Baldurs Gate 3 Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

My Starry Sky - Astarion x F!Reader

Reader and Astarion have their first real argument and have to go through the aftermath.

“Come to bed early, spend some time with me?” Astarion whispered in your ear, crimson eyes still a bit watery.

There wasn’t any other answer to give. “Of course love,” you took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze, desperate to reassure him after what had happened earlier.

Going into this, you knew how he could be, how he lashed out sometimes, and why. That hadn’t made the first time he directed it at you after your mutual confession any easier. Maybe you had thought finally sharing your feelings would change that part of him, a selfish wish. “Damn it, are you just going to ignore me all day!” He snapped at you on the road, drawing questioning looks from your other companions.

“What?” You’d turned back to him, confusion knitting your brows together.

“You heard me.” Around you, you could sense everyone stepping away, wisely giving the two of you space, despite the fact that you were in a desolate, cursed place. The locale was probably not helping the tension.

“I’m not ignoring you!” The first mistake you made in that conversation, a sharp tone, fire returned.

“So I’m just imagining that you’ve hardly said two words to me for hours but have been more than happy to prattle on with everyone else.” He doubled down, and you could tell he wasn’t going to hear you. “Or you're lying.”

The accusation stung, did he think so little of you? Maybe this was all a mistake. And just like that, all the worries, the struggles, and this blasted place boiled over, and you were the one who lashed out. “This isn’t going to work, we’re not going to work, if you’re going to act like this!” The second mistake.

Eyes going wide, his posture changed in an instant. It was like he tried to make himself smaller, to get away from the pain of your words. “Please no, I’m sorry.” His voice shook and if he had any need of breathing he would have been gasping. “Gods, I’ve already ruined it.” Tears had started to spill down his cheeks.

With horror, you realized what you’d done. You’d threatened him into compliance, even if you had done so out of hurt. Were you no better than Cazador? In a rush, you threw your arms around him pulling him close, frantic to relieve the hurt you’d caused. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” After a second of hesitation, you felt his arms encircle you as he sniffled into your hair. "That was wrong of me."

It took a few moments of soft whispers and soothing until he would let you go. "Let's just forget this," you prompted and he readily agreed.

The hurtful words and accusations stuck with you though and you excused yourself as soon as dinner was over. Taking you by the hand, Astarion leads you to his tent, where you'd been sleeping most nights lately. With a soft gasp, you note small enchanted motes of light, dancing at the top of the tent. "Gale's work," you ask, staring at them with enchantment.

"I don't want to know what he's going to ask me in return," he chuckles but it’s strained and struggling.

“At least he’s not looking for magic to eat anymore.” With a quick brush of your lips against his cheek, you lower yourself down to the waiting nest of blankets the two of you spend your nights wrapped around each other in. Your hand still in his pulls him along with you.

An open bottle of wine and two glasses were waiting and you readily take one after he pours it. The two of you sit close enough that shoulders and thighs touch, a small comfort after the harshness of the day, and you lean your head on his shoulder. “I love you, you know that right?” Desperately, you want him to know it, even with all the complications, you sincerely love him.

“I know,” he finishes the glass of wine, and you note that he seems off still. “I love you too,” he pours another and drinks deeply. It was a rough day all around though, and you don’t want to push it.

Moments later you’re surprised as a pale, slender hand reaches down to tilt your chin up off his shoulder and kiss you. The taste of the wine lingers on his lips and you drink in the intimacy of it on your tongue. Your glass is taken from your grasp as the kiss deepens, lips parting invitingly to him. Hands wrap around your waist and your stomach flutters, you’ve missed being touched like this by him. A trail of soft bites is traced from your lips down your neck as his hands work their way under your shirt caressing the sensitive skin of your breasts. Reaching up, you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as a soft moan escapes you. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs against your throat and your blood runs cold.

That isn’t him, he sounds a thousand miles away, and so empty. “I thought you weren’t ready for this.”

A thumb brushes over a nipple and his teeth dig into your flesh just hard enough to thrill. You swallow the cry you almost make, not wanting to encourage this. “I’ve been thinking it’s time to move on, let go of the past,” his voice tremors and you can tell he’s lying even as he tries to kiss you again.

“Astarion, stop,” gently you push him away and see the panic in his face. “Why are you doing this?”

He looks anywhere but right at you, eyes hazy and unfocused “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Astarion…”

He sighs heavily, breaking down at last. “Well, I thought after today, perhaps you were tiring of me, and that I should do something to win you back. And I can’t seem to get this right either.”

