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theobsessivesideblog · 1 year ago

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Hook Where it Hurts

Astarion finds himself Experiencing Emotions™ after a battle takes a turn for the worse.

Warnings: violence/injury, death, angst BUT happy ending I promise

—————————————————————

Your time in the Underdark had been relatively uneventful, all things considered. Sure there were Minotaurs, the occasional bulette, and exploding mushrooms, but there was something strangely beautiful about the alien landscape. The myconids were a friendly, if odd and slightly bloodthirsty bunch. Your conversation with Omeluum had proved enlightening, and trade with Blurg and Derryth had garnered you some useful items. Overall you couldn’t bring yourself to regret following Halsin’s advice to take the subterranean path to the Shadow-Cursed lands.

You set up camp at the Myconid colony, heading out at first light (or at least what you assumed was first light without the actual sun to confirm) to begin your trek towards the lake Sovereign Spaw had pointed you toward. An hour into your walk a glow appeared in the distance, lighting up the gloom of the cavernous landscape.

“I say, that can’t be… I do believe that may be a Sussur tree!” Gale exclaimed from behind you. “Powerful things, and rare, uniquely capable of completely nullifying magical forces, just fascinating!” he continued, eyes alight at the prospect of examining one up close.

“Sussur… that sounds familiar,” Karlach pondered.

“Ah! Right you are my fiery friend, there were instructions in the village about making a weapon with the bark! That would likely prove to be a powerful tool, we should certainly take a look.”

You gazed towards the tree, comparing its location with the heading you had gotten from Spaw. In all likelihood you would end up passing nearby, may as well go on purpose.

“Seems like it won’t be too much of a detour,” you announced, glancing around the group. “All in favor?”

“I’d never say no to a new kick-ass weapon,” Karlach grinned.

“That’s two for, Astarion?” you asked, looking over towards the rogue.

“I doubt our resident magician will shut up about it until we pay a visit, so fine. Let’s go traipsing through the monster-infested dark to look at the magic tree,” Astarion said with a dramatic eye roll.

“Anti-magic, technically, you see the—“ Gale’s chatter came to an abrupt halt as Astarion shot him a withering glance. “Right, yes, um. Shall we?”

———————

You had to admit, the Sussur tree was breathtaking. Far larger than you had initially realized, clearly ancient and powerful. You glanced over to see your companions’ reactions, breath catching as your eyes met Astarion’s. His pale skin was nearly pearlescent in the ethereal glow, the blue light making his red eyes darker than usual. He stared back, lips pulling into a smirk, and a shiver of desire ran down your spine as he began prowling towards you. You’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for days, taking turns taunting and tempting each other and you were curious to see who would break first.

A movement behind Astarion’s shoulder broke you out of your reverie, eyes catching on a monstrous creature slowly beginning to descend toward your troupe from the raised roots of the tree. Your face paled and you saw Astarion’s brow furrow in your periphery as he registered that he had lost your attention, turning to see what had distracted you. He stiffened as he caught sight of the beast, silently reaching to retrieve an arrow while you hissed quietly towards Gale and Karlach in an attempt to get their attention. Karlach looked your way and you subtly gestured towards the creature as it crept closer to the group, trying to hold back the urge to laugh as she reached out and smacked Gale’s arm, interrupting his lecture on the properties of the blossoms.

A few more wordless glances between the four of you had everyone subtly moving into position, preparing for what was sure to be a short battle. You glanced across the clearing, locking eyes with each of your companions before giving a tight nod as all of you attacked at once. The creature let out a shriek as it was barraged by both metal and magic, falling from its root bridge and hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.

As the adrenaline faded from your system and you walked forward to observe the corpse you were nearly disappointed by how easily the beast had fallen. Not that you ever wanted to get your ass kicked but you had certainly expected that a monster with as many teeth and claws as this one would’ve put up a bit more of a fight. Karlach had turned away with a dissatisfied pout on her lips as she sheathed her weapon and Astarion had already started to wander off to investigate the rest of the cave as you gently nudged the cooling body on the ground with the tip of your boot. It was grotesque up close, a bird-like skeletal face filled with vicious teeth and enormous, razor-sharp hooks protruding from the end of each arm in place of hands. Beside you Gale was surveying the corpse with a strangely joyous expression.

“What a fascinating beast! We got quite lucky, they’re exceptional hunters, certainly wouldn’t want to run into one of these unprepared! They’re called Hook Horrors!” he announced gleefully to no one in particular.

“Did someone say something about whores?” Astarion called from across the cavern. Karlach snorted loudly as she and Gale began making their way over towards him and you rolled your eyes as your lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, Star, Gale has deeply insulted me,” you called back sarcastically. “You may need to come defend my honor! In fact, I–”

You cut off abruptly as a shriek pierced through the air, echoing off the hard rock. You all whipped toward the sound, weapons coming back to the ready as another hook horror climbed out from behind a patch of roots close to your three companions. As you watched it emerge you distractedly thought that it would be nice to go back to fighting above ground again. The way sound bounced around the rocks always made it sound like there was something behind you, and some paranoid instinct had you sending a cursory glance back over your shoulder to calm your nerves.

You froze in place, realizing your fears had been well founded as another hook horror silently emerged from around the corner of the cavern wall and leapt towards you. You barked out a startled curse and jumped back as it took a swing at you. The first horror may have fallen easily enough against the four of you, but your companions were locked in battle on the other side of the cavern and you were well aware that a one-on-one fight was one you wouldn’t win.

You kept your eyes locked on the creature as you began backing your way across the cave, hoping you could get within range of your party before it lost patience and struck. Based on the sounds the other monster was emitting it wouldn’t be a threat for much longer. You tightened your hold on your weapon, preparing to strike as you crept back another step, heart skipping as the rock you had stepped on shifted underneath your boot. You glanced down for a split second, trying to find your footing, a sense of dread filling you as you saw the hook horror jump into motion in your peripheral vision.

The hook drove into your side and you screamed. Pain the likes of which you’d never felt before tore through you as the hook horror yanked its arm across your abdomen, tearing through your stomach. You thought you heard someone shout, but they sounded a million miles away as you collapsed to your knees before the beast, your sight dimming around the edges. You vaguely registered a flash of blades and a wet thump as the hook horror’s head hit the ground before your vision was taken over by Astarion’s panicked visage. His hands gripped your face, feeling unnaturally warm against your cheeks as the world faded away.

“No no no, you can’t die, get UP damn you!” he shouted, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged cut across your midsection even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him it was too late. His shaking hands were covered in your blood but he had never found it less appealing, appetite long gone as he stared at your unnaturally pale face. “Please, my sweet, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded, vision clouding as his eyes filled with tears. He saw a red blur on his left as Karlach kneeled down beside him and he instinctively curled around you protectively, arms gently slipping around your back as he clutched your unmoving form against his chest.

“Astarion, we need–”

“Give me a healing potion. Now.” he ordered, voice dangerously low.

“It’s too late, Astarion. We need to get her body back–”

“Don’t say it like that,” he growled shakily. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself but choking on the scent of your blood in the air. “A resurrection scroll then,” he demanded, glaring in Gale’s direction.

“I… it won’t work. The tree–”

Astarion snarled out a curse and pressed his forehead against your frigid cheek, desperately trying to contain the sob attempting to claw its way out of him.

“We need to get her to camp, Astarion,” Karlach repeated gently, a small line of steam rising from where a tear had just rolled down her cheek. “We need Shadowheart. I can carry–”

“No,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand before adjusting one of his arms beneath your knees and standing with you cradled against him. “I’ve got her.”

———————

They were farther from camp than Astarion had realized, though perhaps it only felt that way because he had spent the entire walk staring at your lifeless face. He felt numb by the time they arrived, hardly hearing Karlach shout for Shadowheart as they passed the first of the tents. In the back of his mind he was aware that their other companions had gathered around them frantically asking questions, but the words didn’t register and he continued forward without acknowledging any of them. He walked to his tent in a trance, gingerly setting you down on his bedroll and kneeling at your side as his shaking hands tried to arrange your limp body into a more comfortable configuration.

