nicotinemaiden - Tumblr blog

nicotinemaiden · 8 days

Text

A night to map the centuries;

Pairing: Astarion x Dhyula (F!Tav) Rating: E (Smut) Word count: 5,399 Summary: He had just needed to satisfy his curiosity, to drink strong blood in order to be stronger himself since the fights were now a common occurrence, since he refused to be deemed as 'too weak' and left aside. However, he hadn't expected her to accept him with a worried gaze and gift him her red ambrosia with little more than a word, to make him feel sensations he had all but forgotten, to make him crave the warmth of her skin after centuries of aversion. You can also read on AO3.

His cold hand sneaked under the incredibly smooth cloth of her nightgown, his fingers tracing the valley of her belly, the sensitive skin of her waist, until they reached her soft chest, her nipple perking towards him, her quiet and breathless moan inspiring him to bite harder, to drink more.

He hadn’t expected, while he watched her return to her tent after spending the evening with their local wizard, that he would be able to taste her so fully, so deeply, his lips stained red with the pleasure of the first thinking being he had been able to wet his throat with, his fangs deeply buried inside the lower area of her neck until he could only feel negative space between them and her vein.

She was delicious, her blood warming his tongue with a mouthwatering savour, burning in his freezing throat until it created a river inside of it, until he had a hard time believing he could be satiated with something or someone that wasn't her.

When people mentioned partaking in feasts worthy of the gods he was sure they referred to that exact moment, that exact flavour. The question of whether or not it was a quality of sentient and thinking beings or one exclusively besotted to her remained in his mind for a second before he pushed it to the back of it, where it wouldn’t sully the moment, where his curiosity wouldn’t get the best of him and he would break it to launch the question out loud, at her, who most probably couldn't even answer him. Who most surely would look at him as if he was little more than an insect acting like an entitled noble, wanting to taste everything out of sheer curiosity.

But it wasn't only that which was deeply confusing for him, which made him dizzy — he would have understood if that was the point, if that was everything she had to offer, if the cause for it was the novelty of the situation. He didn't expect her to accept, to begin with, while he pronounced his secret out loud for the first time in centuries. He didn't expect her to be awake when he snuck into her tent, hoping to take a bite out of her without the need to offer further explanation, without the memories of all his lies taking place in his brain. He had planned to drink a bit, just enough to have adequate strength for the fights they were encountering since this damn worm was planted into his brain, nothing remotely reaching the lengths of the gift she had given him.

Yet when he saw her opening her brilliant golden eyes and looking directly at his teeth, his fangs, he thought he was done for. If he was lucky she would only push him away, she seemed kind and gracious enough to grant him that — he hoped to, at least, have been charming enough to avoid receiving a stake through his heart instants later.

He had not, however, counted on having been charming enough to be invited inside the tent despite being there already, to be granted permission to drink from her, to be accepted. Dhyula, whose name had stuck in his head since he heard her pronounce it for the first time, whose name he refused to use not out of lack of memory but of desire of making things too personal, had not known what he was before, though she had suspected it, he had no doubt, because she wasn't even half as surprised as he would have been in her place, finding a monster lurking near her bedroll in the middle of the night. And, instead of screaming at him, instead of banishing him from their camp and their company, he worried for him, her concern obvious in her expression while he explained that his diet was insufficient with the rats and birds he could get while traveling with them, with the boars and cows he rarely had the privilege of sinking his teeths into. With the amount of fighting they were doing it was a miracle he was still there — his feeble and malnourished self missing half of his attacks, his strength draining day after day — he explained to her while she listened thoughtfully to part of his story, to anecdotes he had never told anyone before because who, exactly, would he tell? He hadn’t even wanted to tell her, of all people. He had created a plan to try and seduce her, offering his body in exchange of safety, in exchange of protection, because he had assumed he would be found out sooner or later. If Dhyula, who had apparently taken the role of leader of their little troupe, was smitten with him, no one would oppose her, no one would mean a threat to him, not while he traveled with them at least. He needed to use his assets as best as he could, he needed to survive, just as he had done every year before this one.

