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pursuitseternal · 2 months

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#3 from the prompts Tav x spawn Astarion. I could see it playing out different ways. Either Tav says the "I want to please you " to Astarion. Or, specifically at a point where Astarion is reclaiming himself and Tav is feeling a certain way that night. Tav not wanting to make Astarion feel pressured into anything is reluctant. I don't know. They've both been done before though.

“I want to please you…”

Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts

CW: sexual frustration, emotional angst, Astarion’s recovering agency phase, female maturation, voyeurism

It hurts, your heart physically aches. You didn’t know it could do that. Not until Astarion confessed his feelings for you.

True feelings, heartfelt and sincere.

Passionate feelings without a way of expressing them passionately.

And it tears through you, body, heart and soul. You’ve never felt closer to someone.

Or further away.

The ruins outside of Rivington serve as a nice place to make camp for these few days. But since Astarion’s confession, since his new need to reclaim intimacy for his own, you’ve… started making due with your bedroll by the fire once more.

Giving him his tent to himself. Giving him space… privacy… autonomy…

Freedom.

So now, it’s just you, lonely, heart aching you, tending the fire well past midnight. Knees pulled into your chest, you fight the sobs that begin to push on your diaphragm and you hide the tears that sting in the corners of your eyes.

He loves you…

But he doesn’t want you. At least that's what your darkest, most self-loathing thoughts are whispering from the shadows.

You pull your legs in tighter with both arms, squashing your breasts in until they hurt. Maybe if they were bigger, he’d want you… or smaller. Maybe if you were taller… curvier… maybe if you had as much of a knack for seduction as he did…

Now those tears are coming down your cheeks, hot and thick, making your nose run.

A disparaging laugh of self hatred bursts from your snotty throat. Look at you, ugly crying and desperate. Good thing he’s out hunting and can’t see you.

Pathetic. No wonder he doesn’t have desire for you.

You pick up a long stick and stoke the fire, the orange light flaring brightly enough to illuminate the figure opposite you on the other side of the pit.

Astarion.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” His voice is small, timid. He speaks in gentle tones, as if he isn’t standing there with his bare chest covered in a few remaining smears of whatever animal’s blood was his supper.

“Oh, gods,” you groan, hiding your face into your knees, wishing you had learned the spell for invisibility. Would have been fucking useful right now.

Too late, he’s already come to crouch next to you on your bedroll. His body hums with strength from his feeding as he easily pries your arms off of your legs. “Why are you crying, my darling? Was… was it something I said?”

“N-n-no,” you manage to lie, well… white lie, your voice snuffled with your nose running still. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, the two words that immediately carry a lie,” he purrs, setting down to sit close to you. “What is wrong, my sweet… I’m all… pointy ears, my love,” he grins, attempting to lean into your line of sight.

But you turn even further. Your heart flips into your gut, retreating more and more away from confessing your own truths. “I… I’ll see you in the morning. I just… need sleep.”

Another lie he doesn’t buy. You can feel the tension coiling in those lean muscles of his. Which only makes your body ache more, longing and yearning fanning to life now that he’s so close. You fist your hands into the leather cover of your bedroll to keep yourself from reaching out to touch him.

Icy fingers settle on your fist, and it nearly makes you jump out of your skin, or scream… or jump into his arms. “Darling, I… I know this isn’t easy for you. Taking time to step back from carnal delights, from nights of passion,” you close your eyes as you hear his voice purring over those words. You know he can smell your arousal, he can probably even sense the way your pussy clenches at the memory of just those kinds of nights with him.

“I am thankful,” he continues to whisper, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’ve never felt more in command of my own faculties, my own choices… my own body for that matter.”

You give a wet, snot-ridden cough of a laugh. “I’m glad you don’t feel compelled to touch me,” you reply. Oh, that tone is bitter; your words are unfiltered, your voice rife with the days of ache and self-loathing that you’ve hidden fairly well… until now.

“Compelled?” he snips. “Darling, I… I want to touch you, to make love to you… to worship you….”

You stand, awkwardly trying to think of an excuse to get out of this discussion. But his cool, vice-like grip just catches and locks around your wrist. “No, no, my sweet,” he whispers, this time he sounds… pained. “You’re not getting out of this so easily.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you start your apology, turning to see him raised on both knees. His arms pull you in against him, his face burying into your belly. His nose pushes into the soft mound of your stomach.

“Don’t leave… please,” he mutters into the fabric of your shirt, the cloth growing damp with his breath as he just holds you like that, and you can’t resist returning his touch.

First, it’s fingers in his hair, combing and carding through those soft, sweat-damp, silver curls. A brush of your thumb on his cheek, and he looks up at you, crimson eyes wet with unshed tears and wide as if he can’t close them, too afraid you’ll disappear the moment he blinks. His hands skate over you slowly, roaming from your back to your sides… to the loose hem of your tunic.