“What in the hells happened?” Shadowheart snapped as Karlach pulled her roughly into the tent. He should answer, should try to explain, but he was frozen kneeling by your side, unable to pull his attention away from your unblinking eyes.

“She- she was-” Karlach bit back a sob, trying to catch her breath. “We got caught off guard. She was alone. She shouldn’t have been alone,” Karlach choked out, dissolving into tears. Shadowheart hurried to your side and knelt across from Astarion, immediately beginning to unfasten the straps on your armor and peeling the bloodied metal away from your skin.

“We need to get her cleaned up so I can see what I'm doing. Astarion, can you fetch me some water and clean washcloths?” she asked, continuing to remove your ruined clothing. When he remained unmoving she looked up to where he sat, his gaze unwaveringly focused on the brutal cut across your torso.

“Astarion,” she repeated softly, waiting as he slowly drug his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to fix this, but I need your help.” She paused, waiting until Astarion gave a small nod of acknowledgement to rattle off the things she needed, her attention returning to your still form as Astarion rose and darted around his tent gathering what she had requested. He returned a heartbeat later, depositing the items at her side as she instructed him to wet a cloth and begin wiping away as much blood as he could.

She began chanting a prayer as he worked, hovering her hands over your sternum while he continued to gently clean your skin. Your blood had been a gift once, a delight. Now he shuddered as he attempted to ring out the bloodied rag in his hand, barely fighting the urge to retch as it dripped from his hands into the reddened bowl of water at his side.

A light sparked in Shadowheart’s hands, warm and radiant, and Astarion stopped his work, dropping the stained cloth and gently reaching out with trembling fingers to take hold of your hand. The light in her palms grew as she focused, directing its power towards you. A glowing beam split from the whole and snaked downwards, weaving through the jagged edges of your wound and drawing them together while the remainder of the light floated upward, hovering over your heart. She continued chanting, her eyes drifting closed in concentration as the glowing orb started to lower, dimming as it sunk through your skin and into your chest. The room grew silent as Shadowheart completed the incantation and lowered her hands, looking you over carefully.

“Did it… did it work?” Karlach whispered. “Is it supposed to take this long? Why isn’t she–”

Your chest rose as you gasped in air, the breath immediately turning to a cough at the uncomfortable stretch in your lungs. The air tasted of iron and magic and you frowned, trying to open your eyes to observe your surroundings but surprised to find your eyelids heavy and uncooperative. Cool fingers brushed against your face, smoothing away the furrow in your brow and you instinctively relaxed at the familiar touch.

“All is well, darling,” you heard Astarion whisper, voice sounding oddly constricted. “Rest now.”

You were still confused, still couldn't remember how you’d gotten here or what had happened. It felt as if something important had occurred, surely you shouldn’t sleep now. You heard the soft murmur of voices around you, a strained chuckle, a soft sniffle. You frowned again, struggling once more to open your eyes and earning an exasperated sigh from the vampire beside you.

“Please, pet,” he breathed, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Just sleep.”

Your sense of unease fell away as Astarion began gently running his fingers through your hair. You felt him press another soft kiss against your forehead and relaxed into him, allowing yourself to drift off in his arms.

———————

The second Shadowheart had given the all clear Astarion had insisted everyone leave his tent. It was far too crowded and he wouldn’t have them waking you up when you were clearly in no condition to face their fussing. Even as he anchored himself in the sound of your steady heartbeat he still felt restless and off-balance, hands flitting over your sleeping form looking for something more to do.

He felt ridiculous. You were here in front of him, healed and whole, and that should be the end of it. So why in the hells were his hands still trembling as he ensured your blankets were tucked around you? Why did his chest ache uncomfortably every time he caught a leftover whiff of your blood in the air?

He huffed out a frustrated breath and sat on the ground beside you, staring at your sleeping face warily. This had never been part of his plan. He was never supposed to… care. Two centuries of distancing himself and building walls and somehow you had just waltzed right past his defenses and made yourself at home. He let out a defeated sigh and reached over, extracting your hand from the blankets to weave your fingers together with his. His gaze drifted to the steady rise and fall of your breathing and he found himself matching your pace, the tightly wound coil in his chest finally starting to loosen as you let out a soft snore.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he could deal with figuring out why that sound made him smile. Tomorrow he could obsess over how even just holding your hand made his whole body feel warmer. Tomorrow he could deal with the fact that in over 200 years of life he’d never before been as completely and utterly terrified as he had been today. For now, though, he would indulge. For tonight he would just let himself have this, whatever ‘this’ was. He closed his eyes and lifted your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips across your knuckles as he settled in to watch over you until morning.

———————

The passage of time in the Underdark still confused you. You woke to the same darkness you had fallen asleep in, groggily wondering what time it was and how long you had been in bed. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding. Had you been drinking? That would certainly explain why you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. As unappealing as getting up sounded, you were parched and you couldn’t stay here forever. You hoisted yourself up and froze as pain suddenly lanced through you, your vision flickering and arms giving out as you whimpered and fell back toward your pillow only to be caught by a pair of cold, pale arms.

“I wouldn’t recommend moving just yet, darling,” Astarion said, looking down at you with a worried frown on his face as he lowered you gently back to the bedroll. “Shadowheart did as much as she could last night but it took a lot out of her to bring you back. You’re not going anywhere until she’s gotten a chance to check on you again.” He leaned across you, determinedly avoiding meeting your eyes as he made sure your pillow was adequately fluffed. You saw a slight tremor run through him and heard a catch in his breath before he stood abruptly and walked across the tent, silently pouring you a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner.

“Bring me… back?” you questioned. Astarion stilled, jaw clenching as you took him in. His normally flawlessly tousled hair was tangled as if he had been running his hands through it and streaks of blood threaded through the white locks. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than normal, nearly translucent in the dim light. Your eyes flitted down to his wrinkled, untucked shirt and then around the tent, catching on the blood-soaked pile of clothes and armor to the side of the entrance and the red-stained towels laying by a bowl of water next to the bedroll. A dim memory flashed through your mind: a tree, an ambush, excruciating pain, and then… nothing.

“Oh.” you whispered, exhaling shakily as you felt your chest constrict, breaths turning quick and shallow as the air seemed to thin. Astarion was by your side in an instant, one hand smoothing back your hair while the other cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“It’s alright, darling, just breathe. You’re safe now.” he murmured, continuing to stroke your hair as your breathing calmed. He let out a tremulous sigh and closed his eyes, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “It’s alright,” he repeated even more quietly, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself, pressing against you for a moment before inhaling sharply and pulling away.

“Shit, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” he said, looking you over with worried eyes and immediately moving to stand. “I’ll get Shadowheart, she said she’d come by when she woke but surely she’s had enough sleep by now and–”

“Wait, Star, I… can you just stay here with me for a moment?” you asked in a small voice. Warmth spread through him at your request and he obliged immediately, lowering himself to sit at your side and gently taking your hand in his. You sat in companionable silence for a moment, studying his profile as he stared at your interlaced fingers. Up close the bags beneath his eyes were even more pronounced and you frowned, gently extricating your hand from his to touch his cheek. He leaned into your palm and placed a kiss against the inside of your wrist, eyes drifting closed as he basked in the warmth of your touch.

“Have you rested at all, Astarion?” you questioned. “You look exhausted.”

He huffed a laugh and cracked open an eye to look at your face.

“I’m not sure you want to get into comparing looks right now, darling. You’re even paler than me at the moment,” he chuckled, eyes closing once again as he leaned further into your touch, a teasing grin spread across his face. “I assure you, however you may think I look, you look ten times worse.”