But the feelings the situation brought to him were… not new— though they felt like it, they felt completely different to everything he had known up to clashing with her now — but forgotten. He took his fangs out of her neck before she said anything, before she warned him he was drinking too much, not without the need of forcing himself out, not without realizing that she was exactly what he had wanted to drink from the very start, from the second his broken nails removed the last strands of earth from his tomb and showed him his new life, the new freedom that never truly was.

The residual flavour of her blood left a pleasant sensation in his mouth, his tongue adventurously licking the small mischievous drops that journeyed down her skin and towards her cleavage. It followed them for a moment before getting distracted by the taste of her skin, by the aroma of the horned half-elf who was treated as an abomination everywhere they went, of the warlock who wanted to help everyone and only received disgusted looks and distant words — of the person who had just shown him, after almost two centuries, what it meant to be aroused, to desire someone, to crave her lips, her body, with such intensity he felt breathless. He felt a connection with her, an attraction he hadn’t felt since soon after he was turned, and he would have died again to pursue it, to keep feeling as alive as he was feeling at that moment.

“Astarion…”

Her voice was a whisper, an unspoken question of what he was doing, a confused, escaped murmur of the way his name was supposed to sound before every other lover he had been forced to take stained it, but not a reproach, not a plead for him to stop but the very opposite. She was confused, lost and, unexpectedly, accepting— but so was he. He had never got to choose who he shared his body with, not willingly. He just… had to do it, in fear of facing the consequences he learned pretty quickly opposing Cazador brought him, in fear of the misery he could impose on him. Yet there was no master now, he didn’t have a reason to do this besides securing her protection with the rest of the group. He was ready to flirt with her, throw at her some of his favorite lines, the ones that never failed, and force himself through it as he had done so many times before — he never expected… this. He thought he had lost that part of himself forever.

He took a moment to look at Dhyula, the gorgeous woman who tilted her head to the side while gazing up at him, her golden eyes ardent and yearning yet surprised, a bit taken aback. Her curved black horns — the ones that matched her long, coal hair, the ones that shouldn’t be there in the first place but that suited her so beautifully — now deprived of the decorations that usually hanged from them during the day, framed her cheeks, her chin, the full lips which she decided to nervously bit exactly the moment he was looking.

He knew it was an illusion but he could feel his heartbeat rise at the sight, at the realization that he truly desired her — that for once he had found someone who enticed him, someone special and different to everything he had known — and that he was extremely close to snapping and throwing all logical thinking, which he still liked to believe he had, off the window.

The way she was looking at him, innocently and in wonder, didn’t help in the slightless.

He should have probably said something. He should have probably thrown a flirty line or a small joke to make the air less heavy, to rest importance to the moment, but instead he surrendered to his instincts and he kissed her, taking her lips with his as a ravenous beast claiming his prey, one of his hands supporting him and the other enjoying the warm of her stomach, the way her breath stopped for an instant each moment his fingers drifted to the inside area of her thigh. She answered him slowly and dubitative, grabbing his upper garment softly, as if she was unsure whether to push him away or pull him towards her yet deciding herself for the latter.

It turned out he was pretty sure all of her tasted as finely as her blood, if her lips were anything to go by. He had forgotten how it felt to be kissed that way, to want to be kissed. It was a unique sensation, a sensation he hadn’t noticed he had missed so badly until it was right in front of him once more.

He moved his leg upwards on the slim mattress, using it to open her legs more widely until the bulge of his cock could grind wonderfully against her panties, deepening the kiss and playing with her tongue in a way that was simultaneously studied and impulsive, improvised. He never improvised. He knew every step, in every shape and color — there was no need to improvise, no freedom to. Until that night, until her.