“How do I feel?” you ask, wanting to hear his words of beautiful praise more than you even crave that touch that unravels your body.

“You feel… like home,” he whispers so quietly, you strain over the crackles of dying fire just to discern his words. “You’re a vision… a vision of love… of belonging and protection. You are the light in my life that keeps the shadows and monsters away, as if I were an elfling all over again, afraid of the dark.” His hands creep that chilling touch to find the skin of your belly, and he presses the hard planes of his torso against your legs. “If I lost you, my light, the shadows would swallow me, I know it.”

You close your eyes, grimacing as if the words he’s whispering aren’t the balm to your self-inflicted wounds, as if his featherlight touch isn't making your cunt ache more and more.

He takes a shaky breath in. “You are as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood…. I… I want to learn more about you… I want to please you…”

Fingers brush the bottom edges of your breasts, thumbs daring to tease the hardening peaks of your nipples. “Astarion…” his name leaves your lips like a prayer. “It’s ok. You don’t have to… I’m nothing special…”

His body goes rigid, his hands freeze as they barely graze your skin. Those crimson eyes burn as they almost glare up at you… “I know I don’t have to,” he finally replies, more confident, less snarky than you thought he could be. “That’s why I want to learn how to please you.”

Pulling you down, he kneels next to you on your bedroll in the dead of night. “Touch yourself,” he dares the words to leave his lips. “Show me how you pleasure yourself so I can learn.”

Your face flames white hot; tears form in your eyes not from self-loathing anymore, but from your body’s visceral reaction to his intense stare. Biting your lip, you slide your shirt up above your navel, and your trousers, you open to shimmy them awkwardly to your ankles.

You couldn’t feel more self-conscious. And then you look at his face. A few streaks of dried animal blood only make him look all the hungrier, the more predatory. And yet, his hands just rest on his knees where he sits on his heels. Those dark, dilated eyes race from your bared legs, to your mound, and then to your face. The right corner of his lip crooks ever so slightly into a smirk as he nods. Your eager student, ready to observe how you like to be pleased… by pleasuring yourself.

You close your eyes, and he grunts, whether in approval or not, you are too afraid to open them back up to find out. So, you start as always.

Your hands brush their way up your thighs, around your lower belly, a few more passes of your warm palms over every inch of skin between your knee and your navel. When you can hear his breathing grow heavy, you reward yourself with your middle finger dipping between your folds to circle straight for your clit. A sweep of your touch, and you draw generous amounts of slick towards it.

The lewd squelch it makes almost makes you open your eyes and stop… almost… until you hear him groan above you.

It’s all the encouragement you need. Eyes shut tight, your fingers, two of them, pump towards your entrance. Faster and faster, you thrust, stopping every now and then to circle your clit on your way. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath when your ears pick up another sound. It’s hands on fabric. Rhythmic… in time with your own tempo of pleasure.

Your hips buck at the sound as it pairs with the image in your mind.

Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you see him, pale hand touching himself through his pants. His tongue peeks from the corner of his lips… just a hint of fang behind as he grins. But he doesn’t notice your gaze, not when his own is locked on your swollen, glistening cunt where your fingers are now rapidly disappearing inside. Over … and over… again.

“Astar…” you breathe, unable to finish his name, your voice rippling with need. Hips bucking, wrist locking up from rapid use, every nerve in your body flares the second that devouring gaze meets yours. A cry swallows the second half of his name from the tip of your tongue as you shatter.

There is nothing but heat in your belly, lightning down your nerves, and arousal gushing from your center as you come at last… At long, long last.

He folds in on himself, his own hand pressing fervently on his erection, hips bucking into his palm. And when he finally lifts his head again, he’s practically drunk with pleasure…. Your name is an incantation of thanksgiving on his lips. “Incredible,” he half-whimpers. “You’re incredible, coming undone like that, just for me.”

“Mmmhmm,” you smile, content and sleepily as you pull your hand from your folds. You reach to fix your pants, but his grip locks on your wrist again.

This time, he pulls it to his mouth. He takes a deep inhale of your scent as if you are the rarest of blossoms, and then… he licks them, suckling gently on them. His tongue dances over your digits, savoring your flavor with every swipe.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pulling your shirt back down as you clumsily slide your trousers back up, “this was… something.”

“Something good?” You try to tease, but the weight of all your carried emotions takes those two words and bogs them down.

“The very best… best I have ever and will ever have,” he smiles tenderly, laying down beside you, snug in your bedroll.

#smut ask #yes I am still collecting prompts 💞#I think this one will go on ao3 #ask box #ask box is open #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 smut #bg3 astarion fanfic #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion fic

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