#not that any other vampire lords are any better

[fangsandfeels]

Alright, so I've just paid attention to one little detail. I'm pretty sure that it was not intentional, but...I've only just cared to look up how Strahd (the most notorious vampire lord, The Vamp, the Real Deal) looks like:

And then it hit me.

Yeah, it probably wasn't intentional and Larian just went for a classy and corny vampiric look, but you can't tell me he doesn't look like the "We have Strahd at home" version. And you can't tell me he wouldn't try to emulate Strahd. We're talking about the fucker who spent hours in his seething corner writing whiny diary entries and sending "I gonna be better than you!" letters to all vampire coven leaders he knows.

Of course the bitch wished he was Strahd. Despite all the power he had, all the times he made himself look big by torturing and humiliating his spawns, all the beautiful faces he surrounded himself with, Cazador still remained the most loathsome, envious, and pathetic piece of shit who never amounted to anything and compensated in the ugliest and most despicable ways.

I wouldn't put it behind him to copy the look of the First Vampire and revel in his own little domain of dread in his palace.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Jealousy Part 2

The graphic extension to this but a lil less serious and definitely not sfw.

CW: Jealous spawn astarion who is still a sweetheart, but the drow twins get under his skin. graphic sex scenes, oral, relatively tame honestly. The sex part will be under the cut btw which is m/f. Also vampire man drinks blood. mentionable incorrect language for sex workers

~

It was odd, being home in Baldur’s Gate without the threat of Cazador always looming. Odd, but equally as wonderful. It had been so thoughtful, if not a little idiotic for Cazador to end up being your first stop in the city. The fight itself had been a blur, a barrage of intense emotions and bloody violence. Astarion had come so close to losing himself back there, losing everything that made him better than the man who almost ruined him. But then… you stopped him. You saw something more in him, a chance for a better life. A more meaningful life, away from the shackles of vampiric power obsessions. 

He was officially free. Now he could exist without any fear of his disgusting master’s retribution. He could just… be. Well… not including his darling’s own myriad of enemies that seemed to follow them about everywhere. And there was still the matter of defeating the elder brain, and lord knows if any of you made it through that alive. But at least his personal demons were slain and out of the picture.

Every little step counted after all. Perhaps some of your delusional hopefulness had finally started to rub off on him, but Astarion was actually starting to look forward to his future. Your future, together. All he had to do was get through a few more perilous adventures and then he’d really have you all to himself. 

All that said, Astarion could really go without the frequent visits to the local brothel. Was it the best place in the city for gathering information? Yes. It seemed that every walk of life in Baldur’s Gate found their way into Shar’s Caress and if you were going to find alternative passage to the underworld, this would be the best place to find it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. For one there were the unwelcome advances to his own person, the concept of grace and personal space apparently left at the door. He was so very close to breaking the hand of the next person who thought it was appropriate to grab his ass. And if they could afford to get kicked out he would have by now. Your verbal, angry tirades in his defense could only scare off so many. 

But as terrible as his own discomfort was, it was nothing in the face of how often you were being fawned over. What was it about you that seemed to drive everyone mad? Yes you were objectively attractive, but this was frankly getting out of hand. First there was the green skinned druid doing something sensual to your mind, then there were the general stares and whispers as you walked by, and now a pair of gorgeous drow twins trying and failing to proposition you. 

It was getting tiresome. There were only so many times a man could take his lover being offered “free” services before he snapped. 

On one hand, he could respect the dedication they had to the craft. He could be considered something of a hired whore himself in his time, the old, “the first one’s free” was a tried and true trick. And he also knew, vaguely, that no one was actually trying to steal you from him. But on the other, he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to claw their eyes out for looking at you so brazenly.

He hadn’t expected the eyes of the woman to wander over to him, like she was just noticing the possessive arm he had wrapped around your waist, “Is that your partner with you? How would you both feel about having a little fun?”

Absolutely fucking not. Maybe the old Astarion would have smiled and nodded, ready to do whatever was asked of him. But the man from that wretched era had died, or at the very least was dying. And he would be damned if he let you lay with another, never less participate in it. 

Astarion interrupted your overly-polite attempts stuttering of a refusal. He glared at them both, a sneer painted on his face, “We’ll be passing on that. You’d think the first no would have sufficed, but I suppose it’s not fair to expect everyone to have basic language comprehension. Now as illuminating as this conversation has been, we have places to be. Excuse us.”

Then he was pulling you away, happy to ignore the offended huffs of indignation he had left in his wake. 

“We’re supposed to be investigating, remember?” You said with a giggle, not even questioning him as he dragged you to the second floor, “Being rude is not the way we’ll find travel to the hells.”

“I highly doubt they would have been of use,” Astarion said as he pushed you into the first empty room he could find. He felt off, maybe even a little crazed as he turned to you, “Tell me darling, what is it about you that makes you so irresistible, hm?”

He crowded you against the closed door, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to breath you in. You smelled heavenly, you always did. He could trace the barest whiff of your blood from beneath your skin, always calling to him. You were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. Delicious even, for more reasons than one. 

“T-They just wanted my coin,” You gasped when he started to suck bruises into your skin, “That’s all.”

“I think they wanted a bit more than that,” Astarion bit out as he shoved his thigh between your legs, “What will it take for others to realize you’re mine.”

His hands were wandering, resting low to grip your hips. He was using them to move you, forcing you to grind against his thigh. You grasped at his shoulders, trying to bite back a moan as you stared at him with wide eyes, “You want to do it here? Does that door even lock?”

It looked like it didn’t, not that Astarion cared. Maybe walking in on him ravishing you would finally start getting the point across of who you belonged to. Astarion shrugged, "There are less appropriate venues than literal whore houses."

“But-”

“But I can tell you want it,” Astarion interrupted with a smirk, his hands barely working to move your body anymore. But that wasn’t stopping you from rubbing yourself all over him, “Just look at you darling. Desperate little thing. But if you really don’t want to…”

Astarion made a lazy attempt to step back, laughing out loud when your desperately pulled him back, your desire finally winning out over your common sense. But you were glaring at him, obviously annoyed that he was so good at riling you up. He had seen that look before, the one that just screamed that you were scheming something. 

He just hadn’t expected you to drop to your knees in front of him, huffing as you started to undo the fastenings to his pants, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a shit?”

“Maybe,” Astarion said with a strained laugh, his breath catching when you pulled his half-hard cock out, “But it seems to keep getting me the things I want.”

You rolled your eyes before licking a wide strip up his cock, like you weren’t directly proving his point. You looked amazing own there, you’re half-hearted glare morphing into a blissful haze. 

Gods, how were you real? Astarion wasn’t quite sure why you were such a fan of getting him down your throat, but he knew that he was a lucky bastard for it. 

“Sweet girl,” Astarion sighed, letting a hand drift down to tangle in your hair, “Sweet girl with a perfect mouth. And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You made a small, affirmative noise around his cock, taking him in deeper as you clutched at his thighs. You were so good at this, so well-trained after months of being together. He loved the soft, wet sounds that would escape your lips as you swallowed him down, the pretty way your eyes would water as you encouraged him to fuck your throat, how you would squirm in place on your knees, no doubt ruining your panties with how wet you were getting. 

And no one else would ever know. No one would get to see you like this again, feel you like this. Needy, desperate, and his. Oddly enough, that thought was what sent him over the edge. He came down your throat, groaning as you eagerly swallowed around him. 

You pulled off of him slowly, panting while you smiled up at him. There was the smallest string of spit mixed with his come, connecting from the head of his cock to your lips. You licked it up, still clinging to his thighs as you hazily stared up at him. Sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat, and his dick give a valiant twitch.

He pulled you to your feet, not wasting any time in smashing your lips together. He spun you around, pushing you towards what he prayed was a clean bed. 

He pushed you back onto the sheets, making quick work of tearing your pants down your legs as he grinned down at you, “Your turn.”

He kneeled in front of you; spreading his hands over your splayed thighs to peel off your underwear. The core of you was already glistening, slick enough to make Astarion’s mouth water. He licked his lips as he spread your legs further apart, shameless as he feasted on you with his eyes. 

You were shaking in his hold, biting your bottom lip when you whined, “Stop staring already…”

“But you’re so pretty here my sweet,” Astarion cooed, tracing a single finger over the seam of your cunt, “And you’re dripping. Poor thing, have I kept you waiting too long?”

You nodded excitedly above him, your hips bucking when he let his fingers dip in further between your pussy lips. He lightly traced your clit, softly laughing at the way the simple touch made you whine.

It was his own fault that you were so needy, a fact that brought a smirk to his lips. You always got so wet after you had him down your throat, soaked and gorgeous. 

Astarion dove right in, loudly moaning as he licked into your folds. He dragged his lips upward to suckle on your clit, basking in all the cries and whimpers escaping you.

He licked back down, teasing your hole with his tongue as your legs quivered around his head. He let the sharpness of his fangs scrape against you as he started to fuck you with his tongue, threatening your most intimate places.

He knew you liked that; little minx that you were. The slight risk of pain that was always looming. It made him want to sink his fangs in you for real, a hunger that he'd sate after he had you gushing into his mouth.

You were already close, he could tell from the way your cunt was tightening around his tongue; too worked up from the thrill of being in public and the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Astarion trailed talented fingers up to rub against your clit, his tongue still curling inside of you as you cried out. Finally falling over the edge. But that wasn't stopping him from continuing to play with you.

You had to tug on Astarion’s hair for him to finally pull away, too over sensitive to handle his talented tongue. You were still trembling by the time he leaned back, licking his lips. He rested his head on your thigh, obviously pleased with himself as he grinned up at you. He could feel your heart racing against his cheek, the sound of your blood pumping singing through your veins. It had his mouth watering for a completely different reason. 

He let his fangs drag against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, looking up at you through his lashes, "Can I?"

A superfluous question. Not when he already knew the answer before it escaped your lips.

“Y-yeah," You mumbled, lovingly gazing down at him. He would never tire of seeing that look on your face, "But be gentle? Please?” 

"Of course my love," Astarion murmured, before promptly sinking his fangs into your flesh. He had to hold you down from the way you were still trembling, your quivering only getting worse at the pleasure mixed with pain. He didn’t let himself go rabid, just enough to get a taste. He was pulling back too soon, smiling to himself at the little whine you let out. He gently licked over the wound before standing, not yet swallowing the last drops on his tongue.

Instead he leaned forward to kiss you, more than happy to share the sweet taste of your blood as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Thank you my dear,” Astarion sighed as he pulled away, “That was exactly what I needed. Now I think that’s enough investigating for one day.” 

You sighed, taking the time to card your fingers through his hair, “Agreed. Though you might have to carry me out of here now.”

Wasn’t that a wonderful idea?

Astarion hummed as he pulled your clothing back on, “I think I like the sound of that," He didn't give you time to respond, too busy sweeping you up in his arms with a grin, "I'll be taking you up on that."

You squeaked when he hefted you up, bridal style, “I wasn’t being serious!”

But it was too late, Astarion was already kicking the door open. He shrugged at you, completely shameless as he winked at a few onlookers, "Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt as he happily took you outside, “I’m going to get you back for this. I hope you know that.”

Astarion laughed as he kissed the top of your head, “I’m sure you will.”

It was a childish stunt, borderline on par with a jealous tantrum, but gods, did it feel good. Good enough to sate Astarion's obsessive tendencies for an impressive amount of time. Under normal circumstances. 

But what about your lives were normal?

[meanbossart]

A personal headcanon of mine is that Cazador had a special interest in Astarion before turning him into a vampire possibly a romantic obsession.

I was curious about what your personal thoughts were on the relationship between Cazador and Astarion?

Let me stop you right there - Yes.

Now, I'm a little reluctant to elaborate on this one, because I think it can be seen as a little reductive of the characters and their stories to condense what could be a political plot into something as superficial as another "if I can't have you, no one will" storyline - not only would that be less interesting to some people, but it once again reduces Astarion's character to his attractiveness - while the former, for once, actually made him "desirable" for his achievements and influence - even if it doomed him after all.

But at the same time, this theory compels me for that reason exactly. It sets the origins of the whole issue and what would, overtime, erupt into this complex he has of himself and how others perceive him.

I'm not a stickler for details as long as you can tell me a good story, but it's notable to me that the reasons why Cazador set his eyes on Astarion so early in his reign are never really elaborated on further. How much influence did he really have as a young magistrate, and what kind of rulings could he be passing that would affect Cazador so much for him to take such a risk in abducting someone of his standing right as he had himself come into power? Cazador is an idiot, but he's an idiot who managed to say alive and hidden for two centuries - this move was either exceptionally well thought-out, or Astarion wasn't that liked as a magistrate, or Cazador had far pettier motives to take such a risk.

Not to mention, Astarion is awfully elusive whenever you inquire about the hows and whys of his abduction. Dismissive, even. Like it's something he doesn't want to talk about. I could take that down the boring route and say "oh, the writers just didn't care to develop this part of his story", or I could do the far more fun thing and read into it.

Then, of course, there's the vague suggestions that Astarion stood out among the spawn for one reason or another - he's referred to as the runt of the litter, and yet as Cazador's favorite as well. Going through Cazador's journal following Astarion's disappearance, there seems to be something besides frustration about him leaving just as he's about to ascend - there's resentment, there's desperation. Why the fuck does Petras act as if Cazador would ever do anything good for them if they were treated as Astarion describes? How the fuck were any of them under the impression that this ritual would benefit them whatsoever, while Astarion seems to have always known better? While I have no doubt that they all suffered under Cazador's control, there seems to be indication that Astarion suffered specially badly. The question left is why.

I don't think they were ever lovers or anything like that, I don't think Astarion ever even knew Cazador well enough to give him a passing thought, but I think it would be absolutely rich for a newly born, still spite-fuelled vampire lord to make very emotionally-driven decisions. The type of decisions that he looks back on and curses himself for. For having ever had such a weak mind.

Think of it, you come into all this power after years of pain, sorrow and suffering. You set your hungry, lonely little eyes on the prettiest girl at the ball - she turns you down spectacularly. She laughs you off under thinly veiled pleasantries. You are beside yourself - you were supposed to have everything you ever wanted, to be untouchable, to be desirable, to have some sort of supernatural allure about yourself - you were under the impression that now, all of your problems had been solved and everything that life has to offer would be thrown at your feet, like you perceived it to be like to your own, deceased masted; then the rug gets ripped from under your feet. But, a moment after, you realize: when you want something very badly, you can now just take it.

So you do. You get a shiny new toy. Fresh off your dull, painful past-experiences it seems like this toy is all you need to bring the long-lost zest back into your life, it is your first taste of true power and control, your dear beloved, your reluctant companion, and you paint a picture of what life will be alongside it (though slightly stooped beneath you - you can't be equals, of course) decades, no, centuries into the future.

But the toy doesn't ever grow to like you. In fact, it hates you for what you are, what you chose to become and what you chose to make of, and to it. For a few years, you try. Then eventually you get bored of it.

In a few more, you begin to not be able to stand the sight of it. It reminds you of a time when you were naive, when you were stupid. Worse yet, it is now your ball and chain as you made it. The only use you see remaining for it is to tear it apart again and again and again until you've forgotten why you're even doing it. You don't even want to touch it yourself, you get others to do it for you.