She broke the kiss after a minute, panting, flushed, leaving him almost broken in the process, the craving unceasingly growing inside of him, the fire she had ignited in him uncontrollable and wild. He didn’t remember the last time he forgot himself that way, the memory too distant to his present, if it ever truly existed at all.

“I… What are we doing Astarion? We know nothing about each other, are we really at the point of letting ourselves go? Shouldn’t we have our heads busy enough without you stealing the rest of my thoughts?”

He panicked for a moment. Had he done something wrong, perhaps? Should he be more in his game? Was he doing this to win her protection or because he truly wanted to? He had passed the point of caring about his reasons and that fact alone answered his own question.

He kissed her neck and she groaned, slightly annoyed but allowing him to hear the soft laugh of it, her skin trembling, her chest arching towards him and the hand that couldn’t stop feeling her skin moving to meet it, his fingers slipping to play with one of her nipples. He had no reason to lie to himself — he couldn’t wait to see them, to eat them, to enjoy them fully. He wanted to do everything to her, a lot more of what the short night could give them time to, a lot more of what she seemed confident doing with him at the current moment.

“Darling, you’re sending me conflicting messages and I’m unsure which one I should pay attention to. There’s one I like a lot more than the other.”

She chuckled and took a deep breath before looking at him, a caressing hand upon his jaw. There was a lot more in her eyes that she was not saying. The problem wasn’t how much they knew each other or the trust she had on him, it was something personal, a lack of confidence in herself, fear of disappointing him. Her gaze moved away before she sighed.

“It’s been a long time since I… I haven’t even kissed someone in decades, as pathetic as that sounds. I'm nothing special, unlike you.”

Her statement seemed so incredibly sad, so resigned to her current vision of the world and the vision she inspired on others, so defeated against the fact that someone could find her attractive, pretty, not an utter monster, that she seemed in complete disbelief of his genuine interest. But he was one too, a real one, unlike her. And it didn’t stop him from feeling at the top of the world, seeing that very small piece of himself grow a little confidence, knowing this situation, this sensation, was somehow a start, a rebirth, an after that left each encounter before this one in the before. He had claimed the moment, the terror of facing the consequences ever present, his master’s eyes rendered in front of him by his imagination. But he wasn’t there, he had no way of controlling him now, it was impossible for him to tear this reclaimed feeling from him, to tear her from him. He needed to take advantage of the moment, needed to make his choice, for once.

“My dear, you seem to be painfully unaware of your charms. You are beautiful, beautiful enough to bring a dead man back to life.”

She chuckled once more, not fully believing his words but accepting them as something positive after seeing his smirk mirroring hers, her smile remaining for a moment while they looked at each other. He moved closer, ready to take the following silence as permission to reclaim the lips that had been stolen from him, but she moved slightly out of reach, her breathing clashing with his mechanical, unnecessary one — so close and yet so horribly far away from the place where it should be.

“I don’t want neither of us to regret what you are pushing to happen. I don’t want you telling me that it was provoked by your drinking from me or something of the sort. If I do this, the last thing I want to hear is that I was a mistake.”

She was trusting him, it was implied in her words. She wanted this to happen, but was afraid he would regret it, was afraid he really didn’t want this, that it was the situation acting and not him. Was she right? Was her blood talking from inside of him, the wonderful feast guiding his actions? And how could he be sure it was not if he had never before been in this position? Should he stop, even if he truly didn’t want to? No, the only thing his logic was awfully insistent with was the correction that, if anything was a mistake, it would be leaving now, renouncing the opportunity to take back that small piece of himself, try to forget the warm of her hand on his chest, pulling his shirt up to sneak it inside until she could touch the body he was so proud of, the one everyone adored, the one that had brought more sad and forced moments than happy ones.

“Love, if perfection had a name, it would be yours. You couldn’t be a mistake, perhaps not even if you tried to. I’m not asking you to marry me nor to spend the rest of our life together, I just want for both of us to have a fun, unforgettable night shared with each other, to get to know you in a… different light to the one we’re used to.”