“Hm, that’s not too bad I suppose,” you smirked. “Ten times worse than you is still at least three times better than the average person.”

Astartion barked out a surprised laugh and opened his eyes to look at you again, something in them softening as he saw your gentle smile.

“Whoever would’ve thought math could be so romantic,” he murmured, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against your lips. He raised a hand to brush a stray hair off your forehead and his smile faded, brow furrowing as his gaze met yours with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please don’t scare me like that again, my dear,” he breathed. “I’m- I don’t-” he sighed in frustration at the mess of emotions in his chest, hardly able to remember the last time his words had failed him so completely.

“Don’t want to deal with this group of weirdos all by yourself?” you teased gently. He grinned back at you, gratitude in his eyes for not pushing him to collect his thoughts just yet.

“Precisely that,” he chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you said, smiling softly at him. “Also I wasn’t kidding before, you look like shit. You really should get some rest.”

“Hm,” Astarion hummed mischievously, narrowing his eyes. “I would, but you see someone went and bled all over my bedroll. Adept though I may be at washing out blood stains it’s a rather thick fabric, it will take a while to dry back out. I may need to stay with… someone… for a day or two. Or three. Maybe more,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you huffed out a laugh.

“You’re incorrigible,” you replied, grinning up at him and rolling your eyes. “I suppose it does seem that I’ve made rather a mess of your tent though…”

“You certainly have,” he murmured, shifting to hover over you, slowly kissing his way along your jaw.

“And it would only be fair to let you bunk with the cleanest person in camp…”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed, kissing closer and closer to your lips.

“And I’m sure Gale wouldn’t mind letting you crash with him–”

“Excuse me??” he crowed, pulling back indignantly as you burst out laughing below him. He scowled playfully and shook his head at you in feigned displeasure. “You wicked little thing,” he chuckled, leaning back down and finally pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever it is,” you smirked, pulling him back to you for another kiss, “I'm sure I'll like it.”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 #bg3 astarion

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doumadono · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, princess!

Since Sinful Sunday is here and its been a while from my last time spawing in your inbox... YOUR WOLF IS HERE 🐺💎🩵

As we all know: dragons are often showed with two 🍆 so...

I can't stop but think about our beloved Iudex of Fontaine, just giving his lovely assistant a good duble stuffing into her tiny cunt. With him whispering soft and dirty stuff into her ear while his hand just caressing the bulge he caused in her belly

:3 HAPPY SINFUL SUNDAYS EVERYONE

SINFUL SUNDAY

A/N: well, well, my babygirl! Why is it that your requests always turn out to be the real brain-busters, huh!? But hey, tackling Neuvilette in dragon form was a blast 😏 I'm hoping I did well, so go easy on me, will ya?

Neuvilette loathed this monthly occurrence. While not a regular happening, his heats sporadically struck after each interlunar interval. This left him in an intense state of longing, coupled with a rather sour mood, given the frustration of unmet desires. Throughout this period, he confined himself to his chambers, enduring the discomfort until the fervor and accompanying torment subsided.

During his heats, Neuvilette found solace in transforming into a dragon. It made resisting the temptation to copulate with every woman in his path a whole lot easier for him.

For extended hours, he'd find solace in grinding his hips against his pillows and sheets, attempting to alleviate the persistent discomfort of his arousal that created a painful knot within his groin. The effectiveness varied — sometimes it brought relief, and other times, it offered no respite whatsoever.

With a wide yawn revealing numerous long teeth, a colossal head adorned in pale blue frills lifted itself. The snake-like body, embellished in iridescent scales, boasted a chest adorned with a mane of transparent fur. Enormous, clawed fists rhythmically clenched and relaxed as the dragon effortlessly rose to his feet, a massive tail gracefully swinging in its wake. The creature's dark blue eyes blinked open, while his nostrils expanded to welcome a fresh scent of human into his awareness.

His thin lips curled as the hydro dragon shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the expansive chamber where he rested, emitting a loud sniff. The scent conveyed the presence of a woman – fairly young and with other unspoken needs. His eyes narrowed into glowing slits as he navigated the corner of his bedroom, spotting the silhouette by his desk diligently assembling documents. Another quick sniff and a subtle grin played on his lips - he recognized the familiar scent. It was Y/N, one of his most reliable assistants, apparently delivering another set of documents for his signature.

Brave or foolish, maybe a bit of both, stepping into this place during this time of the month, the dragon mused to himself with a deep rumble in his voice.

The dragon glided closer with cautious steps, his sinuous body gracefully twisting around you.

Unaware of his approach, you continued to hum a gentle melody under your breath. A sudden awareness dawned as you perceived a looming shadow. Startled, you raised your head and attempted to wriggle away. "Monsieur Neuvilette!" you exclaimed, hand over your chest. "Good gracious, you startled me! I had no idea you were in your chamber, monsieur."

"Please, be calm," the dragon murmured in a soothing tone, "I have no wish to harm you, dearest Y/N."

"I… didn't know I would wake you up, I didn't want to disturb your peace," you stammered after an uneasy pause, your eyes unwavering. The marvel at the sight of Neuvilette was twofold – a mix of awe and a hint of fear regarding his possible reaction to your intrusion. Indeed, Neuvilette was a magnificent creature! The glisten of his smooth blueish-white scales, the cascade of a silky white mane adorning his head, and the kindness reflected in his dark marine blue eyes were as breathtaking as the legends and paintings had portrayed.

"Solitude suits me, indeed," the dragon replied, his nostrils subtly flaring. "Especially during my heats. But I assume you've brought me some crucial documents, haven't you, my dearest?"

His thick tail coiled gently around your legs, offering a comforting warmth that eased your tension. "Y-Yes, monsieur. They need to be signed by tomorrow… Can I somehow repay for bothering you and waking you up, monsieur?" you asked, your words slipping out before careful consideration.

In those immense eyes, you observed a dance of emotions. The dragon appeared to ponder, deeply inhaling the air as his head lifted, pointing towards the ceiling. "I suppose… there is a way you could serve me, my dearest Y/N. But fear not, it demands no great effort on your part — only a willingnes."

"What do you mean, monsieur Neuvilette?" you inquired, tilting your head slightly. The tail encircling your legs tightened, a hint of your tension causing the massive creature to pause.

Neuvilette brought his face inches from yours, his voice carrying a gentle plea. "What I seek from you is your willingness to share this night with me, my dearest. Will you, just for tonight, play the role of my mate?"

In an instant, all color drained from your face. Your mouth opened, yet no words found their way out, and the dragon drew you closer to his shredded, scaled chest in response.

"You need not fear any harm," the dragon reassured, once again delicately sniffing you as during the initial examination. "I shall be gentle. My kind has mated with humans in the past. I assure you," a claw gently lifted your chin while another stroked your throat, "this night will leave you with naught but a delightful memory."

With a deep sigh, you closed your eyes, and as you reopened them, your pants were neatly folded on the floor. Your white shirt and underclothes soon joined them as you undressed, your heart pounding within your chest.

The dragon's lips curled into a fanged smile, and a long tongue emerged, briefly caressing your cheek. It was warm and slick, yet not unpleasant. "Wonderful," the dragon bemurmured, observing your nervous smile. Once more, the tongue glided over your cheek, this time lingering for a longer moment. "It's been ages since I've had the fortune of a human woman in my bed, especially one as lovely as yourself, dearest Y/N."

"Thank you," you whispered, a blush gracing your features as you briefly shielded your bare breasts with folded arms.

He nudged your side with his snout, a signal for you to venture deeper into the chamber, a cue you promptly followed.

He gestured for you to recline on a king-sized bed, dressed in deep cobalt sheets and adorned with pristine white pillows. Without hesitation, you complied, gently pressing your thighs together and allowing your hands to gracefully depart from your chest.

Soon, Neuvilette's nose and mouth roamed across your form, exploring with snuffs, licks, and playful nips in various places.