I don't think Cazador harbored anything but that indifferent resentment towards Astarion through the vast majority of those two centuries, and, horrifically enough, I don't think Astarion even knew why for a good deal of it himself. I can picture him going over and over any passing interactions they ever had (if they even had any) desperately trying to piece together why me, what could I have done differently, how could I have avoided this hell.

Then, at some point, in the brief moments when his mind is somewhat cleared and after he has heard enough vague, cryptic remarks out of Cazador's mouth about his looks, about his attitude, about how he must think he's too good to do what he does, it hits him: If I had just said yes, none of this would have happened. It would have been a brief moment of disgust, but then it would have been over.

And you beat yourself over it almost much as you feel shame. You're embarrassed. Because you've now had to endure all this torment just because you said no to the wrong man - a matter of picking the bad choice at 50/50 odds. Not only that - but you were apparently so worthless to the world that this small mistake was enough to doom you for all eternity: It was, apparently, all you were worth. And he has made that abundantly clear by what he puts you up to now.

So, when someone asks you why it happened, you give them a better reason. One that at least highlights other things you were good at. They probably wouldn't believe you if you told them the truth, anyways.

[bardic-inspo]

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 1 of 2

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, light bondage, light praise kink, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

Tav saw beauty in Astarion he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like. Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her. Or: an angsty-turned-horny character study about the pale elf and his thoughts on creating new (un)life.

A/N: This is my first stab at writing a more generic Tav. Tav in this piece is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns. Most other identifying features are left out.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

Astarion’s never thought much about making another vampire.

In the rare moments the notion occurred to him, he shoved it to the far back shelf of his mind so as not to waste himself on an exercise in futility. What did it matter, after all, while Cazador still lorded over him?

More than anything, Astarion yearned to see Cazador’s blood spill. In his mind’s eye, he’d watch it pool across the floor, not unlike the way he'd seen so much clothing puddled at so many heels. The lake he’d make of his master would be wide enough to swallow the garments of all who’d stripped bare before Astarion. Every sweat-soaked night he found himself bound to another moldering mattress beneath someone else’s weight, rocking through the motions that left his stomach sour, he’d fill his mind with such sweet dreams as Cazador’s death.

Whether Cazador would allow Astarion to drink his blood before being relieved of it varied with the fantasy. The dream changed as often as the hands on Astarion’s hips. It mattered little to him whether Cazador’s end came with true vampirism or not. As long as he ended. 

As long as the vile river of shit that comprised Astarion’s life ended, one way or another. For better. Or for good.

Of course, he flirted with the fantasy of his own spawn, sent out like skittering spiders to dispense his will. Foul little monsters they would be. Fine tools to have in his arsenal; Astarion would only want such wretches of his own the way one might want a hammer to pound a nail. And what he wanted didn’t hold any weight while bound in Cazador’s chains.

So the idea recoiled into the dusty recesses of his mind, collecting cobwebs kitty-corner to such out of reach trophies as freedom from his servitude to Cazador and the sun itself. Both still gleamed, despite the tarnish of time and hope rusted over. Despite Astarion’s prayers, no heroes came to save him. No gods or slayers or saviors spared him from his servitude. 

Until the illithids did.

Despite everything -- the centuries of torment, the hollow where his heart should be, its silence in his ribcage, the scars on his back, the thousands of other lashes that Cazador let fade from his porcelain skin -- Astarion did the one thing Cazador could never.

He stood in the sun. And on the sands of that same beach, another miracle washed ashore. A contradiction. His counterweight to everything else he’d ever known.

Tav.

Astarion’s hands roam the supple shape of her nestled against his bare chest. Her breath crests and falls soft and rhythmic, like the gentle slap of waves against the cliffs where they first found each other. His darling is always so serene in her sleep. Astarion dips his head down, nosing her splayed hair on the pillow, drinking in the lovely scent of lavender that always lingers with his lover.

Often, he wakes before her, as he does now in the dim blue light of dusk. Not yet dark enough for him to step outside, but for the moment, there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Not even in the raw, rippling light of day.

The smell of her has his eyelids heavy again, the steady patter of her heartbeat hypnotic in his head. His hands curve over the flare of her hips before slipping beneath the hem of her tunic. He stifles the satisfied hum that bubbles in the back of his throat as his palm smooths down the lithe stretch of her stomach. He resettles with his nose in the crook of her neck, eyelashes grazing the twin puncture scars that mark her as his.

He’d thought, once, that he’d ascend and have her at his side for an eternity. He was scared. Frantic. Grasping. He thought he had to grasp at something, fashion some sort of tether, to have her. Thought he had to have power, and enough of it, to keep her. Now he holds her every morning in the bed they share, until day becomes night again. It’s as effortless as blinking.

Now, the thought of turning Tav into a vampire turns his stomach.

His lips brush, tender, to the flutter of her pulse in her neck. He loves those marks he gave her. He loves the way her fingertips tap against them when she’s lost in thought. He loves the way she arches into his arms as he feeds, the way her body gives and gives to him alone. That sleepy, slap-happy smile she has when he’s lapped his last for the evening. The way her eyes roll back, and she gasps, breathless, as he kisses a trail from her neck to a nipple and sucks fervently.

He loves that he’s marked her, but that it didn’t change her. He can still curl into the heat of her skin at night. Still watch her preen in a mirror. Still stare at those gorgeous eyes and know the shade of them is hers. Her cheeks still turn the shade of sunrise when he leans in with a lustful whisper, or grazes her waist with a feather-light touch.

Absently, his fingers follow the path of an old scar on her stomach. At its end, he finds the start of softness. Astarion loves that, too. She didn’t used to be soft there, when they were just surviving. They’re not just surviving anymore.

Perhaps he’s changed her after all. It’s not so scary anymore to admit she’s turned him, too. Not to the light, or anything so nauseatingly righteous. But rather, so Astarion could see himself in it. Even if his days of standing in the sun are done.

I’ll be your mirror, she vowed, what feels like another lifetime ago. She smiled in that fond way of hers that, at the time, hurt to look at too long. He scoffed at her poetic ruminations on his hair curling near his ears. The creases when he laughs. 

Tav saw beauty in him he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like.

Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her.

He’s thought of Tav as a mother before. It flitted through his mind when Astarion watched her ease Arabella’s pounding heart with the gentleness of her own. That feeling lingered when Yenna joined their camp, and Astarion caught Tav teaching her cards. Combing the snarls from the girl’s hair. Coaching her in the basics of swordplay.

She’d be a wonderful mother. Astarion has no doubts in that regard. And he, well…

He doesn’t have an example to look back on, or one to look up to. But he has his compass. Tav’s heart beats, sure and steady, in his ear. That sound’s guided him through so much else. How could he lose his way for long, if there were two pitter-patters to listen to? 

His palm paints cool over that blooming softness in her stomach. An ache burns in his own. The sort of hunger her blood won’t sate. Would she taste even sweeter, he wonders, with her body rounded and swollen? 

Of course she would. So hard to improve something so perfect already. But she’d be radiant, if she were ripe with their child.

And after, when their babe is born, and her body is new all over again, he'd love every line, every fold, every mark that came from their coupling. He’d worship every part of her that was remade by the two of them to make the three of them. Marvel at the way the same body that first truly fed him would feed their child, too. 

He’d help her find her way back to pleasure in her own way, in her own time. Just as she did for him. His Tav gives, and gives, and he’d give her anything, everything, for the rest of his days, if a wretch like him would be so stupidly blessed to be the father of her child.

Astarion pulls a breath between his teeth, his nose flooding with her floral scent again. That would change, too. She’d carry new notes in her sweat, in her slick, in her blood, while carrying their babe. Astarion wants to taste them all, to learn what songs she can sing while he does.

Instinctually, he presses to the plump of her ass to soothe the building stiffness in his cock. He plants a muted hum in the fabric of the pillow. His groin throbs to the thump-thump of his compass, beating oblivious beneath her ribs.

He pictures pouring into her, night after night, his spend spilling in little translucent rivers down her slicked thighs, overflowing from her cunt. Too much for her to hold in, but she’d take him as long as it takes until life sparks inside of her. Tav’s determined in all her undertakings. Resilient. 

And in his dreams, she’s pliant. Pleading. 

“Star, please.”

She’s trembling in that slinky, translucent nightgown she wears to bed sometimes. The one that hardly hides her skin, but cloaks it in a delectable, silvery sheen. He likes it too much to ruin it. Or at least, he has every other night. 

Oh, he’d like to ruin it, now.

Tav’s pupils are blown black with want. Sweat shimmers on her skin, spurring his tongue to swipe his own lips. Her shoulder peeks bare from her nightgown, and Astarion can see her pebbled nipples, dark beneath the sheer silk that separates them. Hardened with hardly a touch. A feeling he’s intimately familiar with. His cock twitches as he strokes the back of his hand over the soft swell of her breast. 

“Aren’t you sore, sweet thing?” He tries for tender, but it comes out coarse. Rough like the way he wants to grip her hips.

“So be gentle,” she says with a sultry smile, lips peeled apart and glistening just enough that Astarion can’t peel his eyes away. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

Astarion slinks forward, crowding her against the edge of the bed. Careful, like cradling glass, his palm reaches out to cup the side of her cheek. She sighs into the touch, the curve of her smile reaching the heel of his hand.

“Always,” he says reverently, before his voice sinks to a growl. “You’re always so, so eager…for me.”

Her lashes flutter low over hungry eyes. All it takes is one little wordless bob of her head for Astarion’s own hunger to have the best of him. With a lazy roll of his wrists, he shoves her back with kind but firm force. The mattress bends with her impact, her breathless laughter nearly lost beneath the whine of the wooden frame. Astarion crawls after her, hands fisting in her nightgown, and pulling her free of it.

And then, she’s bare beneath him. Writhing from his tongue and teeth. Gasping out the best words he’s ever heard. Astarion downs them like a man starved, kissing her with the kind of fervor he thought reserved for bloodlust. But her lips, the promises they pour, are sustenance all on their own.

“I’m yours,” she whispers, “all yours. Always. All of me.”

Astarion can’t stifle the whine that drags from some hollow in his chest he never knew about before.

The bed creaks as he hitches one of Tav’s limber legs up over his shoulder and nips a path of sharp kisses from her ankle to the crux of her thigh. He pauses, sweeping a feverish gaze over the spread of her: legs parted in his grip, that perfect slit, already wet with want, the rest of her sprawled naked across the bed, at his mercy, at his desire, at her own. 

He leans down, tongue dipping leisurely through her cunt. Always, she swore. So there’s no hurry in how he takes apart the woman he loves so dearly, in one of her favorite ways to be unmade. No matter how many times she claws the sheets and hisses, “Please, Star. F-fuck, I need you inside of me.”

It turns something in the depths of him to hear his own name said as a prayer. It makes him want with a force and harshness stronger than any thirst he’s felt for blood. He wants to turn her. Change her. Forever, for good. For the life they could make from their bodies, bound as close as souls could be. He wants to see her swell with the love they make, with all the love he’ll leave inside her.

She’s so close, her legs quaking violently when her hand tangles his hair and yanks his head upright. She’s beautiful, flushed ruby red, taking her air in shallow doses. Her eyes burn with equal measures adoration and reproach.

Astarion smirks, unrepentant, lips smeared with devotion. “My love, any work of art takes time. And that’s what we’re making, you know. When others look upon our progeny, they will weep in the sight of such beauty.”

“If all it takes is time, dearest,” she says, with a smile just as filthy, “then I don’t want to waste one second of it lying here empty.”

“Mmm,” Astarion sighs, nosing down against her throbbing clit, eyes flashing back to hers as he dares another lick. Her fist tightens in his hair. Astarion only chuckles. 

“You’re right, of course,” he croons. “That won’t do, at all. I do recall promising to-- how did you put it the other night? ‘Fuck you full and senseless’? I’m more partial to what you begged me for a tenday ago, when I had you face-down and waiting for me as soon as the sun was set. Remind me again, my love, what you said when you weren't gasping my name?"

Astarion presses the tip of his tongue to her clit again and tastes her rapid, ravenous pulse in the heat of it. Tav’s hips jerk in response, but he holds her fast.

“I-I said I want-- that I want--”

“You want me to ‘breed you like a damn animal’," he finishes for her. "Oh, don’t be shy now, my sweet. We’re far past that. And we want the same things, after all. But," he sighs, letting his lips drag through her flushed folds, "I've another promise to keep, first.”

Astarion flicks his wrist, muttering magic beneath his breath. Tav’s sharp little yelp of surprise shoots heat straight to his groin. His cock throbs as she settles again, arms bound above her head by his mage hand, tits bouncing from the slightest struggle against her restraints. She smirks up at him, eyes aflame with fresh desire. Escape is the farthest thing from what she wants.

“You lie back now, dear,” Astarion drawls. “You’ll take me soon enough. You’ll be so good for me, like you always are, and take everything I give you. And I’ll take very, very good care of the woman I intend to make a mother.”

Astarion watches her keenly, tracing his forefinger down through her slick. He unfurls it, circling her cunt daintily, and watching her writhe for even the faintest promise of friction. He’s not sure if it’s his mercy or his selfishness that readily discards the thought of keeping her here, just like this, for the rest of the day. She’s mesmerizing, with the way her back arches from the blankets, and how her body strains towards any touch he’ll spare her. 

All mine, he thinks, with a smile that makes him feel weightless. He grounds his hardened cock against the edge of the bed, groaning. All yours, darling. Just for you.

Pride rumbles low in his chest as he sets his mouth back to work again and knows she can’t cover her own. There’s no muffling his name pouring from her lips. No hiding how she cries for him. Her whole body winds taut, shuddering with every stroke of his tongue. 

Finally, finally, he lets his finger slip inside her. Astarion sighs into a satisfied purr, letting the tremble of it soak into her sex. Her cunt’s a vice around his knuckle. Every pump of his finger feeds the building burn inside him, fanning the ache to be sheathed in that tightness. He only aches more, feeling her squeeze around his finger, and knowing she longs for him just the same.

He slips in a second finger to join the first, feeling her spread and then clench anew. Astarion ruts aimlessly into the mattress, in time with the thrust of his wrist. The head of his cock weeps anticipation with the rogue tear trailing down the side of her cheek. It’s only pleasure that makes her cry.

There’s only love in her heavy-lidded gaze as she pants, “Please.”

Mercy, then, Astarion resolves. For both of them.

Her thighs quiver against his ears like leaves in a breeze. Astarion swirls his tongue against the bud of her clit and sucks tightly. Tav stiffens abruptly. His arms hook firm around her legs as a shattered sound breaks from her throat,and a hard tremor courses through her hips. 

He holds her through it, pinning her to the bed until just the faintest brush of his lips has her shuddering. The start of her plaintive whimper has him easing back. A murmured word sets her wrists free of her restraints. Her heart still hammers, sumptuous, in his head, as he peppers her legs in kisses soft as velvet.

“Beautiful,” he whispers with each one, slinking up her body while she comes back down. “So, so beautiful.”