She laughed lightly, shacking her head, possibly telling herself that this was a bad idea but convinced enough to keep going, convinced enough to let her hands remove his upper garment completely and throw it away from them where it wouldn’t be a problem for their next set of actions, convinced enough to bite his lower lip and pull it softly towards her until they were fully reveling on their passionate embrace, until there was little to no space between their bodies, their dance just starting but already in full swing.

She turned them until she was on top of him, anxiously, nervously and desperately removing her nightgown, too quickly for it to be a normal gesture, too impatient to hide her body from him again, as if she just decided to take it out because it was what was expected of her and not because she truly wanted to. He recognized the gestures all too well and stopped her before she could kiss him again, forcing her to remain in his sights, the only covered up part of her body the most intimate one, the one he had more urge to enjoy. The reason as to why she would feel insecure about herself, misplaced horns included, escaped him. In what twisted mirror had she seen her body, including the scars that adorned it, the features of her face, her extremely long, braided, black hair that almost reached the floor when she walked, to believe herself anything but gorgeous, he could not answer.

He had always abhorred art, but he understood it a little better when his gaze had free reign to roam her naked body, when he couldn’t stop thinking it would make for a beautiful painting.

She shied from him, sighing and looking away, her braid tickling near his knees, her brilliant, big eyes closing for a moment, as if enduring it, as if giving him time to get on with it. He grabbed her chin, his thumb caressing her surprised lips while his other hand wandered from her hips to her waist and chest and back again, her arms over his chest carefully hiding hers until he started moving them away with small gestures. He wanted to make clear without the need for words that his desire to see her was real, that she truly was precious in his eyes, that he didn't understood how she hadn’t had thousands of lovers if she had wanted to before but that he would do his best tricks to make her return to sexual interaction so pleasant she would start searching for it again, searching for him, again.

Seeing her playful yet timid attitude he turned her again, pinning her to the slim mattress that was her bedroll, her wrists tied over her head by his left hand. She seemed flustered by his action, her cheeks darkening red, her mouth half opened trying to get the air that refused to stay within her borders.

Those sweet gestures, the fact that he had won her over despite her doubts and had her completely at his will, only inspired him more, his lips finding her neck and kissing their way towards her naked chest until his teeth could bite her left nipple, until she moaned, her hips coming to meet his, her leg surrounding it and pushing him towards her.

His free hand stopped his wandering to focus on creeping into her underclothes, to focus on finding and touching her clit and the entrance of her cunt, to focus on giving her pleasure despite his frustration about the cloth still remaining in place. It had been too long since he found any kind of satisfaction in pleasuring others yet it felt so different now — he wanted her to moan his name against his lips and the thought of such desire was enough to make things difficult for him, enough to feel at the edge every couple of minutes, enough to forget he was supposed to stop her from touching him at the moment.

She grabbed his hair, her wrists releasing themselves with far too ease from his loose clutch, learning from how rough he was being and matching it perfectly, and brought him suddenly up to her perfectly sculpted mouth, stealing his breath away, not giving him time to think about any next steps. It was freeing, having no need to calculate, no need to act more than he had done to reach this situation, no need to be overly conscious and aware of everything that was happening around him.

Without warning, without releasing his lips even for a second, without a single movement that betrayed her intentions she took his cock in her hand, lowering his trousers too little for his needs, and stroked it once, almost making him jump out of the kiss only to pull him back in, her movement restarting and stopping in the perfect rhythm. Would he be an asshole if he told her he didn't believe she had had no lovers in the past decades? Because by how she knew exactly which of his buttons to push, because she licked his lips before drifting to his neck and biting hard near his last scar, he was inclined to be unconvinced by her previous statement. He was more inclined to believe her an expert, and he had plenty to compare her to.