Already tantalized by the affectionate gestures, your arousal heightened as the dragon shifted to all fours, hovering over your naked form. You observed something stout emerging from behind his muscular hind legs, a few drops of thick fluid trailing from it as he leaned forward. The dragon now stood over his claim, a half-open mouth revealing a tongue, and marine blue eyes narrowing in a moment of intensity.

"Ah, the agony of not enjoying this every night," the dragon rumbled, your fingers tracing his shaft. It matched the length of your forearm and doubled in girth, pulsating with an enticing energy beneath the soft moonlight streaming through the chamber's ceiling window. Imagining it nestled between your thighs, your core tightened and grew moist in response.

But then, a peculiar sensation gripped you. Casting him a questioning glance, the dragon responded with a knowing smile.

"Indeed, my dearest Y/N, the legends harbored a kernel of truth. Dragons do possess two cocks."

Swiftly, you rested on one elbow, your gaze naturally drawn between his muscular hind legs. A deep blush painted your cheeks as you discovered yet another erect member, pulsating with equal fervor as the first.

Neuvilette's warm tongue traced delicately along the valley between your breasts. "Do you like what you see, my dearest?"

"Yes, monsieur, I just never thought…" you murmured, your lips barely moving.

Swiftly adopting a stance akin to the dragon looming overhead, you took a calming breath and shut your eyes after getting on all fours on the bed.

The outsized dragon pressed his yet-turgid shafts against the expanse of your soft thighs, emitting a low moan as his jaws hovered threateningly over your bare shoulder, teeth grazing without leaving a trace. In a prolonged hiss, the dragon murmured, "How shall I claim you, my dearest? With gentle tenderness or the full extent of my might? Whichever way you wish it, so shall it be."

"I'll take whatever you've got, monsieur Neuvilette," you replied, casting a bold glance over your shoulder at the pulsating dicks.

Their tips were now slick with a dense, creamy fluid, and a shiver ran through you as they glided between your thighs, offering a preview of the impending encounter.

A couple more deep, resonant breaths, a hefty grunt, and the first dragon's shaft eased halfway in your waiting, already drenched slit.

Your eyes instinctively closed, a gasp escaping you, not from pain, but from the unexpected heat emanating from his dick. It felt as though all the dragon's potent warmth converged right there, in his throbbing, large shaft. Every slight motion was accompanied by loud, wet sounds, the dragon adjusting his position with his nose hovering close to the pillow on your right. He harnessed his strength in his hind legs, delivering a forceful thrust that had you crying out for more.

"O-Oh! Goodness gracious! How's that even possible? That you fit in?!!"

Neuvilette chuckled softly, his voice taking on a guttural quality as he quickened his thrusting pace. "You see, my dearest Y/N, I've mentioned before that my kind has mated with humans. How did you think that was possible if you, females, wouldn't be able to accommodate our shafts?"

Each successive thrust grew more potent, propelling additional lengths of the deep blue, rigid flesh into your dripping pussy from behind. The viscous fluid flowed generously out of your abused core, trailing down your parted legs while the shaft pulsated relentlessly, gaining intensity with each beat, akin to a powerful heartbeat.

In an instant, a loud squeak escaped your lips as you sensed a more insistent pressure against your occupied entrance. Glancing over your shoulder, your expression paled at the sight of Neuvilette attempting to maneuver his other dick in. "Neuvilette! You're going to tear me apart!" you gasped, your eyes welling up with the nearly overwhelming pleasure he was already bestowing upon you as his thick cock rubbed along all of your sweet spots.

"Ease up, my dearest Y/N," Neuvilette murmured, smoothly almost fully withdrawing his first shaft before seamlessly layering the second one atop the first and slowly pushing back into you.

Your hands surrendered as he executed the forceful thrust, and the initial stretch proved excruciating. It felt like a searing burn in those first moments, leaving you growling and panting uncontrollably, tears straining your flushed cheeks pressed hardly into the mattress.

"There, there, relax, and you'll manage," Neuvilette coaxed in the gentlest tone he could summon. "Stop tightening up, try to ease your pelvis. Yes, just like that," he praised as you eventually succeeded in relaxing your muscles enough for him to bottom out.

The dragon's tail lifted off the bed, and Neuvilette let out a growl followed by a resounding roar. Heat surged within him as his powerful thrusts, almost forceful enough to break the small human form nestled between his colossal legs, intensified.

Gasping for breath, you'd already experienced a shattering climax and teetered on the brink of another. Your entire body dripped with sweat, and drool hung from your parted lips. The pleasure unleashed by this formidable dragon surpassed anything you could have audaciously imagined. "Neuvilette!" your voice rasped as you cum for another time; your inner walls spasmed uncontrollably around his throbbing, painfully hard shafts.

With one last, hard push, Neuvilette pressed you firmly onto the mattress, grasping the meat of your stuck out ass. A gush of heated, sticky cum erupted from his throbbing dicks, followed by a second, and ultimately a gentler third wave, marking the hydro dragon's descent into exhaustion after intense sex, his breaths now feeble and hurried.

Beneath him, you lay in a state of bliss, your entire body shaking and tingling. Your sticky pussy radiated warmth, and the powerful twinges and aftershocks of an already remarkable climaxes created an unforgettable sensation, unlike anything you had ever experienced in your entire life.

"Thank you, my dearest Y/N," Neuvilette whispered, and you nodded. "Thank you for helping me shake off the tension that's been hanging around for days," he admitted, lying on the bed next to you. He casually draped his long tail over your legs while you reclined beside him on your back.

Then, impulsively playful, you rolled to your side and planted a quick kiss on his bluish snout.

The dragon chuckled, his resonant voice emanating from his robust chest. "Aren't you the cutest assistant, my dearest Y/N?" he mused, yawning widely, revealing rows of perfectly sharp fangs.

You lay there for a moment, catching your breath. "Neuvilette…"

The dragon's dark eyes found yours, and he nodded, granting you permission to speak.

"Would you… I mean, forgive me for the strange question, but maybe next time your heat occurs, perhaps you would need some help too?" you asked shyly, your cheeks turning beet red.

His marine-blue irises shimmered with tenderness as he hummed, contemplating your words. "Little Y/N," he smiled, drawing closer and resting his snout on your naked belly, his gaze meeting your flushed face. "I'll be honored to accept aid from the only one I trust the most." He sniffed and grinned, casting a sly glance toward your glistening mound on his left. "I adore your scent," he confessed, casually bestowing a few gentle licks upon your folds glistening with mixed releases with his warm, extended tongue. "And you taste absolutely delicious, my dearest. Oh, my, my, I'll struggle to wait for the next heat to savor your essence once more, to assert my claim on you. Perhaps then, I'll allow you a glimpse of my human form, in all its vulnerable splendor."

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥#sinful sunday #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette #neuvilette smut #neuvilette x you #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #dragon neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvilette x y/n #anime smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact neuvilette #divider by cafekitsune #genshin x you

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geminialchemist · 3 months ago

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Ducktales AU with an “”””evil”””” Webby.

April is a young operative for F.O.W.L., having been trained since birth to help take down Scrooge McDuck. Unfortunately, Bradford has ordered her early retirement, and has given Black Heron orders to dispose of her, claiming she was “too adventurous” to be controlled. Which, seeing as she found this out while eavesdropping through a vent, he may have had a point.

To prove herself to F.O.W.L. April has escaped and gone undercover as Webigail “Webby” McDuck, the long lost daughter of Scrooge! Crafting the ever so dramatic and heart tugging story of an orphan girl, who’s precious mother loved Scrooge dearly, and left her one and only daughter a locket with his picture, she arrives at his doorstep to beg for him to take her in.