He thinks of new life, as his knee bends between her thighs and drags her open all over again. He thinks of the graveyard, where he had her freely beneath the stars, in the dirt where he woke centuries ago. He thinks he’d be happy to die again, this way, as he slides forward and buries himself inside her waiting heat.

Astarion grates out a long, low moan as he basks in the wrap of her arms and her cunt. Dimly, he feels her fingertips threading gently through his curls. He thinks of sunlight on his skin again as he sinks in fully, bracing his arms on either side of her head, letting his forehead tilt against hers. He can feel her pulse thrumming through her body, through his cock, through his fogged-over thoughts. His hips roll to the sound, as if it beckoned him to motion. Tav’s head drops back into the pillows. She lets out a long, contented hum, while her body rocks in time with his.

“Is this what you needed, darling?” He huffs a laugh, catching her lips in chaste kiss. It’s enough for her to taste her own sweetness. And one squeeze from her cunt is enough to cut his breath away all over again. 

“I think you needed me, too,” she purrs.

“Y-yes,” he stammers through bared teeth, his throat tied taut as she wrings him for all he’s worth. “Yes.”

She knows exactly what he needs, what he yearns for. He needs her, needs this, needs to see his seed seeping from her fucked-out hole, pink and puffy and leaking. He’ll know the rest of it was spent so deep inside her, her fertile womb is flooded. That’s his, too, with the rest of her. 

Hips high for me, beautiful, he’ll say, when his last thrust is done. And he’ll hold her legs up against his shoulders, kiss her heels, and slip the pillow beneath her pelvis. Just to be sure it takes. 

It’ll be another couple months before they’ll start to see the fruit of their efforts. Until Tav starts to bloom with it. And then, he’ll be hard pressed not to have his hands on her every hour. Cupping the fresh heft of her breasts as they grow with the passing days, heavy from him, for the babe growing in her belly. He’ll soothe her weepy eyes and tits alike, with a skilled tongue and sweet whisper. Rub her shoulders to ease the new weight her bones carry. Draw his nose down her neck and smell not just her, but himself, and the consequences of what they did, right here in this bed.

Feel her change beneath his hands and feel so fucking proud to be the reason.

Pleasure winds, binding, around his cock, and he feels that hunger snap its jaws around him all over again. His hips snap with it, jerking frantically. I need you, all of you, he thinks, and if he weren’t already fucking her, he’d be on his knees, begging for all he’s worth. Her cunt quivers, and he’s lost to the grip of her. Astarion shoves his own knuckles in his mouth to stifle a strangled cry. 

“Star?”

Astarion rips awake in a sweat. He sees familiar wooden beams above his head, above his bed. Sunlight streaks the floorboards, leaking from behind the curtains. Turning his cheek, he finds his lover peering at him from over her shoulder, concern wrinkling her face. Tav still lays on her side, and Astarion still presses against her back. But his hand clamps tight to her thigh, bare where he hiked up her tunic. And his cock twitches fitfully against her ass, unspent and painfully hard. 

Just a dream, then. For now, at least. 

He lets out a long, weary sigh, slumping back into the sheets. Tav tilts her head, the worry in her gaze gradually dissolving into a mischievous gleam.

“I thought you might--” she starts, snickering, “but you were having sweet dreams, weren’t you?”

“The best I’ve ever had,” Astarion mutters mournfully as he buries his face in his pillow. “You were there, of course.” 

Astarion rarely sleeps anymore. It’s not normal, not natural for an elf. But it was a trick he taught to dodge Cazador’s torment at least for a few hours a day. Reverie used to mean putting the horrors on repeat. He’d slowly eased from the habit, now that he has new memories worth seeing a second, third, or hundredth time. 

Still, occasionally, he drifts to sleep without meaning to. Sometimes, he wanders off into novel nightmares. Or, if he’s lucky, he dreams of making love to his wife and making her pregnant. Of making their own little dhampir.

His hips shift, and he hisses. Pre-cum seeps from the head of his cock, slickening the shaft. It’s not enough. Not after such a succulent fantasy. But one touch from his darling might have him sated, if not entirely satisfied. Pleasure stabs, sharp, through his groin as she shifts and brushes him with her motion. He grimaces. 

Just one touch alone could do it.

“I’m here now,” she smirks, twisting to face him. Her hand slips down between them. Mercy, he thinks, as her fingers wrap his length. He thrusts into her palm with a pleading whimper. “Tell me all about these dreams of yours.”

A/N: If you're yelling "Let him breed!!" at the screen just know I'm right there with you holding a megaphone about it 💜

If there's interest (from others & myself) perhaps there might be a part two where Tav takes matters into her own hands. Makes him say exactly what he wants, if he wants to have it so bad 👀

EDIT: This is now officially a part one of two 😉

If you'd like me to add you to a tag list for future one-shots, or all of my future BG3 fic (including multi-chapters), leave me a comment and let me know which you'd like!

& HUGE thank you to some lovely Discord and Tumblr friends/moots who cheered me on as I worked on this one! 💜

Tag List: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[stupidphototricks]

Nobody's doing it like Otto Chriek. He's a vampire who has sworn off drinking b-word. He likes hanging out in cellars and hanging from chandeliers. Photography is his passion, and his passion is painful and comes with a high risk of discorporation. He experiments with dark light and philosophizes about the nature of time. He figures out how to create photo plates with hardly any effort. He invents the three-color printing process. He designs a method to auto-reanimate himself. He lays down his life for the team (but then picks it up again*).

*(yes this is a joke from the book, all credit to Sir Terry)

William caught Sacharissa's gaze. Her look said it all: We've hired him. Have we got the heart to fire him now? And don't make fun of his accent unless your Uberwaldean is really good, okay? -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Vell?" he said sternly. "Vot you all looking at? It is just a normal reaction, zat is all. I am vorking on it. Light in all itz forms is mine passion. Light is my canvas, shadows are my brush." "But strong light hurts you!" said Sacharissa. "It hurts vampires!" "Yes. It iss a bit of a bugger, but zere you go." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

William vaguely remembered something someone had once said: the only thing more dangerous than a vampire crazed with blood lust was a vampire crazed with anything else. All the meticulous single-mindedness that went into finding young women who slept with their bedroom door open got channeled into some other interest, with merciless and painstaking efficiency. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Good mornink," said Otto. "Do not movink, please, you are making a good pattern of light and shade." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"I cannot promise an absolutely vunderful job first cat out of zer bag, off course." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Bodrozvachski zhaltziet! …oh, sorry, Miss Sacharissa! Zere has been a minor pothole on zer road to progress…" -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Zer philosopher Heidehollen tells us zat the universe is just a cold soup of time, all time mixed up together, and vot we call zer passage of time is merely qvantum fluctuations in zer fabric of space-time." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

(Sounds kind of like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff...)

"It [dark light] is a light without time. Vot it illuminates, you see . . . is not necessarily now." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"You vanted color, I gif you color," said Otto sulkily. "You never said qvick." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

A couple of bits that are more spoilerish under the cut:

That thing where Otto screams and (sometimes) turns to ash when he takes a picture is particularly funny if you imagine it from the point of view of the unwitting photographic subject, in this case Cheery Littlebottom:

"Ah, a vonderful framing effect!" said Otto, who'd been on the other side of the door. Click! William shut his eyes. WHOOMPH. "Ohhbuggerrrrr . . ." This time William caught the little piece of paper before it hit the ground. The dwarf stood open-mouthed. Then she closed her mouth. Then she opened it again to say: "What the hell just happened?" "I suppose you could call it a sort of industrial injury," said William. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

And the scene where Otto goes up against William's father is just a thing of beauty.

"Ve have people like you back home," he said. "Zey are the ones that tell the mob vot to do. I come here to Ankh-Morpork, zey tell me things are different, but really it is alvays the same. Always zere are damn people like you! And now, vot shall I do with you?" [...] "You think I bite him? Shall I bite you, Mister Lordship? Vell, maybe not, because Villiam here thinks I am a good person." He pulled Lord de Worde close, so their faces were a few inches apart. "Now, maybe I have to ask myself, how good am I? Or maybe I just have to ask myself… am I better zan you?" He hesitated for a second or two, and then in a sudden movement jerked the man towards him. With great delicacy, he planted a kiss on Lord de Worde's forehead. Then he put the trembling man back down on the floor and patted him on the head. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

[feyascorner]

as the snow falls

summary. years after becoming the vampire ascendant and harnessing the endless power he’s always wanted, the loneliness of his throne brings him to reminisce about the only person who’d ever cracked the surface of his frozen heart.

so why not visit them disguised as someone else?

warnings. angst, little to no comfort, bittersweet, this is kinda long

pairing. astarion x GN!reader

a/n. happy holidays everyone! I thought about making a fluffier fic but what’s better than holiday angst!! this takes place years after the game where Tav/reader breaks up with astarion once he becomes ascendant btw!

He hated fresh snow. At this time of year, he left the palace more often, leaving deep footprints that ruin its perfect evenness. He preferred when it was stained with blood, but then again, he preferred anything over untouched snow.

So when he sits up from his bed, which is far too big for one person, he sighs irritably at the snow falling softly on the other side of the window. His voice awakens the woman beside him, who rubs at her eyes, her other fingers grazing at the two identical puncture wounds at her neck.

To be quite honest, he'd forgotten she was there. He only notices her when she revels at what he's staring at, letting out a shrilling gasp. “My Lord, it’s snowing! How beautiful.”

Judging from the way she oh so comfortably addresses him, he figures she’s one of the newer servants in the palace. Any other half witted person would know to keep their head down and leave quietly, but not her. While it would bother him on any other occasion, he doesn't bother reprimanding her as his mind fails to supply him the words. He doesn't even know her name.

“Get out,” is all he says, voice an octave deeper than usual. There's a slight pause before she scrambles to climb out of the bed, finally having had some sense knocked into her. He only glances at her right as she shuts the door, eyes only noticing how her hair is the same shade as his late lover.

When he turns back to his window, he remembers how your hair had looked softer than hers. He remembers the way it had felt when he ran his fingers through your strands, and the way you'd smile in that enchanting way of yours. The way he'd let you run your own hands through white curls in return, immersed in a world where only the two of you existed in that cruddy tent while the very real problems of the outside world didn’t weigh as heavy as they usually did.

He pulls the curtains closed.

By the time he gets to his throne room, the palace is already wide awake. While Cazador’s operations had run themselves mainly during the night, Astarion was different. He could bathe in the sun all he wanted and would only come out glowing, and he'd abuse that to his full advantage. He was not afraid of the sun, because they were not the same.

They were not the same at all.

As he paces by the servants, they all hush down, quietly returning to their busy schedules as they prepare whatever housework they'd been assigned to. When he perches on his throne, he looks down at all of them, eyes narrowed at each of their movements. He’s not truly paying any of them any attention, except for the occasional ones who have the same shade of hair as the servant this morning. Those ones have puncture wounds on their necks.

Even if their blood tastes vile in comparison to yours, it’s the closest he can get.

Finally, something truly catches his attention. If he didn't have such keen ears, he wouldn't have heard the few in the corner, whispering.

“The heroes are celebrating the restoration of the city at Elfsong tavern tonight!” one says excitedly. “Do you think Master will go see them?”

“No, certainly not,” another responds. “He rarely meets them anymore, does he? Shame. I would love to see them in person before they leave. I heard a few of them won’t be coming back for a while.”

“Surely we could go ourselves?”

“Well,” one ponders. “If we hurry with all our assignments perhaps we can make it in time…”

Astarion snaps back into attention when a male servant approaches him, admittedly with a swallow of his throat. “My Lord.”

“What is it?” he snaps, thought it surprises even himself how harshly it came out. Not that he cares.

“T-the entire first floor has been scraped clean, my Lord. The second floor, twice,” he stammers, eyes looking anywhere but at Astarion’s face. While it first boosted his ego seeing others cower in fear, now it just irritates him. “Of course, we haven't touched the left wing, as you instructed, but there were some worries regarding the dust collecting in the main bedroom there, and-”

“The left wing will remain the way it is until I orderwise,” Astarion responds immediately, then pauses. “Tell the others to rid the yards of snow.”

The servant’s eyes go wide. “But my Lord, it’s still snowing…and there's already a few inches—to clean it would just result in the snow piling again-”

“I won't repeat myself, child.”

He is not like Cazador. Not at all.

As the servant stumbles away with a frantic nod, Astarion’s gaze drifts towards the windows again. He’d had them installed the second he took possession of the palace, refusing to keep its walls in darkness any longer. He'd torn off the curtains, wallpaper, decorations, and replaced them all with new ones—ones that were more to his liking. It was an entirely new Palace, and yet…

The only place he'd left untouched was the left wing. He knew the servant’s words came from reason. The left wing was surely to rot away at this rate, being left unoccupied for so long. He hated the way it had no windows, the way the curtains were the same blood red shade Cazador had favored, and how the hallway was only dimly lit with a few candles.

He closes his eyes.

He remembers your voice so clearly, he might’ve mistaken you for standing right before him. “Once we kill Cazador, isn't this place yours?”

He had raised a brow. “Perhaps. Why do you ask?”

“Maybe you can make this place more pleasing to the eye, I don't like how dark it is now.”

“Really? I am curious as to what you would deem admirable interior design. Perhaps I’ll give you a portion of the palace to yourself, my dear.”

He snaps his eyes open.

He truly hated when it snowed.

He looks down at all his subjects once more. And this time, he found the isolation of the throne eating at a heart that he no longer had.

——

The snow doesn't stop, even as the sun sets.

And while he detests himself for doing so, he finds himself entering Elfsong tavern, where the night’s just begun. After hours of contemplation, convincing himself he had no reason to join the celebrations of common folk, he thinks of course you of all people would celebrate at a mere tavern over a lavish party with the rich. Of course you'd prefer to listen to a less than pathetic excuse for a bard than a musician with years of experience.

He curses that humble streak of yours as he steps into the building with a disguise spell. He’s still an elf, handsome but not as much as his ordinary self. His hair is a shade of chestnut brown, eyes in a different color than his usual as well. It’s enough to pass as a different person.

He doesn't have to look around long, because someone bumps into his shoulder, yelping an obnoxious ‘ow!’ before turning to him. And while Astarion contemplates a more violent outcome for daring to cross a vampire, he quickly stops when he sees a familiar wizard.

“Sorry about that. Have a lot on my hands right now,” Gale apologizes with that annoying smile of his before rushing back to his table with the two drinks in his hands. It’s crowded in the tavern, but none of it stops Astarion from spotting you in an instant.

Gods above.

That same shade of hair framing your laughing expression is all he can see. Gale sets the drinks in front of you and Shadowheart, and the vampire makes out your thanks from the way you mouth the words before taking a chug from it.

You’ve matured. Your hair is styled differently than he remembers from a few years ago. The way you carry yourself is different too. And you seem more comfortable under so many gazes—all of which he wishes it were only his.

You look happy.

A part of himself hates you for it.

But when he dwells on the feeling a moment too long, he realizes it’s more directed to himself. Because while you sit there with that beautiful smile on your face, surrounded by your companions and the admiration of the city, all he has is the cold grips of his throne, where all he seems to think about is blood, and more importantly, you.