Smirking, he followed her game and moved to finally discard her panties, placing himself in a lower position, kissing and biting his way down until he reached her inner thigh and allowed himself to drink from it, to suck the blood from her in a messier way, crazier, uncontrolled, his tongue needing to catch the drops that fell outside his mouth while she tried to wriggle away from him.

She hissed, groaned, grabbing his head once again, this time to force him to stay in place, to nail his fangs further into her leg, searching for a specific kind of pleasure only he could give her. And he was making her wait, just because. He felt powerful watching and feeling her reaction.

Lightheaded between his feast and the proximity of her entrance, the deep aroma of it fully invading his delicate senses, he didn’t even realize when his hand had moved to invite itself inside, feeling the walls of her cunt closing against his fingers, the movement of her hips searching for a lot more of what he was offering, her breathing replaced by small, involuntary sounds. As much as he loved eating her blood as the most delicious meal, as a drug he could easily become dependent on in the way he had been intoxicated with her, he was impatient about eating her wholly, about using his tongue besides his fingers to grant her the sweet release she was pleading for.

He relished the sensation, the impatience, the eagerness and anticipation, the joy.

He continued his work, savoring her clit like caramel, using both his hand and his tongue to explore her depths while her nails scratched the skin of the back of his neck, until she was undone for him, her quiet and contained sounds stimulating him to try harder, to make her scream for all the rest of their companions to hear. He continued even after, while she tried to separate herself from him without success, while she pushed him away with a breathless laugh until she changed their position, giving him a beautiful sight from under her body.

She grinded against his cock while desperately eating his mouth out, reclaiming herself on it, not an ounce of the shyness she had demonstrated before showing.

He liked her more in bed, he decided then. Dhyula was usually kind, sweet and shy. She didn't appear as so because of her black horns and glowing golden eyes, part or punishment of her hellish pact, he hadn’t asked, but she was. So much so in fact he had assumed she had some kind of ulterior motive, some secret she had kept from the rest, much as himself. He still had trouble believing she simply wanted to do good to a world that had never treated her right, to a world that didn't deserve it. He had clearly deemed it too much work a long time ago. If no one was kind to him, if everything he had known was based on how society was a conquest, survival of the fittest, why would he bother trying to be a good person? He had tried before and it hadn't been worth it, in the end.

Yet the Dhyula that was with him tonight, the woman who was forcing him to look outside his box, outside his cage, the half-elf with black strands of hair decorating her face that looked at him as if she just wanted to meet every expectation anyone could have and more, that one he could enjoy, that one he wouldn't mind to turn into more usual fun, something he had never been allowed to.

Before he realized what she was doing he felt his cock sliding into her incredibly hot and wet cunt, without resistance, without opposition of any kind, as if it was a place made specifically for him, as if he had just picked her open like one of the locks he had learned to crack. He hadn't noticed, until one of his soft moans escaped him, that he hadn’t been putting a display like he was used to, exaggerating his pleasure for the other person to enjoy. He had been himself, having fun and forgetting everything he usually did, allowing his body to release the groans and moans he needed to, and not one each time something happened just to make the other party feel better.

This was real, it honestly was.

He didn’t know how to take such information.

The warlock started moving on top of him slowly at the start, her upper body leaned back, her hips and legs doing all of the work, the burning image of her head thrown back while she rode him way too special for him to discard. He grabbed her thighs strongly, bringing her down each time she moved up, synching both their movements and the quiet sounds their throats made, raising the stakes, the speed, the intensity.

It turned out, as he realized while he moved up to meet the curve of her boobs and the peak of her nipples, to place small bites along her neck before stealing her lips and the moan that they granted him, he didn’t had, at present, much more tolerance for doing things he wanted, wasn’t used to it — he had been so damn close every time she squeezed his cock with her inner walls he could only hope to bring her down with him.

So he moved her under him without leaving her, without asking for permission, and grabbed her leg until it rested on his shoulder, watching her bite her pillow to contain herself and smiling at it. It was just a second before they were bustling once more, desperate to touch the other, to kiss them, bite them, leave on them a forever mark since each of them had a reason to remember this night.