Scrooge, listening to her story over a cup of tea(with only the finest of used teabags), accepts her into the household, rolling his eyes at the story’s dramatics. Mrs. Beakley thinks it unwise to have a stranger running around the house, especially with Donald and the boys recently having moved in, but as he’s quick to tell her this girl is either one of three things: a poor girl, down on her luck who could use the chance to learn a hard days work to get back on her feet(unlikely), a spy for one of his many enemies, in which case it’s best to keep her close(most likely), or, she was telling the truth(based upon that story, incredibly doubtful). They’ve got a tea cup with her DNA all over it, he’ll just run it over to Gearloose so they can be certain.

Meanwhile, Lena finds herself an ally in Webby when she discovers the want the same thing; to take down the McDuck family. But as Lena learns more about how F.O.W.L. treated Webby, she finds the similarities to how she’s treated by Magica, only Webby wants to go back to the people who see her as a disposable servant even though she seems to actually really like living with her new family. This leaves Lena with a choice, follow the plan and get rid of Scrooge, helping Webby get what she wants but not what she needs, or revealing what she knows to Scrooge, likely dooming herself, but saving Webby, the only real friend she’s ever had.

——————

Scrooge stepped into the lab, flanked by Mrs. Beakley, waving his cane at his lead scientist in open irritation. “It’s about time we got those results back, Gyro. It’s only been weeks. I thought I told you this was the highest priority!”

“There were some… complications with the DNA analysis. And I wanted to be thorough.” Gearloose gave an annoyed sigh, pressing a button on a remote that turned on a large screen with Webby’s results, split into two categories, one for either parent. “Well, I have good news, or bad news, or just… news. You are the father.”

With another press of a button, Scrooge’s name appeared under “father,” along with the key identifiers in both his and webby’s DNA that marked him as such.

“I see…” Scrooge’s grip tightened in his cane, eyes downcast. He… hadn’t expected that. The poor girl. She’d been telling the truth, and he hadn’t really believed her. Missed out on most of her childhood. Couldn’t even put a face to who- “And the mother?”

With that, Gearloose frowned, “that’s where I was trying to be thorough.” Another press on his remote, and the name Bentina Beakley appeared under the “Mother” side of the column.

“Wh- why, I never!” Beakley gasped, then began to roll up one of her sleeves, hands already clenched into fists and ready to show the good doctor exactly what she thought of this. “Just what are you implying?!”

“I’m not done.” Gearloose cut in, and under Beakley’s name another appeared: Black Heron. Then another, Goldie O’Gilt, than another, Millionara Vanderbucks, and another, and-

“It would appear that your little spaw-child, your child, is a walking Petri dish of primarily your DNA spliced with a mixture of every femme fatale from here to Saint Canard.”

“She’s a clone…” Scrooge uttered in disbelief, staring at the screen with wide eyes and a slacked jaw.

“I was going to say she was a homunculus of mad science, but put simply, yes.” Gearloose replied, leaving Scrooge to stare at the screen and take in the results.

“And where does that put us, Scrooge?” Beakley asked, sounding as unsure as Scrooge had ever heard her.

“I- I can honestly say I’ve no clue...”

#I have had this idea in my head for about 3 years now #just wanted to put it out into the universe #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #webby vanderquack #scrooge mcduck #uncle scrooge #donald duck #Disney #louie duck #huey duck #dewey duck #huey dewey and louie #mrs. beakley #gyro gearloose #villain au #au idea

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multiheadcanons · 6 months ago

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TF2 MERCS IN THE ANIMAL CARE INDUSTRY BECAUSE WORK HAS BEEN MAKING ME SAD

scout: scout is new to the industry. a year at most. the fastest bather you could find in town. doesn’t want to start his own business, so works for a mom and pop shop. personality hire, but he’s getting better and better every day. has no interest in learning how to groom, though. he doesn’t have the right eye to make an animal look good.

soldier: soldier is more likely to be an owner of a very blank salon that he rents out booths for individual groomers. only takes enough from the money pool to maintain the building. doesn’t really care what goes on otherwise. his tenants LOVE him, because any issue is solved within 48 hours and they can do whatever they want as long as they take care of the place. handles sharpening because he knows the sharpener.

pyro: runs a luxury doggy daycare; and is VERY serious about the job. is up almost 24 hours a day during holiday seasons taking care of up to 30 dogs a day. has a handful of full time, live in employees, but they get so nervous when they’re not there they just stay at the daycare all day, watching. loves their employees. pays like, double the average wage as a start, because pyro expects nonstop work. consistent raises and bonuses, AND pizza parties.

engineer: a man of many hats. is actually a farrier. but if you got a sheep that needs shearing or something that needs to be tinkered with or a blade that needs sharpening or a dog that just needs a bath and nail trim he’s also your man. is the ONLY LICENSED AND CERTIFIED SHARPENER IN THREE FUCKING STATES. busy, busy man. soldier sends wealthy business and hearty workers his way in exchange for a monthly sharpening for his little shop. they’re friends, and soldier has always been a man of his word, so of course he agreed.

heavy: specializes in extra large dogs. 70 pound minimum to book with him. he runs a one on one fear free grooming experience called “Giant Spaw For Giant Dogs”. his website to book an appointment is full of pictures of him holding these massive dogs like they’re puppies. he’s smiling so wide in each picture. heavy loves dogs. has numerous certifications. is dog cpr certified. regularly attends dog shows. his salon is BEAUTIFUL. sleek, modern, lavender and navy theme. you enter and the reception area smells… so good. charges an arm and a leg though. but he sends you like… pictures of your dog on photoshopped backgrounds. it’s so worth it, his clientele is DEVOTED to him. one time he got sick and had to cancel his appointments and one of his clients broke down on him, praying for his health over the phone.

demo: demo is the best worker in the state, and he cycles through salons and clinics often based on where he’s needed. every business wants him so bad when they don’t have him. is getting paid VERY well to do what he does best. enjoys the process of bathing a dog without the stress of the haircut. fast, efficient, able to juggle multiple groomers as ONE bather. he’s a vital asset to any team he’s with, and he doesn’t even need the money. also likes working kennel. will help pyro during the holiday season for a break.

spy: i have two ideas. spy either has like, celebrity clientele, or spy exclusively grooms cats. requires his clients on a monthly schedule either way. his salon is also one on one quiet luxury pet care. brown and cream colored salon. never remembers to take pictures of his work. to book with him requires prepayment. website is sleek, and his portfolio is sorted by breed. doesn’t ask what anyone wants done on their pet, just does what he thinks is best. they always come out stellar. even his worst grooms are westminster worthy. has a wall of pet colognes and finishing sprays.

sniper: sniper is a mobile groomer and his business is called “Come Wash My Dog”. fast, efficient. doesn’t do anything fancy on any dog, and charges accordingly. does keep bows and bandanas to put on his favorite clients. likes terriers. occasionally gets caught up talking to his clients. it’s like his human interaction for the day. don’t come up to him making any requests, he is very frank that he is not one of them fancy groomers. he gives the dogs a trim if he can. that’s why his prices are so low.

medic: see, medic might make a really bad and unethical human doctor. but i think he’d make a phenomenal avian veterinarian. i think if medic became a veterinarian he would be a much different, much more ethically fulfilled man. known for his passion and dedication to the job. practically sleeps in his office so he is on call, at all times. probably wouldn’t have interest in tending to anything past the birds, but because he is known as one of three exotic vets in the state he’ll occasionally see reptiles and rodents. only has passing thoughts of joining an illegal pet trade, but he loves his job so much. he couldn’t forgive himself if he squandered it. keeps every feather that falls off his clients, and keeps them in organized files. when a client dies, he’ll give them the feathers and keep one for his clinic’s gallery wall. has a clinic cat because he thinks the irony’s funny. much more at peace with himself. at his worst he’s like house but with birds and without the drug addiction.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 demo #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 soldier #tf2 spy #tf2 #no bc why where i live is there only ONE SHARPENER who tends to like THREE DIFFERENT STATES #WHERE ARE ALL THE SHARPENERS #WHERE DO I TAKE THE CLASSES TO BECOME ONE #thanks for appreciating my hcs if you got this far!