Enough, he thinks. He's making a fool of himself. He's sure you'd rather not see him anyway, after the poor falling out the two of you had. And he's not sure what he'd do if you came too close to him, which is also something he'd rather not test.

But then, you stand up. You wave something at the others before pacing across the tavern toward the back door. Astarion doesn't even have to will his legs to move before they're halfway across the door, trailing after you.

When he finds you again, you're ankle deep in the fresh layer of snow behind the loud tavern, in the otherwise quiet city of the night. You're staring at the sky as a snowflake lands on your nose, and you make no moves to wipe it off, instead you breathe in, and then out, leaving Astarion to stare blankly from the shadows.

“You can come out, you know. I promise I don't bite,” you hum, and a lump grows in his throat. Still, he does.

“It’s cold,” he says.

“It is,” you smile, oblivious to who you're speaking to through the disguise. He simultaneously wants to reveal himself and hide in the shadows. “It’s nice though. I've always loved snow, and this might be my last chance to see it in Baldur’s Gate for a while.”

He stares at the way your breath steams against the freezing air. “Have plans of travel? Surely a hero like you would prefer to stay in a city of people in your debt.”

“Adventuring, probably,” you shrug, turning your gaze back down to the snow. “I’ve done what I can here. No reason for me to stay.”

The selfish part of him flares, though it seems to be most of him nowadays. Him. He should be the reason.

His brows furrow. “You won't be coming back?”

“Probably not for a while. This city holds a lot of memories, and not all of them are ones I'm rather fond of,” you sigh. “I just wish I could've helped more people, but I suppose life just doesn't work out the way you want it to.”

He raises a brow. “How ambitious. I would think saving an entire city is enough for at least a few lifetimes.”

“Well,” your voice drops. “There was one more person I really wanted to help. One that I lost.”

He remains quiet, eyes glued to the way you kick at the snow.

“I should have guided him better. Should have let him know that he was enough. Not because he was some all powerful being, but just because he was him. I thought—” your nose crinkles. “—I thought I'd been helping him, by encouraging him any way I could. But that tore us apart, and I'd do anything to go back and fix it.”

To be in that tent again, to hold you close again, to love you again.

“Sounds like a lucky man to receive such endearing words from you,” is all he manages.

You snort, laughing a bit. “I was the lucky one to have ever met him. I just wish our time together hadn't been so short.”

And as you hold out cupped hands to the sky, gathering the snow, Astarion feels his chest go impossibly tight when you finally meet his eyes. Gods, had he missed them. “I wish we could've seen the snow together. The first snow in the morning, when nothing’s touched it and it’s just a perfect even layer. I think he would have liked it.”

“I’m sure,” he says. “I’m sure he would've enjoyed watching the snow with you.”

You smile again, and he forces down the urge to pull you closer right then and there. To remind you that you can have all that, and more. He could give you everything, the world be damned. He could have you sit on his lap in the throne of his palace, and fill your head with hushed promises of love and praises, holding you tight to his side with one hand and wine in the other.

He could forget about how cold the throne feels.

Instead, he only watches you step out of the snow and pace towards the door leading back to the tavern. And as you open the door, you glance back at him. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“I ought to return home. I have quite the night ahead of me.”

You tilt your head. “Shame, I was hoping to buy you a drink for listening to a complete stranger for five minutes.”

Astarion offers a slight nod. “Perhaps next time, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He hates the churning inside of him as he realizes this is your final farewell. This is the last time you’ll give him your full attention, and he detests the way all he wants to do is to convince you to stay. To realize he can offer so much more than the rest of the world. That he’d ruin the world for you.

But when your smile softens, he stops himself again. He curses the effect you have on him. “Next time, then.”

And then the door shuts closed.

He stares at it for a long time, waging an internal battle where he struggles to gather his composure relentlessly until he looks away and turns his attention back to the snow.

He breathes. Not because he has to—because he doesn't—but because it finally allows his shoulders to relax.

The air is cold in his throat.

Somehow, from here rather than the view from his bedroom, the snow doesn't look so bad.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Dancing With the Devil

A Vampire!Rhys x Reader Fic (because I am a SLUT for him) based on this post.

Content Warnings: Smut and blood, you know, typical vampire things.

___________________________

How you ended up on the dance floor in the middle of the Velaris Estate, being spun in dizzying circles by masked males as stringed instruments swell on a phantom wind, is anybody's guess. You think it might have been Nesta’s idea, but whatever schemes landed you in this dark, shadowy world is lost under the swell of music and rustling of skirts. You’re sure your friend is here somewhere, dancing her heart out, but the bodies clustered around you in a sea of dark lace and velvet make distinguishing anybody hard. She’ll find you by the end of the night, once she’s ditched her shoes and had a little too much to drink, for now, you’ll have to keep yourself entertained in one of the many options the party of the recently returned lord of the estate has to offer.

You don’t know much about Rhysand, other than the rumors that he came from very, very old money and had been away on the Continent while the Vampire Queen Amarantha’s reign of terror had ravaged the courts. He’s something of a local legend, always throwing these extravagant masquerade balls, the doors of this sprawling, gothic estate open until the sun begins to rise in the morning, without ever showing his face. He has to be here somewhere, directing the staff and making sure there’s no mischief happening in the locked rooms on the upper floors, but no one can tell you what he looks like, how old he is, any defining details. Honestly, realizing this was where you’d be spending the evening had been nothing short of a thrill. The war against the vampires had taken your father and left your older brother as heir of the Spring estate, he hadn’t let you out much to explore since.

Gloved hands twirl you around the dance floor again, the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead glittering like a thousand stars as you throw your head back and embrace the sheer weightlessness of the dance. It’s exhilarating and freeing, and you find yourself wishing that every night was like this. You’d thrive in this kind of freedom, no locked doors in empty mansions, no guards just to walk you through the gardens, only your wits and your whims dictating where you’ll go next.

The dance requires you to change partners often, so it is no surprise that a different, stronger set of hands settles on your hips as you come out of a spin and move into a more complicated three step. However, the tall stranger, with eyes so blue they’re almost violet beneath a mask shaped like a bat, is far better sight than the last male.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, and his voice is a lover’s purr, made for the darkness of a bedroom. 

“Immensely,” you say as you chase him through the steps, one hand on his firm shoulder, other atop his own against your waist. It is unlike you to keep your hands firmly planted on a male’s body, even while dancing, even with your brother’s watchful eye far away. Better to be cautious than be accused of having wandering hands, but you can make an exception. Forget you have ever done anything else, because the male wears a corset to accentuate every muscle in his lean body, dark shirt beneath left half open to show off a swirl of dark ink on his bronze chest. Every piece of clothing looks like an open invitation to touch. He knows it too, grinning when your hand slides a little lower on his chest.

“You dance beautifully,” he praises, perfect teeth biting at his lower lip as he drinks in the plunging neckline of your gown.

You’re thankful that your own mask hides the blush dusting your cheeks. “So do you.” He moves with inhumane grace, so fluidly you wouldn’t be able to track every step if he wasn’t pulling you along with him. 

Three more steps, then a fourth before the music begins to slow and he’s dragging your body closer to his own, large hand sliding over your hip to your lower back. 

“Will you dance another with me?” He asks, warm breath fanning your face as he leans in to be heard over the swell of a harp.

You nod eagerly, anything for a chance to have those hands on you a bit longer.

Two dances turn to four, then six, until you’ve lost count entirely, the night slipping away from you. At some point, he asks if you want to stop and get a drink, and you might have said no because this was just too good an opportunity to pass up, but the mischief in his violet eyes make you think better of it. You soon find yourself pulled through the swirling of bodies that hasn’t let up all night, and into a darker corner of the room, where couches and chairs and tables line the walls for people to observe the dancefloor with a little privacy. Quite a few of the couches are occupied with couples embracing in the shelter of the dark, where there are few candles to be observed under.

There’s a couch in the corner, beneath a large window, moonlight streaming over the dark cushions that’s empty and your companion leads you right to it. In your defense, you are expecting to be plied with a little wine before anything happens between the two of you, so you are unprepared for him to slide into the seat and pull you right into his lap!

Heat flares in your cheeks, body awkwardly tangled in your skirts as he pulls your hips forward to get you situated atop his powerful thighs. 

“What happened to drinks?” You ask, a little breathless from dancing and trying not to stammer under the brazenness of the display. You’re no blushing virgin, but you’ve certainly never been in this compromising a position in front of an audience before.

He brushes his nose over the column of your throat and places his plush lips against your skin, making all thought eddie from your mind.

“I intend to,” he says into your skin before he nips gently at your sensitive flesh.

Your whole body shivers, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Rhys,” he says as he kisses his way up your jaw.

Rhys as in… 

As if he can read your mind he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin, “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?”

He hums as he scrapes his teeth playfully over your throat. The edges of his mask tickling your skin as it brushes against you, the contrast between his warm breath and the rough fabric sending a thrill down your spine. You should be absolutely mortified that you’re perched in the lord of the estate’s lap, but you can’t find it in you to care, can’t find it in yourself to do anything but settle a little more firmly against his body and let him explore.

“Mind reading is one of my many talents,” he purrs as his gloved hands slide over your hips, skirts bunching up around your thighs as slender fingers need the soft flesh of your ass.

You instinctively rock your hips forward, clothed core scraping over the budding tent in his slacks. The contact makes your head spin, makes you tip your head back a little as he sucks a mark into your throat. You’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow to hide it from Tamlin.

“And what other talents do you have, M’lord?” You tease, because you’ve never believed in such magic. 

“I think I’d rather show you, Darling,” he says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words, they’re an echo inside your head, as if they’re your own thoughts in his voice.

You still your movements in his lap; this is not the magic of witches or mages, not some clever party trick of the traveling magicians that often pass through Prythian. They say only Vampires can possess talents like this.

Rhys grins at you as the realization clicks into place, and whatever glamor had been used to hide his fangs slides out of place, canine’s glinting in the moonlight. You put your hands on his chest, firm, but there’s no heartbeat beneath your palms, intending to push yourself off him before he can sink those fangs into your throat, but his grip on you tightens to the brink of pain. Your bones feel fragile, brittle under his supernatural grip.

“Relax, Darling,” he instructs and a shadow of sheer, undiluted power brushes over your mind, freezing you in place. “I promise this will be pleasant for the both of us.”

“Let go of me!” You squeak, still trying to push yourself free. “Or I’ll start screaming!”

He chuckles, the sound of it skittering over your bones, and the dim candles nearby flicker out, leaving you only visible in the moonlight. A few of the couples nearby cheer excitedly, as if that’s some sort of signal. 

“Here’s the thing,” he explains as he brushes his nose against the column of your throat again. When you try to squirm away, he only pulls you closer, lips hungrily tracing the pulse pounding in your neck. “I could go out into the woods, feed on some vagrants nobody cares about, spend my nights hunting for a warm body to take my fill of. But after a thousand years, the chase gets a little boring.”

A thousand years. Rhysand is a thousand year old Vampire?

“Why waste my time and energy, when I can bring a meal right to my doorstep?”

“Please,” you whimper, body trembling. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, kissing your throat far more gently than somebody holding this tightly to you should. “That’s why I picked you. I know you want an escape from your life of locked doors.”

You still as he drags his lips along the edge of your jaw until he meets your ear. “Let me show you a way out.”

Your skin is sensitive there, his breath makes you shiver in delight, goosebumps prickling your skin. He can’t possibly know all this just by looking at you, he had to have been rummaging around in your head, probably while you were dancing. It’s an invasion of your privacy, and you should keep fighting for any chance to escape him, but there’s a piece of you that wants this. Tamlin will never give you a way out, the more you beg for your freedom the more doors he locks in your face, and if you go home in the morning, if you let him pick a husband for you, it will never be any different. There will only be more locked doors, only keeping a stranger’s bed warm, his house run, tending boys that will have more freedom than you’ll ever get just because they’re boys. You will be lucky if you’ll get to keep to your books and your sketches, lucky if you get to keep any hobbies at all that don’t include tending a house. You’re trapped in a cage no one can save you from if you don’t take this one key.

His fangs scrape over your earlobe as he nips playfully at it. “It’s an even bargain,” he prompts. “You let me feed, and I’ll show you a world of nothing but open doors, hmm?”

You’re a fool, and you’re pretty sure an agreement will damn your soul forever. 

“Will it hurt?”

“Only for a moment.”

A moment’s pain for an opportunity of unbridled freedom. “It’s a bargain,” you say, tipping your head back to fully expose your throat. You shut your eyes though, unable to watch it happen.

“Good girl,” Rhys purrs and there’s a little tingle, like electricity in your fingertips and palm that makes you crack an eye open for a second to look at the black whorls that now cover your fingertips, up your hand and over your wrist. Some sort of permanent bargain mark.

There’s no time to ask about it before Rhys sinks his fangs into your throat. The coppery scent of blood fills your senses, mind spinning to comprehend all that’s happening as pain flairs in the muscles in your neck. 

“So sweet,” he purrs into your mind. “Just as I’d hoped.”

He’s not letting up, but the longer it takes, the less pain you feel. The longer his fangs are in your neck, the warmer your body becomes. Your muscles slowly relax, pliant in his iron grip. When he rocks his hips, slowly, testing, you can’t help the groan that escapes you. Even as the last little rational bit of your mind screams in protest, your hips once again work over the bulge in his pants, chasing the heat budding in your core. 

When he removes his fangs from your throat, he laves over the wound with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your blood escape. “I’ve fed on a lot of humans,” he whispers, “but none as sweet as you.”

You can’t seem to stop moving, chasing after the pleasure building quicker and quicker as you rut your hips against his. “What’s happening to me?”

When he kisses you, it’s the coppery tang of your own blood on his lips. “Vampire venom is an aphrodisiac. Makes feeding a pleasurable experience for everybody, wouldn’t you agree?”

The scrape of his slacks is delicious, makes you squeeze your eyes shut and move without thinking about how brazen you look, but it’s not enough. You need more. Need him deeper. Need him moving inside you with the same fervor he had when feeding on you.

“Need you,” you whimper and he kisses you again, one hand tangling in your hair, absolutely ruining the updo you’d carefully constructed hours earlier. The other slides under your skirts to find the hem of your underthings and he gives the elastic band a testing pull before he rips it off entirely. 

You gasp in surprise into his mouth at the sheer strength of him.

The leather of his gloves is a cool texture against your bare skin as he drags a thumb over you and you rock your hips into his touch, desperately seeking more. He’d been right, this was definitely a more pleasurable experience than you anticipated it being. 

Rhys breaks the kiss as he slides a finger inside you, and you throw your head back and moan unabashedly. You don’t truly have the presence of mind to look at the other couples nearby, but judging by the sounds coming from around you, you’re not the only one partaking of this kind of pleasure tonight. The cover of darkness and music shields your activities well enough, but perhaps there are more than a few vampires in Rhys’s court, and they won’t risk their own hunts letting anybody look too close in your direction.

Plush lips move down your jaw again, like he just can’t stay away from your throat. You’re inclined to let him bite you again and again and again just to feel like this for a little while longer. Heat and pleasure builds at the base of your spine, burning white hot through you as he slides a second finger in your wetness, stretching you out.