Deprived of control and frustrated about it she tried to move more from her position but he only took advantage of it by moving his thumb to her clit, watching her relax to it, release her body to him and the circles his finger was able to do while he fitted himself inside her deeply, until he couldn’t see nothing of his cock except for the moments in which he was thrusting inside.

By the time he felt her spasms overcome her he had little to no patience left, had been containing himself as best he could to wait for her and couldn't wait a minute to allow his own release to follow her, motivated even more by the only loud sound, the only loud moan she had gifted him along the night, so musical and rough, so natural and free. He felt possesive with it, with her, wishing the rest of the camp to have heard, to know who she was spending her night with, to learn to respect him as the one who fucked their leader, who made her see stars.

Even cumming felt different, he thought to himself, as if the release hadn't been only a tonight thing but something he had been wishing for a very long time. As if something he had been needing eons before now. He felt so relaxed, the problems of the world — of his master, of the tadpole in his head and the possibility of turning into an even greater monster, of watching his body being taken away from him again — vanished behind a cloud of overwhelmingly positive emotions, of fulfillment and enjoyment, of confidence.

He was conscious it wasn’t exactly normal, as a male, to finish and want to fuck her again almost inmediatly, but he couldn’t think about anything else, not while they tried to resume a normal breathing while laid in the ground, with her turned towards him eyes closed and sweet smile. What had she done to him? She had mentioned how he was stealing the rest of his thoughts but she had replaced his completely.

He should have gone, should have left her to sleep or to her reverie, whatever she preferred, should have joked about how amazing it had been while he buttoned his pants. Instead, she had looked at him with an understanding expression before getting up to pick her own clothes, giving him a clear vision of her back, the scars that decorated her body more prominent there. He felt reflected in them for a second before discarding the thought, replacing it with the desire that refused to be subdued.

He wanted to fuck her from behind, to grab her horns and pull them towards him while his cock joined her ass, while he buried it even deeper than tonight and his fingers worked inside her cunt, to drink from her while she came for him. He needed to stop looking at her if he wanted to be able to function properly.

“I have to admit I might have needed it.”

She laughed, the sound tainted with her following words, with the conflict she was feeling internally that he was sure he could see in her eyes if she wasn’t looking away. He had seen her type before, her lack of confidence in herself in some, more intimate, matters, the thought that it was a miracle that someone could be interested in her, that someone could have a good time at her side. He didn’t like watching her, of all people, struggling with it.

“But you can go if you want. You've seen everything I have to offer. I just hope it was a little fun for you too.”

He wouldn’t let the night, his magical, mystical night that might never be repeated, end in such a sour tone. Moving as quickly as his not entirely normal body allowed him, he grabbed her by her waist and turned her towards him, claiming her lips and sensing her reciprocating almost immediately, following him, grabbing him, as reluctant to say goodbye, to stop what they just found, as he felt. Her breath clashed with the skin of his mouth, warm and inviting, when he took a moment to flirt with her, his hand in the lower part of her back, bringing her closer.

“Eager to get rid of me darling? Because there's still night left and I still have a lot of ideas on how we could spend it.”

She bit her lip, fixating her golden orbs upon his with a playful smile, deciding, debating, trying to find if he was lying to her. But he wasn’t. He had wanted to, he would lie to anyone who asked if this night had meant something, he would rest it importance if it was her. But he was enticed by the warlock, by the things that turned her into a demon in the eyes of the rest, by the scars that were testimony to the horrible treatment life had given her, by her mischievously shy attitude that dropped when in private, that dropped while she wildly rode him into oblivion.

He wasn't surprised to find himself in her tent still when the first rays of sunshine of the next day slipped under the curtain of the door.

#astarion pov #astarion ancunin #bg3 brainrot #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #self love #self acceptance #smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 one shot #one shot #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 writer #character study

10 notes · View notes