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joanthebridge · 3 months ago

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The Magistrate - The Spaw - The Pale elf

A bit old work (as you can tell by the render style) but still one of my favourites (and most popular XD)

1. I’m totally obsessed with what Astarion was like when he was alive. My headcanon is that he was actually a pretty decent guy. A bit spoiled and frivolous, yes, but at the same time he was intelligent, well educated and had ambitious plans for the future. So it was all the more tragic when...

2. …Cazador turned him into a vampire spawn 😬 I wanted to capture the colour contrast and emphasise his undeadness. Yes, we all know he’s charming and handsome, but damn, he’s a walking corpse! XD But when I drew him like that, I was like: „ok, maybe this is a LITTLE too much” 🥲 In the end I decided to keep this version for the „pain and misery” stage, just to…

3. …Give him back some colour, fashionable clothes and dignity, during his adventures with Tadpole and also after the endgame. Because this is what he fully deserves 🥹 Here you can admire him fresh from Facemaker’s Boutique 👌🏻

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion #magistrate astarion #my art #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanart #astarion headcanons

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petit-etoile · 2 years ago

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chaos construct

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 4869 content warnings: no in-depth descriptions, but mentions of astarion's life with cazador. no in-depth descriptions, but durge!tav remembers torture by kressa and is haunted by memories of orin (unnamed), other tags: canon compliant, hurt/comfort, introspection, character study, codependency, blood drinking, gender neutral tav, the dark urge as player character archiveofourown: here. kiss prompt: ❛ 28 . a kiss over a scar . — here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘It will be rotten work,’ you say softly. / ‘Not for me,’ Astarion promises. ‘I will relish in it.’

　　　　　　𝐈. ﹕previous fic　　　　𝐈𝐈. ﹕next

You lean forward and look into the mirror. You take your time analyzing each and every inch of your unfamiliar reflection. Carefully, you trace the tip of your finger along the thousands upon thousands of thin white lines forever painted into your flesh. You follow the carvings from your bruised lips down between your swollen collar bones until you can no longer follow them. You slip your night shirt over your head and drop it aside unceremoniously, bracing yourself. Your eyes burn dangerously.

There.

Unrestricted by the burden of clothing, you can see it all clearly now.

You touch the scars that Kressa Bonedaughter gave you with violent, shaking hands. In truth, you’re not surprised you’ve never noticed them before. They’re practically translucent but they are there, and you can see them now, and no matter how many times you scrub at your skin to remove them, they will never be gone. You try to rub them away but all it does is make your skin irritated and sensitive.

In the sunlight, your scars are easier to find now that you know what you’re looking for. I wanted to keep you for myself, she had said, I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and got lost in your insides. Disgust causes your stomach to churn. Your dreams come back to haunt you. The piles of bodies. A flash of red hair and dead eyes. Knowing, somehow, what to do when Sovereign Spaw demanded Nere’s head. You were the butcher of Baldur’s Gate.

You push your fingers against your mouth and sob hysterically. The truth will always be a part of you now: The Urges, the scars, the pounding headaches, the feeling of possession. It’s horrible and bloody and repugnant and worst of all, real.

There is nothing you can do to take away what you’ve done or what you will do.

It frightens you.

You whip around accusatorially. Astarion doesn’t mean to startle you but the look on his face says he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. You snuck away from camp a while ago to sit in front of this old magical mirror, and he must’ve waited as long as he could before the worry over your disappearance overcame him. He joins your side wordlessly, but he doesn’t look at you directly. He watches you through the mirror with muted fascination, torn between sorrow, between mourning . His expression is so twisted that you almost feel like reassuring him that everything is going to be okay. But you don’t know. You don’t know if you’ll be just fine. You can’t find the words.

You feel very silly all of a sudden.

You do your best to wipe your fingers across your face, smudging your tears down your cheeks and across into your hair. You wipe your hands on your pants and try to calm your shuddering breaths but it’s almost impossible. The air around you is too hot and too cold, and you can’t tell if Astarion is looking at you with pity because you disgust him or if he’s looking at you because he thinks he has to comfort you.

You never asked for this. You never desired the truth of what you were. You wanted it to disappear before anything became real. You turn away from him, trying to force your expression into something more neutral. All you can see is imaginary blood on your hands. You put your face in your hands and hiccup.

‘Don’t you dare hide,’ Astarion says. ‘Not from me.’

He’s gotten touchier since the day he confessed to you. Despite how hurt you had felt at some of the truth, you held him throughout the night until you had fallen asleep first, and when you had woken up, Astarion had still been curled in your grip without you ever having to beg him to stay. Now, he’s the one sliding his fingers across your shoulders so that he can hold you ever so gently in his arms. He presses his face into your hair. His grip is loose enough that you could run away if you wanted to, but you don’t — you never want to and you don’t think you ever will. You want to be comforted.

‘Talk to me, please,’ he says, voice strained.

‘What is there to talk about?’ you ask hollowly.

Astarion clicks his tongue against his teeth behind you and presses a tender kiss to the top knob of your spine, his breath warm against your chilled skin. You want to melt back into his touch, but the fear has caused your body to remain rigid. You wait for another headache to overtake you.

‘There is plenty to talk about,’ Astarion insists. He’s trying to not pester you, but patience isn’t a strong suit of his. ‘What are you thinking, my love? What are you feeling?’

You feel sick. ‘I’m a monster.’

‘Ironic,’ he quips.

‘You said it yourself,’ you say thickly. ‘You said that there are more stories about Bhaalspawn in Baldur’s Gate than there are vampires. Who knows what I’ve done, and I can’t even remember it all.’

His thin patience finally snaps. ‘Oh, stop it. If you want to be some terrible and frightening thing, so be it. Be a beast! But remember who you are talking to. You don’t get to sulk and mope and pout.’ He sounds resigned. ‘You don’t get to be worse without me and I don’t get to be better without you. It is our deal. Never one without the other.’

‘I almost killed you that night — ’

Astarion bites you, very gently, on the shoulder. ‘I almost did the same to you,’ he warns. ‘This isn’t a competition, you know. I don’t care about what has happened. I’m more interested in the future.’

You almost feel insulated with how blasé he is being about your recent discoveries. You dig your fingers into your own arms and try to formulate your thoughts carefully, but even you can feel how you’re trembling. Carefully, you lean back into his chest with an overwhelmed sigh and let him pamper you. You don’t have to look to know that he’s watching you in the mirror. Astarion is determined to rub warmth back into your body, and you let his calloused hands roam without complaint. Somehow, you’re relieved he still wants to touch you.

All at once, you feel very tired. You’ve tried hard to not allow yourself to feel overwhelmed ever since the crash but it has been weeks and weeks of nothing but bad news. The more you learn, the more exhausted you feel, and the despair has bundled itself like a painful fracture in your ribcage. It hurts to breathe.

Every day you wonder how much further you’ll be drug down into the undergrowth. Elder brains, Bhaalspawn, avatars of gods and their whims… Astarion presses a sore bruise against your side and catches the side of your head with his mouth, delicately kissing the curve of your ear while you flinch away from his touch. You peer at him anxiously.

‘I still remember what it felt like when I awoke,’ Astarion explains quietly. ‘My fingers ached from the digging, and I had cried myself to the point where I must have looked undesirable when I finally rose above my grave. Snot, tears, mud and gore from my change clinging to my skin. But unlike you, I could not see what I looked like. I had to wonder for years if my hair looked different or if my eyes had changed color. I knew they had, but I wanted to deny it, to deny him what he had made me. I knew I was a monster and I let that fear paralyze me for centuries.