“All this for me, Darling?” He scrapes his teeth over your skin, not biting but marking you as he searches for the collar of your gown. When he finds it, he starts dragging it away from your body with his teeth, deft fingers untying the laces at your back to let the excess fabric fall.

The cool air against your flushed skin has you whimpering, eyes screwed shut as you draw closer and closer to the edge. 

His fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes stars swim across your vision and you bite down so hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming you draw blood. Like a moth to flame, his lips leave where he’d been sucking a mark into your shoulder to lap the slight trickle of blood off your lower lip. 

Maybe you’re wrong for it, but the sight is hot, makes you core tighten around his fingers, addicted to the way he craves you, as if you’re some sort of drug. You drag your hands down his chest, unclasping the last button you can reach before the corset gets in the way. You want to tear it off him and run your tongue over the firm planes of his chest, taste him just as he is you, but that will have to be another time. Your hands move lower, trying to find the laces of his pants around the bunched up frill of your skirts, needing more, unable to convey it around the white noise building in your head. It’s too much and not enough; the best you’ve ever had and you haven’t even cum yet. You’ve never felt so desperate for anything in your life.

He chuckles into your mouth at your neediness, hips rising off the couch to both tease you and give you the leverage you need to find the laces of his pants. You’re really not sure how you manage it around your skirts, how you can think about anything but the movement of his fingers inside you or all the filthy things he keeps whispering in your ear. It’s nothing short of a frenzy as you finally manage to get him free of his laces and guide him directly where you need him most.

He’s not your first by any means, but he’s definitely the biggest, and it takes a moment for you to adjust to his size. By then, the world around you could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed anything but him. There is no orchestra playing, no music besides the sounds of his moans of pleasure as they mingle with yours, no thought but the two of you and how your bodies merge and join. 

That white hot pleasure keeps building tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock inside you, and you steady yourself against the back of the couch, chests brushing as you fight to remain steady. His fingertips will certainly leave bruises on your hips with the way he holds you. 

You’re so close to the edge, dangling over the precipice, his name a prayer on your lips as he once again sinks his fangs into your neck for a taste. Release barrels through you as he moans into your bruised flesh, his own release not far behind as you slump exhausted against his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, body trembling as you come down from your high.

Rhys strokes a gloved hand over your ruined hair as you catch your breath. “I was going to turn you tonight,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But I think I want a few more rounds of that first.”

You huff a laugh into his chest. You don’t hate the idea. No part of your bargain said he had to turn you immediately. “Is that all vampires do? Feed and fuck?”

Violet eyes gleam playfully in the dark as he says, “Darling, you’ll have all eternity to find out.”

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Okay, I lied. One last post before I take that much needed mental health break.

A post that I always swore - back before you could turn off reblogs and mute comments and basically make the lives of would be trolls very pointless, because you will never see what they say - I would never be stupid enough to make.

I leave you with my essay on…

Why Sparkly Vampires Make Perfect Sense, Stephanie Meyer Just Went About It All Wrong

Let's face it, humans don't always know what we're looking at. As an example, I was reading a book about poison use in royal courts. In the section on cures, in the subsection on unicorn horn (alicorn, for the technical term), it mentioned how the people who procured this rare substance were somewhat baffled by the fact that at the end of their lives the unicorn (which lived in such places as Africa, Persia, India, etc.) would migrate to the far north to die on the beaches of the arctic sea. Now, in their defense, it's very unlikely that any of these individuals would be well traveled enough to have even the opportunity to see both a live unicorn and a dead one. If they had, they might have had an easier time realizing 'these are two different animals!'. But the point still stands.

Humans don't always know what we're looking at.

Now, if you go through folk lore and mythology, you will, of course, find horrible blood sucking fiends that drain innocents of their life. Vampires. You will also find lots of entities which emit an ethereal luminescence or radiant glow, entities which possess powers beyond mortal understanding, who can be benign or terrible, and who are known to abscond with humans, although we're certain these humans are safe and happy on Olympus or under the green hill, not dead like they'd be with those blood suckers.

No one who had not seen both Apollo, God of the Sun, and the horrible vampire who chowed down on the neighbor two doors down would realize: they're the same entity.

To make it even harder for the poor mortals (and easier for the vampires!), vampires look different in different lighting conditions. After all, something that sparkles in the sunlight will also sparkle in the moonlight, the firelight, etc., it's just a matter of degrees. So some vampires would hang out in moonlit glens, for that 'fairy of the moonlight' feel, while others would set themselves up in temples with a many fires as they could manage. I mean, if you're going to call yourself Apollo, God of the Sun, you had better be all sparkle all of the time! Top all of this off with mind reading ability that lets traveling vampires fit into the local not-vampire-vampire mythos and yeah, the humans don't stand a chance.

It's great! Things are wonderful! Even if someone does see you devour a hapless victim and run screaming 'vampire' in the town, you can always just eat them next. No big deal. Only the stupid and careless are in real danger.

And then…

CALAMITY!

The head of the Roman Empire, that militant mass of well armed testosterone (and a bunch of less important people), converts to Christianity and proclaims there's only one god who is…not you.

Well shit.

Of course, if you're a lesser known vampire you can pass yourself off as an "Angel of the Lord" in a quick pinch, as long as you're talking to a peasant who's too illiterate to realize you're lacking in the eye and wing department (good news - this is most everyone), but you can't do that too often. And if everyone knows you as Apollo, God of the Sun?

Sucks to be you. You now have a bunch of very militant fundamentalists armed with sharp, pointy implements of destruction chasing after you with cries of 'demon' and 'false god'. Even with your supernatural speed, getting away from them is made far more difficult by the fact they can see you glittering from the other side of the market.

This is where vampires went nocturnal, since moonlight is less sparkle inducing than the sun. Then, since even that gets risky, they slowly moved into caves and cemeteries and the occasional creepy old castle that no sane person would enter without an explicit invitation to dinner, or for a real estate job. Something like that.

The next millennium was pretty dire. The millennium after that was…okay, also pretty dire, until suddenly, at the end of the twentieth century, a miracle! A remarkable shift brought about a change that would once again free vampires from their castles and cemeteries and allow them to walk safely among humans!

But they wouldn't go creeping off to the sun starved, water logged boonies of the Olympic rain forest. Oh hell no! They would go to the cities, to Soho, to Broadway, to places where they could strut proudly down the street to the envious stares of mortals and cries of "Damn, I wish I looked that good in body glitter!"

[pursuitseternal]

“The Eighth Day” 💐 S3x Pollen and political meetings in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”💐

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader| E |3.7K

🎨 by @lirotation [Full version under the cut]

For monthly prompt in the Creative Corner discord

Summary: The Netherbrain has fallen, and the Vampire Ascendant seeks to rise. Overtures of political workings are derailed for the new Ascendant when his Consort falls under the influence of some untimely pollen.

CW: sex pollen, secondhand embarrassment, uncontrollable urges, public sex, feral/needy Consort, A!Astarion is aroused and uncomfortable all at once.

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

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“I still don’t understand why you insisted I attend too, Astarion,” you grumble as his light-touched fingers remove your cloak for you from behind.

“Well, this is my first official meeting as Vampire Ascendant,” he purrs into your ear as the fabric falls into his arms, “if I have to suffer through having some mortal Grand Duke flaunt his inferior status in my face, you’re sure as the hells are going to suffer too, darling.” He pats you on the shoulder and places a warm, breathy kiss on the scars in your neck. “Besides, I think Ulder liked you better after we saved his arse.” That soft pad of his thumbs runs over your lip as he smirks. “Wait here, I’ll be right back, my darling.” He gathers your cloak and his together to find a servant. Astarion grumbles under his voice as he walks away about how Wyll wouldn’t have let the Vampire Ascendant put up his own cloak, but his father…

His voice was audible only to your ears, even then, barely. You take in the foyer of the grand Ravenguard estate. Turquoise and blues and golds, the colors of the sea cover every wall and surface. You scan the room, the walls hung with paintings of maritime history. Portraits of the Ravenguard line span out towards the halls. And you think you even see Wyll’s from a distance. It makes you smile, if sadly.

How long had it been since you had seen him… any of them? You sigh. Looking for distraction, you note the strange looking arrangement of flowers on the entryway table. Such curious colors and shapes of blossoms, blues and teals that seem to glow. It brings your memories right back to those days in the Underdark. Thoughts turn wistful; those days on the road when your heart pounded with the thrill of oadventure, the memory of aching for the man you now call yours for eternity. You can’t help it, you cross over to those tantalizing blooms and inhale deeply.

It tingles your nose, deadens your other senses, and something burns at the back of your sinuses and throat.

And then you sneeze.

“Gods bless you, my consort,” Astarion purrs as he takes your arm in his and leads you deeper into the mansion. “I’m so glad you’re here at my side, I know that your smiling face and smoothe wit will undoubtedly leave a good first impression,” he smirks.

Your throat starts to go dry, but you swallow and simper at him. “So glad I can be of such service, Astarion,” you rasp as you wipe your nose on the back of your sleeve.

He places a finger over your lips and draws you to a quick, forceful halt. “Pet,” he chides with a tut of his tongue, “what has slipped your mind?” His eyes narrow with a hint of mischief.

“Sorry, Lord Astarion,” you croon as he nods and gives you that fanged smile in approval.

“Good girl,” he replies, “we have to keep up appearances, you know, put our best foot forward, turn every head in the room.”

Your hand laces into his, and as he leads you into the grand room before you, you realize his hand grows colder and colder by the second.

Or, perhaps you are growing hotter and hotter still.

But Astarion only marches forward with focused determination, his voice pure gold and refinement as he greets the Grand Duke with all his well-practiced pleasantries.

You glide to stand at his side, a smile on your face, but your cheeks are decidedly growing warmer to the touch. Then you hear your name from the Grand Duke. “And you, Lady Ancunìn, I trust you don’t miss your days on the battlefield?”

“Oh no,” you smile after you swallow, “there is far more excitement to my liking now as Consort of the Crimson Palace. And my Lord takes such attentive care to my… every need.”

Was that your voice, dipping into dulcet tones of seduction? It must be you, and Astarion must not approve, his hand gripping yours like a vice. You roll your shoulders and smile. “Those days of adventure and rescue do remain fondly in my heart, like our fortuitous timing when we broke that Iron Prison apart.”

Ulder’s bald brow lifts in good humor. “A fact for which I am forever indebted to you and your Lord.”

You flash him a fanged smile, trying your best to look demure and powerful, but drool collects and drips from the corner of your lips.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, suave as ever, even as he pulls you to face him, eyes dark and brows furrowed in disapproval. “Have we forgotten to feed properly today? I suppose you’ll have to wait for a decent nibble until our affairs here are concluded,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb to clean the streak of drool from your chin. “Apologies for my Consort, Grand Duke, she is still new to the sort of hunger and power that comes from being a vampire, let alone being the creation of the Vampire Ascendant.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the way he says his own title. You barely manage to hold your polite smile. Astarion grabs hold of your upper arm, guiding you to sit next to him on the couch beside the fire, the Grand Duke and some of his associates sit opposite. The conversation turns to politics, to the remaining vestiges of the cults of Bhaal and Bane, to the Guild and the criminal aspects of the City…

But your blood boils, your body keens to be touched. Slowly, you scoot across the velvet upholstery of the couch until your side presses against your love.

Better, your body groans, but not enough.

You slowly bring his hand in yours from his lap to wind his arm behind you, a caress along the top of your shoulder, the heat of his skin through his embroidered silk jacket calling to you.

It’s still not enough. You need to smell him to taste him… the droning of his voice is a siren song, and it pulls you until your face presses against the veins of his neck. At last, your mouth waters as you take a loud and deep inhale.

Sniiiiiiff…. “Ahhhh…” you sigh.

“What in the hells are you doing?” he hisses from his mind into yours. “Ten seconds into public power, and you’re already a freak?”

“It burns, my love,” you reply down your bond. “I burn.”

“From embarrassment, certainly,” he grunts at you, settling you back a space from him on the couch. “My apologies, Grand Duke,” he purrs aloud, “newborn spawn can be utterly voracious. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he shifts in his seat, confidently crossing one ankle over his knee, a perfected air of nonchalance.

But for you, all you can see is the way his trousers cling to that outline of his beloved cock, a flawless sack to cradle his manhood so perfectly, a neat little package for his package….

“I need you,” your voice purrs, caressing his mind with your own, “now, I need you now.” Even your inner voice sounds deranged, it makes his crimson eyes flicker at you as Ulder drones on about the cost of the repairs to the City from the Illithid attacks.

“Pull yourself together, my darling. Is this all because we were in a hurry this morning?”

Nerves flood with heat, and sweat gathers on your forehead.

Astarion sniffs loudly, scenting your inexplicable arousal. “What’s gotten into you?”

Moisture pools between your thighs, soaking your small clothes and petticoats. You bite your lip, feeling more gathering as you shift your seat, sliding one foot beneath you as you lounge casually against the couch. The pressure against your folds lets you catch your breath for a moment and think. Only once have you felt something similar, though not nearly this perverse or profound. You close your eyes, instantly recalling the same fever in your blood and crying need in your sex from your travels… you picture blue-glowing mushrooms and pervasive darkness. The Underdark. “Spores…” you whimper into his mind. “Spores,” you repeat, your tongue thick in your mouth with the need to lick and suck and bite.

You look at him with pure, abject longing. Desire incarnate. And then you shift yourself over your foot beneath you. A little grind of your hips on your own appendage only makes you long for more friction…

And you whimper.

“I must apologize, Grand Duke, but my Consort is just not herself. Perhaps politics is too much for her to bear.” Then, he snaps your name at you inwardly. “Get up, and get outside,” he snarls, “now.”

You head back into the hall without further question, though you throw a glance at him, the biggest set of bedroom eyes you can muster.

“I believe she needs some air, Grand Duke, a chance for her to regain control of her hunger. Might you have a garden?” He pauses, turning his head and grimacing, “preferably once a bit more… isolated?”

Ulder quirks a brow. “Back out the doors and to the right,” he replies, “a good idea. It should give you enough privacy. Wouldn’t want blood on the antiques you know.”

Astarion maintains that veneer of politesse just long enough to leave the room, his brown darkens and fangs glint the moment he locks that crimson, predatory gaze on you. You shiver, head to toe, to have his full attention at last. Lips locked shut, you just send him your incoherent babble of need from your mind to his; a string of “please, gods, fuck me,” and “I want that perfect cock inside me,” and “ravish me, my love,” surrounded by pants and whimpers.

His eyes look you up and down. “You’re quivering and shaking, you look rabid, sick, deranged,” he shakes his head, leading you into the darkening light of the sunset as your feet skate along behind him down the pebbled path.

A few turns between the shrubbery and he pulls you up to a wide granite bench. He releases your hand, but the absence of his touch makes you whimper and whine with increasing force, just his name over and over again. “Astarion… please…”

“What in the hells has gotten into you?” he snarls under his breath, pulling out a handkerchief to ball up. “I haven’t seen you this bad off since—”

“Spores!” you mewl, collapsing to your knees at his feet, hands raking up the fine fabric of his trousers.

“Precisely, but how could you ever have gotten your nose into Underdark sex spores here?” He shakes his head, “It’s not as if this place is overrun with bright blue glowing mushrooms.”

Lips parting, tongue licking, your eyes are feral and your gaze is wanton as you drop to your knees, your hands on his waist to slam his ass down on the bench. “Hells,” he snaps in pain and surprise. “What the fuck…”

“Yes, yes, fuck,” the word sounds like music on your hungry tongue. “Please, fuck me,” you whine, your hands tugging hard at the fasteners at the side of his hip.

“Easy, easy,” he cajoles you, glancing around once to ensure enough coverage in this spot of the gardens. The bushes are thick, the roses are in bloom, and the fencing here separated the grounds and the manor. A wicked smirk on his full lips, he obliges you, freeing his cock to have you almost swallow it whole. “Gods, darling,” he grunts as he slams into the back of your throat and scrapes against your teeth and fangs. “How in the hells or in this realm did you get like this?”

A valid question, but one that faded mutedly from his mind as you started to suck him more. Logic seemed to elude him, as if drawn out by your lips and tongue until he knew the only way to unravel this puzzle was to fuck some sense back into you both. Wet, lewd sounds come from your lips, your mouth working furiously to consume him, craving his seed, knowing it’ll extinguish the fire in your veins. This suffering has wracked you before, a blind drive to purge the instant swell of lust that dictates your body’s every pulse.

And he’s recognized it, reveling in it as you bob your head with reckless abandon. Until you release him with a loud pop and whine at him from the garden path. “Not enough,” your voice cracks. “I need you, need you…” your hands shake as you scramble to your feet, hiking up your skirts.

“For fucks sake, darling,” Astarion chides you, embarrassed and aroused in equal measure. “Alright, alright,” he blocks your hands from tearing off his clothes… or his face, he’s not quite sure which. “Be a good girl,” he hisses, breath hot down your neck as he backs you up against the fencing, “and hold on tightly.”

He takes your half-bunched skirts from your shaking hands as he hushes you. “It’s going to be alright,” he consoles you. “At least we’ve endured this sort of suffering before. You are in really rough shape, my dear. Thank goodness you have me to fuck it all away, darling?”

You nod, eagerly grinding against him, wrought iron bars pressed into your back, your hand and nails gripped hard into his perfect ass.

“Oh, I’ve missed this, how needy this magic makes you. What a glorious little mishap… although you could have timed it better,” he levels those crimson eyes at you, teasing the flushed, hot head of his cock up and down your entrance. “If we didn’t need to attend to business, I’d draw this out for you, just to teach you when you shouldn’t be sticking that nose of yours into Underdark spore magic.”

Embarrassingly high pitched whimpers flutter at your lips, tears in your eyes at the thought of being left so unsatisfied. “Please, please, I’m being so good. I need you… need you,” you start to keen louder and louder.

Astarion’s warm palm covers your mouth, a laugh in his throat. “A good thing Ulder is an idiot and thinks you’re just hungry for my blood,” he sniggers more to himself than for your benefit.

“Hungry; yes, starving for your cock, my love,” you pant, salivating again, missing its hard length and warm pulse in between your lips.

“It’s alright, I’ll take good care of you… if you can keep quiet.” His hand presses against your neck teasingly as he reaches for the bars above you for leverage. “And if you can’t be quiet, then I have to resort to other measures of silence, you understand, my pet?”

You bite your bottom lip, nodding vigorously, sweat dripping from your brow to feel his cock pressed hard against your belly. Your own hand tears at your neck line, your skin too hot and flushed and needing to be caressed, a single breast loosens from your neckline. Those crimson eyes devour the sight of your swaying breast and its peaked nipple, almost as if he’s the one possessed by magic and lust.

“Gods, you’re so hot again, burning and thrumming, a warm, living body with undead power,” his eyes dilate to nearly black to feel your slit warm once more as he grinds his cock against it. Those dexterous fingers lift your thigh, and he thrusts inside you in one swift shove of his body. The iron gate creaks under the force, but its volume is nothing compared to the way your undead heart thumps in your ears, slow but hard.

“Astarion,” you whine louder, “I need more…”

“Then more you shall have my pet,” he hisses in your ear. He groans at the now unfamiliar warmth, the dripping, blistering heat that rages in your body. “Just like old times,” his voice barely audible, so husky and rough as he slams into you. Every thrust makes the gate behind you rattle, stealing gasp after gasp from your mouth, even as you try to swallow them back into silence.

His hands grip your ass in warning the moment your noises seem to crescendo. “Ah, ah,” he chides. But as those hips snap harder against you, it grows difficult to be good, to be silent and careful as he asked.

The heat is too much, the pulsing fire in your veins too demanding…. “More,” you whine. “I need it, your delicious self.” His hand flies to cover your mouth, muting your pants and stifling your noises.

“That’s it, my love,” he groans right in your ear, feeling your legs beginning to shake and your knee buckle. “Come for me, burn up that magic and purge that heat all… over… me.”

You throw your head back, banging it on the bars, hissing in pain and yet groaning in relief as your orgasm builds to bursting. You bite into his gagging hand, fangs sinking into the sides of his fingers and palm. He hisses in pain, a sound quickly overtaken by the rapid grunts of his own climax. Face pressing against your neck, he mutes the roar of his own shaking bliss, warmth dripping down your one standing leg.

The air feels cool in your lungs, your pulse slowing back to its undead dirge of a tempo in your chest. You taste blood on your tongue, and you sweep its tip to lap along the edge of his hands where it protrudes into your mouth.

Astarion musters enough strength to lift his head, his curls looking a bit well-tossed. “How’s that, my darling? Are you decent enough to make it home?” He purrs the questions in your ear, his voice partly laced with concern, equally rippling with hope to the contrary.

You give a more steady smile, master of yourself once more, for now. Your thoughts still elude you, but your body doesn’t burn with boiling lust, more of a simmer. A whine escapes as he slips from your folds, his hands adjusting your dress and stuffing his cock back inside his own trousers. “What, for the life of me, brought this on you? What have you been sticking your nose into, darling?”

“Spores,” you repeat as before. “Blue!” You add. Muttering the words again, thighs starting to clench and rub on themselves already.

“I’ll get you out of here,” his mind racing, “image is everything, and right now this… image… isn’t quite our best foot forward.” A scan of you both, and he pauses, less than satisfied. “You need more blood,” he assesses, “or they’ll never believe you were just feeding…” A swift bite to his own wrist, and he smears your chin, your lips in his scarlet essence.

Hustling you into the mansion again, he practically carries you, arm threaded behind your back. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but my newborn Consort must retire…” he stops you both in the entrance hall, his voice muted as your mind pounds, the magic in your bloodstream calling to its source as you stand near the door.

Astarions wraps your cloak around you, feeling your skin flushing again under his touch. He follows your gaze, honed in like an eagle on those blue flowers, a soft glow beginning to emanate from them as the shadows lengthen in the day…

“My dearest Consort, why don’t you wait for me in the carriage,” he bids you.

You nod, meeting Ulder’s dark eyes, wide in shock at the state of your blood streaked face. He mumbles some prayers, probably wards against the undead, such as yourself. You hear his deep voice speaking with Astarion once more.

“Oh, these flowers? Just a gift from the Myconid colony’s ambassador, a token for me and my wife…”

A low chuckle sounds from your lover’s throat. “Oh, no doubt it is, I have never seen such rare blossoms, though they do make me recall some rather fond memories of the Underdark…” your love’s voice trails off the further you walk, his purr drowned out by the increasing thumping of your cold heart against your ribs. Waves of need build once more, rapid and consuming, and you groan to haul yourself into the carriage so you can wait for more…

By the time you make it home, you’re aching… sore… and you’ve had him on almost every surface between your carriage and your bed at last. But that was yesterday. Now, knowing yourself once more, you wake to a new day. Sunlight warms your bed, your skin absorbing it now that you are corpse cold again.

As cold as the rest of your sheets, you realize. He’s gone already, smug bastard, probably with his hair extra curled from your rigorous activities and a satisfied smirk on his full lips.

Groggy and cursing, you manage to sit yourself up against the pillows, and you ring for your maid. She enters quickly, hands outstretched with a message from the Master, she tells you, who left that morning to resume acquaintances with the Grand Duke.

Your cheeks would flame red if they still drew on the heat of that aphrodisiac magic. The note is penned in his immaculate hand: “Ulder was far too easy to convince you were merely a victim of sanguine hunger. And he was far too eager to agree to my offer of coin in exchange for your gift. Don’t indulge or inhale too deeply without me.”

His signature was almost as elegant and impressive as he himself.

“A gift?” you ask, warrily, knowing all too well the sorts of gifts Astarion tends to bestow.

With a snap of her fingers, your servant calls in another, a scarf tied tightly over her nose and mouth, a silver tray between her hands. Adorning the silver lies a beautiful bouquet of glowing sapphire flowers. The very same from the Grand Duke’s manor. The source of your follies and cause for all your most embarrassing thoughts to ponder when you can’t sleep.

“My Lord is so…. Thoughtful,” you reply, abstaining from adding, ‘and selfish and arousing and cheeky and…’ You pinch your nose, just in case. “Set it carefully over there,” you flail your exhausted arm in the direction of a table and groan, seeking the rest you will inevitably require. And you smile.

[littlefireball]

OK hear me out please but Vampire Yeosang x Human virgin reader? Where yeosamg is actually very sweet and she was surrendered to him as a slave but he doesn't treat her as such but more as a lover and ends up taking her virginity??

oh that's a good idea~thx for your request 😃but sorry im not good at writing something sweet XD Here you go~

ʏꜱ|ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ᴍ)

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴄᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀꜱᴇʟꜰ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ

Masterlist

What if vampires want to drink human blood? They could opt to risk being exposed and hunt humans, or, for a more secure approach, purchase slaves from the underground market, although the standard may be spotty. Alternatively, there might be vampires who have forsaken human blood altogether, but Yeosang couldn't. Human blood remained the most palatable, surpassing that of any other creature.

Today marked the fifth time this week that he had come to the underground market. He was still searching for his 'food'. His yearning for control was nonexistent; all he craved was the exquisite taste of blood, nothing more. Thus, when a disgusting man attempted to sell him slaves while referring to them as cute pets, he scoffed.

"Please forgive me, my lord." You knelt on the ground, begging for forgiveness. This is something that happens almost every day, only this time it's not in the private room. "You fucking bitch! Can't even handle such small things?" With a fierce motion, he hurled the glass from his grasp towards your back. The shards erupted into a cascade, leaving your back abruptly stained with crimson. The man's thunderous rebuke and your sweet scent seized Yeosang's focus, revealing you in tears, quivering with emotion.

You did nothing wrong, only rejected to provide a special service to the client. But you were beaten and punished severely for this very reason.

"Useless bitch!Send her to jail!" It was a fate far worse than death, yet you chose to endure it. Opting for a torturous demise would have been a better decision, sparing you from the company of those repulsive men, literally.

As you were on the brink of being whisked away, a figure seized your wrist with an unexpected grip. His skin radiated an unusual chill, starkly contrasting with that of ordinary individuals. Locking eyes with his piercing crimson gaze sent a shiver coursing through you, leaving you with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

You knew he was a vampire.

"Release her." Yeosang said, his voice tingled with a hint of impatience. He found himself puzzled by his own curiosity, but never mind, it wasn't a big deal anyway. "Who are you?Huh?A popinjay?" The man chortled heartily, devoid of any sense of admiration as he gazed upon Yeosang's opulent ensemble. "A man you will regret for angering him forever." The man trembled at the mere sight of Yeosang, no words necessary, as his presence alone exuded power and authority.

"Release her and don't make me twice." Yeosang warned him with a deep voice, making the man swallow hard and not dare to look at him. "Re…release her…"The bindings that held your wrists captive were finally undone, and he delicately lowered your hands, as though he feared causing you any discomfort. "Wrap yourself in this," he instructed, draping the cloak over your shoulders and giving you a reassuring pat. In that moment, he appeared to embody two distinct personas.

"I…I give her to you. How you deal with it is your business." The man turned away without looking back. Although he didn't receive the money, he didn't want any more trouble.

"He leaves and you are free now." Yeosang whispered softly, stirring your heartstring. "Take care of yourself. I gotta go."

Just as he was preparing to depart, you took hold of his icy hand and implored him, "Might I become your slave? I promise to be obedient and fulfill your every desire." Even as a creature of the night, his gentleness was a rarity among humans. You were uncertain if servitude to him was truly a blessing, but it certainly seemed preferable to a lifetime of confinement in this place.

"And would you want my blood…?" You hesitated, bowing your head, uncertain if your inquiry was too forward. "Are you aware of what you speak?" Yeosang crouched down to lift your chin, locking eyes with you. "I…I understand. You are a…vam…vampire," He appeared mildly taken aback, yet swiftly composed himself. "But don't you want to go anywhere?" You shook your head. "There is nowhere. I humbly request to remain by your side."

"Then just follow me if you're not scared." —---- You delicately sliced your wrist with the blade, allowing the crimson liquid to cascade into the crystal goblet. This exquisite feast was meticulously crafted for Yeosang each evening. He never bites you, for fear of causing you harm, and for fear of revealing his identity through visible traces.

"I'm back, Y/N." His voice resonated from a short distance, prompting you to dash towards the door. "Welcome home~" You enveloped him in a warm embrace, a delightful surprise at how eagerly you anticipated his arrival. "How was your day?" You tilted your head to capture the warmth in his affectionate gaze. "Tired." He buried his head in your neck, nuzzling like a kitten. "But I feel better after seeing you." He beamed, tenderly stroking your hair with a loving touch. The alluring scent of your skin never fails to captivate him, prompting him to rub your neck.

"You are exaggerating~I've prepared your dinner." With a grin, you assisted him in removing his attire and ensuring his comfort before making your way to the kitchen to fetch a goblet of blood. "Thank you," he expressed his gratitude with a smile as he indulged in his beverage.

He never regarded you as a mere slave, perhaps one could even argue that he treated you as a companion, or perhaps something even deeper. However, you were hesitant to entertain any further thoughts. Your fondness for him was undeniable, yet his true feelings remained a mystery to you.

After all, you were a slave from the black market, and he was your master. There was a huge gap.

"Why do you look at my face? Is it something there?" His words pulled you back to reality. "Nothing. Just watching some beautiful things." A joyful smile graced his lips, yet he soon pretended to be cold. He would not tell you he loves your praise. But of course, you knew him well.

"Allow me to assist you in getting ready for a bath." As you gracefully rose from your seat, he gently halted your movement with the sound of your name escaping his lips. "Y/N?" "How may I be of service to you?" With a tender touch, he guided you to settle on his lap, causing your eyes to widen in astonishment.

"Just stay with me for a while." Leaning his head against your shoulder, he enveloped you in his arms. Although it was not the initial occurrence of such intimacy between you two, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading across your cheeks.

You sensed a weariness that seemed to envelop him. While human blood possesses the power to rejuvenate a vampire's vigor, your own appearance is insufficient. Perhaps he craves something more exquisite, something tantalizingly rich—heart blood. This rare elixir, the most coveted of all, manifests only when a vampire has marked their mate.