‘I was a toy for when Cazador was bored. I was a weapon for when he needed blood. I was a creature for when he desired humiliation. Being nothing more than a spawn turned me into something almost unrecognizable. As horrible as the nautiloid was, as vile as this parasite is, I can’t help but feel as though it was somehow a blessing. I could have stayed angry. I could have betrayed you, stolen the other tadpoles and ran away into the night with nothing but power on my mind. But the nautiloid gave me something I never thought I would be allowed to have in this world. It gave me you, and I cannot lose you now. Do you understand?

‘You do not have to be a toy. You do not have to be a weapon. You do not have to be a creature. You know who you are now, and that is what matters in this world. I did not betray you then and I will not betray you now, so you must stay with me, my love. You mustn’t go somewhere I cannot follow you. You and I can beat this together so long as you believe in us .

‘I wish it were different for you, of course,’ he continues, and his tone is so anguished your heart squeezes itself into impossible shapes. ‘I wish I could sweep my hand across your belly and these scars would fade, but more than that, I want — I want you to realize you are alive , that these scars are reminders of who you were, but not of who you will be.’ Astarion digs his fingers into your flesh and you watch your skin against his, as he drags his hand across one of the more obvious scars that Kressa had left you. ‘If you wish to tear this world asunder, I am your weapon. If you wish to preserve it, I am its guardian.’

Astarion’s hand leaves your waist to grip your chin, forcing you to look at your own reflection. His thumb cradles your bottom lip and his other fingers splay against your cheek and jaw. He is protecting you from yourself better than your Guardian ever could. What he sees when he looks at you is not the wretched blood you’ve been cursed to bear, but the person you have become since forgetting. Even if your memories were to come in all at once tomorrow, Astarion would not care. If your urges became too much to ignore, he would not care.

You turn your head to force your eyes to meet his. You realize with a frightening hunger that you love him. You love him, and he loves you truly, and this was always meant to happen.

‘If you are to become Death, allow me to be your Dark Consort,’ Astarion whispers.

You swallow. ‘What if I want to be Life and create a new world in my image?’

‘I am your Arbiter of Souls,’ he vows, ‘and I will taste your ripe seed to see your fruit bloom.’

You feel the rush of heat sliding from your stomach into your cheeks before he even finishes. After all, everything you have done has led up to this. Your unyielding devotion. His unwavering faith. Admittedly, it’s an enticing thought. That you, in all your power, could rise to godhood as though it were nothing and slaughter the old pantheon as though they were nothing. Astarion would be there by your side to bask in the glory of your immortality.

You’re so very tempted…

And Astarion only serves to tempt you further. He begins to take in every single one of your scars like you had before, only with his mouth instead of his hands, tracing the pale lines with plentiful kisses and his tongue. He mouths at your flesh as though he has never tasted your skin before, but he has, and you know he has. Even after all this time, he still favors your taste more than anything else.

Are you hungry? You can tell that it’s been a while for him from the way his hands flex with care to avoid bruising you. His hand grabs your throat again, his thumb pressed uncomfortably under your jaw. He shows great restraint with how he handles you. You could offer, but the words are caught in your throat. Are you hungry? Your eyes flutter closed and you imagine what the world would be like if Astarion drank you dry and replaced your blood with his until the curse of you is gone and the curse of him begins. Are you hungry? You try to push the thoughts away.

Ravenous, you think.

There’s something different in the air tonight.

It’s almost soothing the way that Astarion feeds on your agony. It’s as though he means to eat your desperation, to pull it from your muscles until there’s nothing left to eat. He busies himself in your body, drunk on how you’re malleable for him, intoxicated by the way you give into his whims as he twists and turns your body to look at the different scarring in the light of day. He doesn’t seem to care about anything else rather than appraising your body like a priest who intends on making a relic based on your physique.

And, if you’re being painfully honest, his touch is a welcome distraction from how overwhelmed you felt when you were alone. You did the same thing to him once, constantly poking and prodding about his vampirism. You remember his infinite patience. Astarion had tolerated the way you stuck your fingers in his mouth, spurned on only because he let you press your fingers against his teeth without complaint. He savored the way you apologized for pricking your finger on his canine just because you wanted to see what it would take to make that restraint snap.

Astarion runs his hands down your sides and memorizes every single line left in your flesh. You watch as he grinds his teeth to keep from doing anything impulsive. He desires you so distinctively. If you were to look, you would recognize how glazed over his eyes were and what that meant. He’s trying for you.

‘What if you grow tired of taking care of your Messiah?’ you ask to divert his attention from your throat.

‘What kind of Disciple would grow tired of their Purpose?’ Astarion counters easily. He raises his chin defiantly. ‘I would never grow tired of the God I chose.’

You would have been skeptical before, but Astarion seems intent on making you a believer of your own regime. For a brief moment, you think you ought to be concerned that this is another manipulation — an unapologetic grab for power at your expense. You know better.

Astarion is building a shrine between your ribs, in your marrow and in your sinew. With his loving hands, he shapes you into the Temple of Bhaal anew. Your only task is to dethrone your father and take back the autonomy which ought to have been yours from the beginning. Like the Nightsong from Balthazar. Like Isobel from Ketheric. Like a lamb at a slaughter.

Your flesh is the bread and your blood the wine and Astarion is the most devout of your followers. Not because you saved him for perdition or because you tore apart the hells to save him while he rotted in his grave, but because of the life you have given him in the aftermath of his misery. You are the taste of freedom he so eagerly covets. You are the miracle he has yearned for ever since he pressed you into the leaves in the wilds that first night. You were his from the first taste.

‘It will be rotten work,’ you say softly.

‘Not for me,’ Astarion promises. ‘I will relish in it.’

‘For how long?’

‘For however long it takes,’ he says, and he means it. There’s no coy playfulness behind his words, only the intent itself. ‘I can be devout, you know. I will wash your feet and your hair, and write a scripture so beautiful even the Lady of Loss would be jealous of the devotion.’

Before, you might have considered these promises one of Astarion’s wild whims. One of his techniques used to draw in the unsuspecting, but you have always been something more than a rabbit for the fox to chase. The underlying hum in his voice is the power of the covenant he preaches. These might have been words months ago, but not to you, never to you. This is as sincere as Astarion can be. A genuine oath that rivals the words of a paladin’s honor. He lays his lust bare in your chest.

You slide to your knees with Astarion kneeling behind you. He grabs you by the throat again, and though he tries to be as gentle as he can, you can’t help but gasp at the roughness. He forces you to look at yourself, to look beyond the scars and at the future ahead of you.

You lean into his touch. He’ll never fully understand why, and that’s okay with you. For now, this is enough to keep you content. His hand around your neck, his other tracing every scar you’ve ever received, not even pausing over the recent scrapes and bruises from the battle with Ketheric in the very depths of your personal hell. Astarion has a touch that slowly consumes you — that devours you until there is nothing left. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and allow him to witness everything you have to offer.

Damn the hells.

Damn the heavens.

Damn everything beyond.

Astarion does not believe in gods. He does not believe in the kindness of men. If anyone else were to offer him a gentle hand, he would flinch away from the touch in disgust. But it is your hand that is outstretched and he takes it willingly in a marriage of trust. Now your soul rests alongside his, trapped in a cage of your making, as beautiful as a prized canary to be kept in a gilded manse. Together is where you belong.

‘Are we sinning?’ you ask.

He hums in consideration, and strokes your pulse absentmindedly. He bites at your neck again without breaking the skin and inhales. You close your eyes and know the truth.

‘I’m afraid this time we are, my love,’ Astarion confesses. ‘We are passionate heretics, you and I. No other word is as sacred as the one we have to seek to build.’

‘What will become of us?’ you ask.

He laughs against your skin and nuzzles into it. His breath tickles your skin and causes it to rise. Without thinking, he bites down on your shoulder again and groans when you cry softly.

‘What does it matter?’ he murmurs. ‘All we have in the world is us. Let them come.’

‘Are we sinners?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he admits. ‘I’ve been a sinner for quite some time. Did you know — Did you know your blood sings for me?’