"Ma…master?" "Hm?" He murmured, slowly opening his eyes to meet your gaze, even though he was on the brink of slumber. "You mentioned that heart blood can heal a vampire. Would you like to partake of it?" He hesitated, taken aback by your unexpected question. "Yes, but this is not something you can drink just by thinking about it."

"How could I get it?" A smirk played on his lips as he heard your words. "You can't get it because you are not a vampire," "But you could get it…from me."His eyes widened, all drowsiness vanishing in an instant. "It's not kidding, Y/N. Marking hurts and you may not handle it. I don't want to harm─" You wrapped around his shoulder, silencing his words with a kiss.

This move used up all your courage.

"You saved me, and now my life belongs to you." "Won't you regret it?There is no turning back." You shook your head, gently cradling his face. "Never." Upon hearing your declaration, he pounced you onto the sofa. "Tell me if it hurts." He whispered against your lips before claiming you into a passionate kiss.

In truth, he recognized you as his soulmate from the moment your paths crossed. However, he restrained his primal instincts to mark you, for he wished to shield you from any potential harm. The painful recollections lingered in his thoughts, fueling his desire to avenge any who dared to hurt you.

"Mine." His kisses trailed down to your neck and his teeth sank into it, causing blood flow out from the wounds. You hissed at the pain and dug your nails into his nape. "Godness, you are so sweet, honey." You became a mess at his words as it was the first time he called you like this. Yeosang sneaked to your collarbone, dropping a trail of kisses while biting harshly to leave a mark.

His fingers settled under the bands of your panties after he sat up straight, tearing them into a fragment. You gasped at his sudden move, but before you could say anything, his fingers diving for your wet lower core. "Look at you, you're so beautiful." One finger being thrusted in slowly, making you bite your lips because you were not used to it. He pulled out and another finger followed, moving in and out at a slow pace.

"Gosh…" You rolled your hips and your toes curl together, feeling he go faster and deeper each time you let out a soft whimper. Throwing your head on the armrest, your face turned red as if oxygen was out of your lungs. Yeosang leaned down to sink his teeth into your skin again, the pain and the pleasure crushed you at the same time, pushing you into a total messiness.

"C'mon, honey. I know you want to cum, cum for me. Let me see what you've got." Your mouth fell into an 'O' form and a choppy moan left your lips. His fingers pushed upward to scratch your wet wall and hit your soft flesh from time to time, bringing you to the peak. "Ma…Master…!" Before you could form a complete sentence, you squirted all over his forearm and even his thighs.

"I…I apologize." You covered your face with embarrassment. "Don't say sorry, you're doing well." He removed your hand and pecked at your lips. "I just have to prepare you well. Ready for me? Angel." "Yes, yes, please." A smile played on his lips and he took off his pants, exposing himself fully.

Your lips bore the burden of his touch once more, pulled in by an irresistible warmth. His tender kisses, gentle bites, and soft sucking, along with his teasing tongue, led you to willingly follow his lead. Without hesitation, you parted your lips, granting him access to explore every inch.

His delicate touch grazed over your sensitive nerves, sending a shiver down your spine. He caressed your thighs, your derriere, before lifting them and encircling his powerful waist. In silence, he positioned himself at your entrance and entered with a powerful thrust.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, overwhelmed by his impressive size, a wave of satisfaction washing over you, leaving you momentarily breathless. Your head reclined against the sofa's edge and he began to move with a steady rhythm.

You raised your head and let out a soft sigh, your hands gently grasping the back of his head, giving him permission to carry on with his movements. The sensation of soft flesh being hitted made you blush, and your body quivered. Observing this, he playfully intensified his rhythm in that exact spot.

"Ma…master…hmm!" The sounds of pleasure echoed throughout the lavishly decorated bathroom, his passionate movements causing you to gasp in delight. "Oh…my dearest Y/N," Yeosang whispered against your chest, finding where the heart blood is. "Find it." Before you could react, he bit your chest with a great force and you screamed in pain. He pulled you up to settle you on his lap, pushing upward while drinking your blood.

In an unexpected surge, he plunged with fervor, striking precisely at the core of your being. "It hurts!!" "You can take this, Y/N." The exquisite agony enveloped your senses, clouding your awareness and ensnaring your very nerves, rendering you utterly defenseless.

Tears brimmed at the edges of your eyes, your brow knitted in distress, and a heart-wrenching cry escaped your lips, betraying your suffering. Your body quaked, slick with cold perspiration, as your limbs grew increasingly feeble. But he didn't stop, kept colliding with your deepest part without mercy by holding tight your waist.

"Be mine, Y/N." He let out a low, satisfied groan as he reached his peak deep inside you, sealing the bond. Gradually easing his pace, he withdrew from your body. As the bond solidified, Yeosang felt a surge of power, and miraculously, your complexion returned to its natural hue, blemishes vanishing, save for the scar on your chest - a testament to Yeosang's mark.

"Sorry, it hurts." You shook your head before resting on his chest. "I would do anything for you."

"Thank you, Y/N."

"I should be the one who said that. Thank you, master."

"Don't call me Master." Your gaze met again as he lifted your chin. "Call me Yeosang." He pressed his lips against yours with all his love and tenderness.

"I love you, Yeosang."

[gumisgirlfriend]

☾ insecure

WRITERS NOTE:: not proofread whatsoever bro this took me WAY too long to write 😭😭😭 i dont write smut like ever though so i hope this is okay PAIRING:: ascended astarion x fem!reader SUMMARY:: even a vampire lords consort can be prone to bouts of insecurity every now and then. so your doting husband decides to fuck the insecurity out of you.. WARNINGS:: MDNI 18+ CONTENT,,, oral sex (fem receiving), hair pulling, rough sex???, ascended astarion being a loving asshole, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, possibly ooc ascended astarion, reader is kind of a brat, some praise.

"What do you think?"

Astarions gaze lifts from the scroll as you enter your shared chambers, adorned in your brand new custom-made gown, crafted especially for tonight's winter ball. After a long, tedious day of browsing various negotiations from other prestigious homes, he gladly sets down the scroll, beholding this sight for his sore eyes. 

A devilish grin spreads wide across the vampire lord's face. "Give me a spin, darling. I must see it in all its glory." He stands up from his desk, his hands held behind him as he approaches you slowly. You obey, of course, giving him a humble twirl, smiling sweetly as the dress twirls with you.

  The open back of the dress highlighted your shoulder blades, and some of your muscles that were once used in battle. Your breasts would be spilling out from the rather provocative neckline, if it wasn't held together by a few strong-willed buttons. If you didn't know any better, you would assume they got the measurements incorrect, but this was purposeful. This was just how he wanted it.  He took great pleasure in displaying your beauty, even if that meant showing an abundance of skin. Even if it meant you sitting fully naked on his lap as he ruled from his throne. 

Your husband circles around you, admiring the dress's beauty, as well as its vessel. If the ball weren't to be in an hour, he would spread you across the bed and take you right here, listening to you sing his name for hours. Your small, sweet smile was too tempting. Merely the thought of your neatly done eye makeup streaming down your face from your tears and his seed makes his trousers feel too tight.

"You are looking absolutely delectable, my pet." Astarion purrs, adjusting the neckline with his nimble fingers. He seems rather transfixed on the dress, which he had of course designed himself. "That red truly brings out your eyes, don't you think?" 

You nod hesitantly, averting your gaze. “It is quite beautiful, indeed.” you stammer. You try your best to hide it, but he notices your telltale signs of unease. "Don't tell me.. you don't like it?" He presses a cold finger to your chin, lifting your face up to meet his. "What a shame.. I designed this one myself." He sighs disappointedly, crimson eyes piercing into yours. 

"No- no! Of course not. It is without a single flaw, my love. It's just.." You pause shyly, looking down at the dress hugging your curves ever so tightly. "I don't feel.. like I look good enough." You say slowly, eliciting a theatrical gasp from your lover's lips. "This dress is almost too pretty." You bite your lip timidly. 

Astarion would kill thousands for that pretty little pout of yours. He grips your pretty little face even tighter, forcing it to face his. "How dare you say such a thing about my treasure?" he says dramatically, with a sly grin. "The vessel is what makes this dress so ravishing. It was made with you, and only you, in mind." He guided a gentle hand behind your back, leading you to your silk-laden bed. He furrows his brow, squinting inquisitively. "Just tell me who made you feel this way. I will make sure that their death is awfully, dreadfully slow." He growls, making you shiver fearfully. His cold hand cups your face, his thumb running gently over your tempting lips.. 

"Nobody said anything, I swear. I'm just not feeling my best." You stammer, innocently leaning your cheek into his icy touch. The vampire presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, his hand drifting to trace up and down your exposed spine. 

Astarion simply couldn't comprehend what could make you feel this way, after all you were positively the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. He wasn’t exactly prone to bouts of insecurity himself. He took great pleasure in how gorgeous he was. He was anything but humble. Insecurity is weakness, and he couldn’t let his own consort be weak, could he?

“Is that so?” Your husband looks at you pitifully, brushing a lock of hair from your eyes. “You are beautiful to me, my sweet. You are mine. And that is all that matters, yes?” He whispers huskily, into your ear, his cool breath making you shudder, and you don’t dare to deny his truth. His mouth curves into a sinister grin, and you cock your head at him quizzically, “Is everything okay..?” you murmur. He swiftly stands up, brushing his palms off on his tightening trousers. 

“Wait your pretty little self here, my sweet. I have just the fix for this ailment of yours.” Astarion presses another quick kiss to your cheek, before heading to the door. “Astarion? May I ask what you’re doing?” You ask sweetly, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. He beckons a servant to the door, whispering something into their ear. They take off swiftly, and he turns back to meet your gaze. “Hush. Just sit there and look pretty.” You bite your lip, nodding. In a matter of seconds, the loyal servants return with a mirror, large enough to take up the whole bed, and  they position it a comfortable distance away from you. They quickly run off once again, shutting the door behind them.

“W-What is this for, my love?” you ask, frightened by the dark look in your lover's eyes. You can feel your legs begin to tremble. Astarion kneels in front of you, taking your foot in his hand. He gently pulls off your heel, and then the other, pressing a gentle kiss to each ankle. “You won't mind being a minute or two late to the ball, will you?” he questions you, gently peppering more kisses up each leg. “No- No I suppose not.. B-but it’s not for another hour, is it not?” you stutter, catching a quick glimpse of yourself in the mirror. He lifts the dress as he paves his way up to your thighs, nibbling on your soft, supple skin. You can feel the vampire's fangs drag over your thighs ever so gently. He goes painfully slowly, a familiar heat beginning to pool between your legs. He sits up taller, his dexterous fingers swiftly undoing the buttons of your lavish gown. “A-Astarion?” you whimper, your voice like a sweet melody to his ears. Astarion pulls the dress down off your shoulders, your breasts spilling out in front of him. He can feel himself start to throb, biting his lip as he beholds the sight in front of him. “Don’t move an inch. Let me.” He pulls the rest of the gown off completely, grinning at your completely exposed beauty laid out in front of him. He presses a few kisses along your collarbone, traveling down to your navel. “Look at how pretty you are, pet. And you’re all mine..” he growls huskily. His cold fingers trace the waistband of your damp undergarments, eagerly pulling them down your thigh and off your legs. You whimper at his cold touch as two fingers meet your slick cunt, You can just hear how wet you are from the sounds of his fingers rubbing gentle circles around your swollen sweet spot. He kneels back down between your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. “B-But, don’t we still have to prepare-” “Hush, pet. Everything is already in place.” The vampire coos, cold hands gently tracing up and down each leg. “Now, I want you to keep those pretty little eyes of yours on that mirror, darling.” You bite your lip and nod, the sheets beneath you starting to soak from your apparent excitement.

Leaving you little time to prepare, his tongue quickly meets your puffy clit, sending a shock of pleasure reverberating through your body. Your hand flies to his white curls, your other hand propping you up on the bed to steady yourself. You catch your own gaze in the mirror, your cheeks flushed red. You quickly avert your gaze out of sheer embarrassment for yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice. His tongue delves deeper inside you, earning him some satisfying mewls of pleasure from your precious lips. Tears begin to swell up in your eyes.

You feel as if you’re seeing stars, but the pleasure suddenly subsides, and you’re met with a sinister grin from your lover. “N-No..” you whine, your sweet voice practically begging him to continue, and he just barely has the strength to resist. 

He licks his lips clean, “Tell me, pet, what did I tell you just a moment ago?” Astarion growls, his slender fingers quickly undoing the buttons to his trousers. 

“T-to keep my eyes on the mirror?”

His grin fades, “So you did hear me?” His erected cock springs free of his restrictive undergarments, dripping with his own excitement. “You just don’t listen, do you?”

The tone of his voice makes you fear for what’s about to happen. You tremble with anticipation. 

Your doting husband cups your face with one hand, “Astarion.. p-please, forgive me..” you murmur, fingernails digging into your silk bed sheets. You look picture perfect in this position, spread out in front of him, helpless. All his.

“As sweet as your pleas sound, I have a lesson to teach.” He hisses, crawling on to the bed behind you, and you quickly realize what his intentions are. “Don’t be daft, my love. You know what to do.” You nod and quickly position yourself onto all fours, looking straight ahead at yourself in the mirror. “Yes, just like that.” He smirks, one hand on your hip as the other gets a comfortable grip on your hair. “You look so pretty like this, where I can see every last bit of your perfect skin..” Astarion presses a few gentle kisses to your neck as he aligns himself to your entrance. "It didn't have to be this way, if you had only listened the first time, pet.." The vampire hisses, nipping your ear. He mercilessly thrusts into you, pulling your hair back so that you're forced to face your reflection. You let out a saccharine moan, fingernails digging into the silk sheets as he continues to thrust into you at an unforgiving rhythm. You are forced to watch your own expressions of pleasure and ecstasy as he thrusts into you, your face flushed a bright red. "Now, who's pretty little consort are you?" he growls into your ear, pulling your hair back a little further. "A-Astarion!" You moan out his name, earning an approving grunt from his lips as he continues to rearrange your insides. You can feel yourself starting to reach your limit, your legs nearly buckling from beneath you. "Good girl." He barely groans out, nearly starting to reach his own climax. His grip loosens on your hair, and his mind starts to blank. He's able to get in one last ruthless thrust, painfully meeting your cervix, nearly making you scream, before he releases every last drop of his seed inside you. His last thrust leaves you seeing stars, and your knees fall from under you as you collapse onto the bed. Tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, effectively ruining your recently done makeup. You let out a few pitiful whimpers from beside him as you catch your breath, gasping for air. Astarion presses a kiss to your forehead, a smug grin spreading across his face. "My pretty little thing.." he whispers sweetly. He runs a thumb over your tear-stained cheeks, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. "Don't ever think of yourself in such a way again, yes darling?" You nod, leaning your head into his cold hand. "M-Mhm.." You murmur, still trying to regain yourself. He stands up, cleaning himself up and looking at himself in the mirror with a grin of approval. He checks his watch, and it's only a minute past the start of the ball. "I'll tell them that you're running late, darling. Fix yourself up. We're having some rather important guests tonight." He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and presses a chaste kiss to your temple, before leaving to go attend his own ball. From there on out, every time you were met with feelings of your insecurity, it came with feelings of arousal as well..