‘Drink from me,’ you say. ‘A good consort should be strong at all times. Are you weak, Astarion?’

You feel his grin.

‘I am frail, indisposed, feeble without you,’ he says. ‘I am nothing if you are not by my side.’

‘You should say it again.’

‘Why, you’re being cheeky,’ Astarion laughs. He bites you with intent this time and draws blood. You look at yourself, at the heat in your cheeks. ‘I — am — nothing — without — you.’

There is nothing more you desire than being consumed. It’s different now. You might have sought Astarion’s warmth once before, but now you seek for something else underneath his practiced exterior. You are the illithid parasite on a hunt of sustenance, and you choose the way he mouths at your skin.

‘Now,’ he muses, ‘let me worship at your altar.’

Instead of biting down into your skin to continue to feed, he trails a line of kisses across your back and the edge of your neck. Over and over, he follows a path with his fingers first and followed by his mouth as if kissing the scars will cause them to fade into oblivion. It’s such a contrast to your conversation you don’t know where to begin. This is the intimacy Astarion chooses to show you.

Nothing else matters.

Baldur’s Gate does not matter. The Elder Brain does not matter. There is only one thing that Astarion seeks. Your happiness and comfort, and Astarion hunts for them with every kiss and thoughtful touch that the dedication makes you feel as though you’re fit to burst. No one has ever done that for you, not in this lifetime and the lifetime of whoever you were before . Your hands were calloused and for murder, not for love. You keep reaching for it.

What is love if not these selfish, unholy desires? When you close your eyes to dream, you imagine Astarion and his silver-white hair over you haloed by intense divinity, his cerise gaze unwavering, this intense loyalty, his practiced laughter and the gentle lines of laughter around his eyes. These dreams drown out the nightmares and the fear. Sceleritas Fel cannot take that from you.

You will not let Bhaal win.

Cazador made Astarion with the purpose of creating a lamb for the slaughter. Bhaal created you as the knife to be used in sacrifice. You would make them both pay for this betrayal of innocence. They have twisted you into something unrecognizable. Astarion might have bit out your throat once upon a time, but now he kisses the back of your hand and watches your expression carefully for any sign of discomfort. You have reminded him of the man he could have been.

‘I do not want you to hate yourself like I have hated myself,’ Astarion tells you, eyes troubled. ‘That isn’t to say you cannot grieve, but you mustn’t become lost. I need you here with me.’

‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’ you ask. ‘Even though I…’

‘I will never be afraid of you,’ he vows, ‘but to be afraid for you, to worry…’

‘There are still things I want to do,’ you tell him.

You think of the red-haired woman who stood next to Gortash and Ketheric, and something about her causes the tadpole to move uncomfortably in your skull. You flinch at it and press your palm against your eye as if that will stop it. You remember something , but it’s hard to think, hard to follow.

Astarion smoothes his hands down your sides and rests them on your hips, peering over your shoulder at something you cannot see. You watch the worry slowly leave his face until there’s nothing left but smooth acceptance, as if he too is coming to terms with what it means now that the truth of what you are has come into play.

Bhaalspawn.

Not just a spawn, but the favored child of Bhaal, inheritor of the throne of murder.

Underneath that mask, you are still you. The person you have created who is kind, who laughs and plays with tiefling children, who steals stuffed animals to give as gifts to Karlach and encourages Lae’zel to find the truth of Orpheus, who stood with Shadowheart before the Nightsong and encouraged her to choose her own fate, who willingly wades through the depravity of a mindflayer den to find Wyll’s father, who does not want to be another mistake for Jaheira to clean up, who wants to mend broken bones with Halsin, who wants to drink wine with Gale and listen to his stories of Tara.

The person you are now knows not the designs your father had in store. You are innocence reborn and safe from his defiled image. You cannot remember the cruelties of your past, and though you know that doesn’t erase them, it does bring a mild relief. The only proof you have of your sickness are the nightmares that plague you on the nights when your love is not enough of a salvation.

Astarion is devoted to you, as you are to him, as you always have been. You lean into his arms and allow him to kiss the back of your wrist before he embraces you once more, tucking his eyes against your neck so that he no longer has to bear the burden of understanding his reflection will never appear next to yours, no matter how hard you both seek it in the magic mirror. Your throat tightens painfully.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him softly.

‘I couldn’t leave you to your despair alone,’ Astarion says with a hopeless shrug. ‘The thought of you suffering the same as I… I brooded over my own existence for two hundred years with no one to comfort me.’ He mourns carefully. ‘I couldn’t let that happen again. Not to you.’

He takes your hand in his and presses on your knuckles, forcing your fingers to flex against their will. He turns your palm over in hand and stares at the callouses. It's as though he’s admiring a cat, your nails now your claws, his thumb massaging the tension in your palm so your fingers tremble slightly.

‘I’d have let it happen to Gale,’ he says off-handedly. You snort. ‘But not to you,’ he clarifies, dropping your hand and kissing your cheek. ‘I love you too much.’

He always says I love you so painstakingly soft as if it’s the first time he’s ever uttered the words. And with the proper meaning, you know it is. Astarion’s love is a slow molten fire that covers everything. It could be destructive if you let it, but you build with it and twist underneath the heat to forge something greater. Everything is so intense between you as if a chord pulled taut. The littlest bump sends it vibrating and you get lost in the sensation. You want him to say it again.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says, voice ravaged. ‘Whether you are pious or irreligious.’

You think of him as a pioneer of a new religion. He distracts you with the gentlest of kisses against the tip of your ear.

‘Are we sinning?’ you ask again.

‘We are sinning deliciously,’ he tells you sincerely.

You would be a liar if you pretended like it didn’t excite you. You have a chance to hold a new world in the palm of your hands with an executioner by your side. You make your decision — If there is to be a God of Creation, you would remake the world in your image. Jergal would rise back from obscurity, no longer embarrassed by his despised successors. You see a flash of red hair and chase it through the darkness, no longer afraid.

‘Drink,’ you whisper to him. ‘I want you to.’

Astarion tilts your chin to the side and bites down onto your neck with great care. It always hurts when he penetrates you for the first time, but by now, he’s learned to not be such a messy eater. These are the new scars that you accept. This is the person you seek to become. You close your eyes and relax into the feeling of sharp teeth and spit, and it’s like he sucks the venom from your veins. You float weightlessly as he seeks his fill.

He plucks your fruit easily with the prettiest of hands. Astarion swipes the goodness of you and brushes it against his lips, tasting it with the tip of his tongue and shivering at the flavor. He treats every time he feeds from you as if it is the first time. He savors your blood, is made man by your blood, until the pale red glow in his eyes fades into something more human . These eyes are the eyes that belong to your angel of death. You welcome it.

There are still battles to come, but you no longer feel as overwhelmed as you had this morning when you awoke with sickness in your stomach and your friends staring at you in a cautious, distant manner. There is now semblance of hope burrowed in your chest where your heart once was.

You say, ‘I want you to be there when I make a new kingdom.’

It means:

At the end of the world, it will be you and me and our memories, our friends and allies, our souls. You twine your fingers with his and let him manipulate you so that you’re facing one another. You no longer seek the mirror for encouragement.

It would not matter if it was this year or in one hundred years. The only certainty in life is that this was what you wanted. Astarion’s honest eyes and searching hands. You could turn into a mindflayer tomorrow and your last thought would not be of your doom and terror, but of this delicate flower you hold in your palms. It has sprouted from nothing with only tears as encouragement, and now it is your turn to be buried, to transform into something beyond your recognition. Only, when you dig your way through layers of dirt and brick, you would not be greeted by nothingness.

Astarion kisses you once, his mouth so tender it’s almost heartbreaking, and then again. He grazes your bottom lip with his teeth and bumps his nose with yours affectionately, murmuring, ‘Yes, my God of Murder.’

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #* basorexia

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