[fangsandfeels]

Got hit with more thoughts about spawns and Cazador...

...and naturally, I'm posting it here because I'm no longer a functional human being.

I remember the lingering question that Astarion seemingly being only one of the spawns using seduction to lure victims in. At least, there is no menition of other’s doing so, except for Petras. So, why is that? Why Astarion was the only one?

In my opinion, it stems from Cazador’s very particular choice of victims. In all these years, he acquired only seven spawns (except for the thousands of Turned nobody knew about), and almost all of them used to be accomplished or talented people:

- Violet, a beloved and talented songbird from Reithwin;

- Dalyria, a respected doctor working in the Parliament;

- Leon, a sorcerer (a spell modifiaction he came up with shows how good he is at his magic);

- Astarion, a magistrate with a promising future, centuries of life ahead of him, and a beauty worthy of a thousand paintings.

Following this tendency, we can assume that Yousen, Aurelia, and Petras also were similarly talented or good at something enough to attract Cazador’s attention and make him envious.

The bastard thinks very highly of himself. He calls himself the most intelligent and beautiful creature out there, and spends hours writing letters to other vampire lords, trying to convince them of his grandeur. He attempts to inflate his ego, making it finally big enough to overcompensate for his miserable inferiority complex, in any way he can: so, whenever he spies someone with a talent or potential, someone who might be better than him at anything, he snuffs them away, adds to his collection, and then breaks them over and over, making them believe that they’re nothing. He is the father who gives them purpose; they are his spawn who owe him everything; and everything they have belongs to him.

And maybe, aside from tortures, and humiliation, and gaslighting, and forcing “siblings” to hurt each other, he came up with one more way to break them - when he forces them to hunt, he forces them to use everything that made them special, loved, respected, and admired for the most gruesome things.

- Violet, previously a talented singer whose voice was fondly remembered up to Reithwin’s fall, using her voice to catch attention; using her image and charm to lure people into the palace to their death.

- Dalyria, picking her victims around apothecaries and temples that responded to the people's suffering by closing doors in their faces, seeking out refugees and ailing citizens low on coin, offering to help them, kindly inviting them to “her place” (if we take Karlach’s family as an example, finding a healer who would agree to help a less-than-wealthy family is quite a problem at the city).

- Leon, using his talents and magic to nab people from the street, to drag them to Cazador without a fight while knowing that he will never be able to use the same power against the bastard himself.

- Astarion, a previously sophisticated, proud, and beautiful elf, stripped of his dignity and pride, using his body to either seduce poor young and inexperienced souls (fulfilling their image of an ethereal and caring lover) or let himself be pawed at by drunkards and brothel-goers.

I don’t think any of Cazador’s choices were accidental. I don't think he had to roam the streets at night, looking for potential candidates; that he ever Turned any of them by chance.  

They all caught his eye at some point, became an object of his obsession, and then fell victim to a scenario where they were confronted by a promise of salvation - and each time, it made Cazador giddy with excitement and a sense of self-importance. He took them away from the world because he could. He will twist and shape them to his whim because he can. And then, he will take everything from them, reducing them to miserable wretches because this is who they should be, compared to him.

They will belong under his heel, scared, helpless, and obedient, worshipping him and fearing him. Forever.

[the-writing-goblin]

I am once again thinking about how good the story of the second age is, and all the fun things you could do with an actually decent adaptation. Consider:

Galadriel should be exactly the same as she is in Lord of the Rings. She is older, weirder and more powerful than any elf other elf in Middle Earth. Other elves are just as unnerved by her as mortals, and dealing with her is stressful at the best of times.

Elrond should be an absolute infant. Just, complete baby face. But everyone treats him super respectfully and he has a lot of power and influence. The energy should be the same as when the super ancient and powerful vampire or faerie or whatever looks like a ten year old girl.

ALSO there should be a tall, menacing elf with visible tattoo and facial scars who just. Stands behind Elrond looking intimidating all the time. The least elf-looking elf ever. All the other elves are uncomfortable around them. Elrond should treat them like their an Aunt or Uncle. The elf is one of the few surviving hard-line Feanorians, all of whom follow Elrond. The longer you can go without explaining this, the better.

Gil-Galad is very tired, and spends a lot of time balancing one of the most famously unstable political systems in all of Arda. Galadriel and Elrond both have factions they support to strongly to be relied on to be impartial. The reason he doesn't worry much about what Celebrimbor's up to is that he's the one member of the family who is highly unlikely to attempt something batshit nuts, and his followers are mostly moderate.

Celebrimbor and Annatar/Sauron should spend the whole series playing complicated mindgames with each other.

Annatar is playing four-dimensional chess from the beginning. For him, this is an all or nothing gamble. If he can't make the rings he won't have the power to seize control on his own. He should spend a lot of time having Light Yagami-level monologues where he tries to figure out what game Celebrimbor is playing while outwardly pretending to be harmless and normal and only succeeding at this about 75% of the time.

Celebrimbor should start of thinking the stakes are considerably lower. Like... is Annatar hiding something? Yea, but he figures Annatar doesn't actually have permission from the Valar to be here or something. Not, ya know, Annatar is secretly Satan in disguise. In the first act there should be an almost comical disconnect between the amount of energy Sauron is putting in to these mind games versus Celebrimbor.

Bonus points if as Celebrimbor figures out the truth, you intersperse more and more of his family backstory. The guilt he is still carrying for a lot the things that happened in the first age. Early on bring in the fact that Finrod went into Sauron's jaws alone and it was Curufin's fault, use this as angst material. And then as he figures out who Sauron really is, drop Maedhros and Thangorodrim in like a nuclear bomb.

Because Celebrimbor has seen this play before, and he knows what Sauron does to people. It wasn't even personal then, what Sauron is going to do to him will be so much worse.

And Celebrimbor chooses to forge the three rings anyway. He doesn't give up their locations, even with everything Sauron does to him at the end. And that should be devestating.

[vigilskeep]

i was discussing some of these a while back with @v-arbellanaris but they’re still on my mind... some ideas for dragon age subclasses...?

mage:

hedge mage - you have spent much of your life on the run from chantry control, and survival has been a better teacher than any dusty book. a “jack of all trades, master of none” ability lets you learn limited spells from other specialisations, and you have access to a stealth skill tree

glyph scribe - you are a learned expert in the arcane, and glyphs are a second language your enemies won’t understand until it’s too late. you have access to a unique skill tree of glyphs that react when your enemies step on them. you may cast one—or more, as you level up—during the pause at the start of combat

primalist - fire was your childhood plaything, the earth is putty in your hands, and lightning always strikes twice if you ask it nicely. you have increasing bonus damage in your element of choice. your elemental AOE attacks have wider range, you may ignore enemy resistances to elemental damage, and your elemental spells cause no friendly fire no matter the difficulty

rogue:

templar hunter - you were once a deadly weapon in the hands of the templar order, bringing back its most feared apostates dead or alive. whether or not you regret the past, you cannot leave it behind. you have access to a templar skill tree, some of its abilities exclusively possible to use at long range

vampire - you were temporarily possessed by a voracious demon, and it left its mark. it left its hungers. you may drink your enemies’ blood to regain health or fuel demonic abilities

arcane trickster - while blades or bows are still your best allies, the trace of magic in your blood gives you limited access to spellcasting. unable to create anything real enough to touch, you manifest illusions that bemuse your foes. you have access to a unique skill tree of primarily defensive buffs and disorienting spells

warrior:

dog lord - like all great fereldan warriors, you are never better than with your trusty hound at your side. you gain an animal companion, though unlike rangers, you level up your mabari as you progress rather than unlocking different types of animal. you can also equip kaddis warpaint on yourself instead of a helmet, providing further buffs to you and your mabari

enhanced soldier - you were born ordinary, but that doesn’t mean you have to remain so. you supplement your skills with powerful potions brewed by secretive alchemists or your own careful hands. you have access to a unique skill tree, with a variety of potions that temporarily boost your stats and attack speed or allow you unnatural power. to improve them even further, collect special ingredients from areas of the map where the veil is considered thin

half-golem - you are a failed experiment. attempts to recreate the golems of old left you with thick stone skin over parts of your body. you cannot equip armour or weapons. instead, you equip crystals that help you inflict and resist different types of damage, and have access to a unique skill tree that supports your natural armour and powerful unarmed attacks

[leighistired]

I have one (1) thought about Ascended Astarion vampire spouse theory and don't care if it was Larian's intention or not.

According to the source for the vampire spouse theory, vampire spouses rarely remain sane. It doesn't say why, but I personally speculate it's due to the psychic link. How long can the average person handle being in a hivemind with a powerful and ancient vampire lord, anyway?

Which brings me to Tav/Durge. They get turned by a powerful vampire lord, but critically, Astarion is a new vampire lord. He hasn't had the centuries to build up the will to resist the other half of his vampire marriage. Even better (or worse), he has no reason to resist. What's wrong with feeling his love's feelings and letting them hear his thoughts?

It would start out slow; they finish each other's sentences and pick up a few of each other's mannerisms. Normal cute couple of things. Then, it would escalate. Tav/Durge reaches out their hand, and Astarion grabs. Astarion lifts his leg, and Tav/Durge steps. Someone calls for Lord Astarion and Tav/Durge answers. They move in perfect unison. Occasionally, they speak in eerie unison.

A few centuries pass, and Tav/Durge and Astarion refer to themselves with plural pronouns. (Which they find funny. When Cazador referred to himself with the royal "we" it was pathetic, but when they do it, it is a reminder of all they have given each other.) There is no line where one of them ends and the other begins. Just one mind with two bodies. Any love they felt towards one another is just a mirror facing a mirror.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Choices

I'm currently in the middle of flying overseas for my schl's exchange trip and yes I typed this all out whilst turbulence was crazy it was not a fun experience.

Summary: You and Astarion talk the night before you confront Cazador

"I thought you did your brooding in your tent."

"Sometimes, my dear, a change of scenery is good for brooding." He looks up at you, shifting to the right a little. You sit down in the spot created, legs dangling over the edge just like his. His shoulder gently brushes against yours as he turns his gaze back to the sprawling city that is Baldur's Gate. You follow the direction of his gaze, taking in the flickering lights of the city at night and breathe in the crisp cool air.

"So, what's the brooding about on this fine night?" You turn to look at him, admiring the way his curls gently sway in the breeze, the way the moonlight highlights the silver of his hair. He was always beautiful, elegant, handsome, all at the same time, with that hint of sorrow in his ruby red eyes. The same pair of eyes shift to rest on you, taking in your splendour and searches for a way to put his thoughts into words. He isn't even sure what the brooding is about today, all he knows is that he wanted some time away from camp, away from the rest of the party and their energy so that he can take in what will happen tomorrow. He wasn't expecting any company, the others knew better than to disturb him but yours is a welcomed one, lest his thoughts drown him.

"Everything, I suppose." He hums, turning back to look at the city again. It's been a while since he's set foot in those streets, and the last time he was here he was a slave to Cazador, prowling the streets at night for naive prey. Now he's back, free from Cazador's control, free to walk in the same streets in the sun, free to do whatever he wanted. He couldn't be forced to bow to someone else's whims, he was his own person and could choose his own path, as you had told him many times over. Sometimes, he still struggles to comprehend that, he's been a slave for so long that thinking about himself is something long lost to him, but you're patient, catching him when he falls along the way, never demanding anything of him.

"It's been a while since we were last here." You nod. "It is a lot to take in, so many things have changed."

"Everything has changed." He whispers, but you catch his words. Resting your hand on top of his, you give it a gentle squeeze followed by a soft smile of reassurance, the silent promise reaffirmed. He blinks, slowly, and returns the smile, a smile he only ever shows you. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Neither would I." You agree. "I like the change."

"If you keep complimenting me like that, my love, I will have to return the favour." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

When he leans in closer, you start blushing. His lips are a hair breadth's away from yours, tantalizingly close yet so far and you yearn to close the gap but you wait for him to make the move. He pauses, seeking your approval before closing the gap, feeling the softness of your lips, your sweet taste flooding his mouth. His kiss is gentle, filled with yearning and uncertainty, just like his current turmoil of emotions. You kiss back, never wanting to let him go but your need for air forces you to and the both of you part unwillingly.

"Tomorrow we confront Cazador," he murmurs.

"We do. Together." You say firmly. "You're not doing this alone, we'll all be right there by your side."

He gives you a sad smile, "I still…I still worry. I don't know if I can do this, if I can fight him."

"If you can't, we'll fight him on your behalf. Don't worry, we'll make sure he pays dearly." You feel an anger burn deep within you at the vampire lord, swearing vengeance on him for Astarion's sake, but you also know in the end, Astarion will have to be the one dealing the final blow, or Cazador will have him forever, even in true death. It doesn't matter if your party manages to defeat Cazador without Astarion, if Astarion doesn't defeat Cazador, it will all have been for naught.

"But what if Cazador tells them about all the things I've done? What if that causes them to turn on me? You and I can't win that fight." His hands tremble, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "What if Cazador still has control over me and forces me to attack you?"

"Then we'll make sure none of those come to pass."

"He's a vampire lord, Y/N! He's powerful, terrifying, he —"

"Isn't the worst thing we have and will face. We've stared down one of the Dead Three and we know we have to defeat an elder brain controlled by the Crown of Karsus, Cazador is nothing compared to them. If we can survive a fight with Myrkul and emerge victorious, we can defeat Cazador before he gets the chance to open that damned hole he calls a mouth." You snarl out the last part, much to Astarion's surprise. His lip quivers and he feels tears start to stream down his face, the liquid quickly cooling in the night air. His shoulders start shaking with silent sobs and you panic. This was not the reaction you wanted out of him, this was far from the reaction you were looking for.

"I'm sorry Astarion! I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry, I —" Before you can blabber on, he wraps his arms around you tightly, burying his face into your shoulder, effectively silencing you.

"You didn't say anything wrong. You said everything perfectly, like you always do." He sniffs, adjusting his hug. He buries a hand in your hair whilst the other rests on your back. "You're always full of surprises."

"Well, that is one of my strengths," you smile, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. You return the hug, nuzzling into his hair and simply hold him while he lets everything out.

Astarion cannot deny that he's still worried about facing Cazador, that the very thought sends his undead heart thundering in his chest. In his two hundred years under Cazador, not once had he ever thought about standing against Cazador, all that fight had been long beaten out of him, but that all changed when you crashed into his life, dragging a few others along with you. To think that one day, he would find the courage to fight Cazador alongside people he considered friends (to a certain degree), that he would find someone he wanted to devote his life to. If he told his past self about this, his past self would have scorned him, told him to stop dreaming and face the reality of an eternal life as Cazador's puppet. But this was real, all this was real. He wasn't dreaming, he was in reality, a reality he had thought was long lost to him.

Your warmth washes over him, anchoring him in the reality that is his. When the sun dips below the horizon tomorrow, the future will be his to dictate. His and his alone. Looking into your eyes that hold so much love for him, he decides right there and then. He chooses to have you in the future that awaits him, he chooses to forge a future where the both of you can be together, unbound by fear.

He chooses you.