Pain slices through your chest and you feel as though your heart is being torn in two. Carefully, you put your hands on his cheeks. “Look at me,” it’s not a command, but a plea, and he finally brings his eyes to yours. “I love you, and I’m not going to tire of you. Understand?” Wordlessly he nods. “But you are never to try to buy me again with your body, you are worth so much more than that.” A loving kiss on his forehead punctuates your words and you hear him sniffling again.

“I can try, it is so hard to leave behind.” Arms open, you beckon him to you, and you both collapse into the waiting blankets. “It feels like the only thing I know, the only thing I’m good for. And I just want to keep you but I don’t know how else to do it sometimes.”

“Just love me, that’s all I need.” You yearn for nothing but to cover him in soft kisses and hold him forever, so he can know how loved he is, how cherished. “My Starry Sky.”

With his face buried in your neck, he murmurs softly, sounding like his true self again, “my Sunlight.”

“Do I need a reason to visit my lover?”

Hello, friends! Here is a snippet of Chapter 9 of my bg3 isekai fanfic, Indelible Imprints! You can read the whole chapter on Ao3! I'll be posting the chapter to Tumblr tomorrow!

Indelible Imprints

Chapter 11

Word Count: 6k

Summary:

-Erin has nightmares -Astarion stumbles across Erin doing yoga with Gale -He gets jelly but ends up joining -Erin is busy -Mutual Pining

Ao3

Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Hey friends!

I had planned on getting this chapter out much sooner, but I was moving into a new place and celebrating my birthday (You could reblog or leave me a lil comment as a bday present, if you wanna 😜) a couple of weeks ago, so I got kinda busy. Now that I’m mostly settled after the move, I’m hoping to update more regularly again. (Sorry, I feel like I’m always saying that and then taking a month to update again 😬)

This chapter is a bit slower, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it! They needed some time to rest in camp and be confused about their feelings. 😅

Tag list: @roguishcat @thisisew

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Erin 

Erin could see the sun seeping through the fabric of her tent as she stared at the ceiling from her bedroll. Her dreams had not been restful the previous night, and she’d given up on trying to fall back asleep around an hour or so ago. She couldn’t tell how much time had actually passed. Without her phone working, or a watch or an alarm clock, all she had to give her an idea of the time was the sun. Most mornings she just woke to the sounds of the early risers in camp and the smell of Gale’s breakfast. 

She was tired. And sore. So sore. Even before last night’s fitful sleep interrupted with nightmares, she’d been having trouble sleeping most nights. Initially, the exhaustion of simply existing in Faerûn was enough to have her completely wiped by the end of the day. Unfortunately, her body had gotten used to it and couldn’t easily fall into a sound sleep anymore. There was a general sense of anxiety that she felt every night, so aware of the threat of danger all around her. Her sleep was always light, as though she’d need to be able to jump out of bed at a moment’s notice. 

Then there was the lying on the ground every night that she just couldn’t get used to. She missed her bed and the nights she washed her sheets, falling asleep on warm, crisp linens, the smell of her lavender laundry detergent filling her nose. Sleeping on a thin bedroll every night over the threadbare floor of her tent made her feel like the princess and the pea, always feeling something uncomfortable underneath her as she slept. 

None of those things were what kept her up last night though. Now that the sun was coming out and she could see a little better, she reached her arms out in front of her to inspect. She scanned them, twisting this way and that. Observing the unblemished milky skin of her inner arms and wrists, she ran her fingers over the places the hag had cut her yesterday. Or, made her cut herself. Shadowheart’s healing left no evidence of the wounds, but Erin could still feel the ghost of something there. Like a scar over nerves, not painful, but tugging at the skin. It was probably just in her head, but the nightmares didn’t help. 

I can tell you want her.   

She shut her eyes. 

Don’t you want to know what she tastes like, first? 

She shook her head, pushing her palms into her eye sockets. 

STOP, she commanded herself, trying to force the memories out of her head. 

Rolling to her side, she brushed her fingers lightly across the wall of her tent. Attempting to ground herself, she focused on the way the texture of the fabric felt underneath her fingertips. 

When the hag had possessed her, Erin had been so disoriented that she could hardly register the things Ethel made her say or do. The only thing she could really focus on was the pain. But things had come back to her as she slept. First, she’d woken to the sound of Shadowheart’s scream, and the feeling of her bones breaking beneath her foot. In the next nightmare, she’d been choking on hot, thick blood, running down her throat from the deep cut in her tongue as she laughed and it gurgled in her mouth. She could still taste the metallic tang of it in her mouth, and she couldn’t understand the appeal it had to Astarion.  

Astarion. 

God, the dreams of him were the worst. She still couldn’t fully wrap her head around everything that had happened with him yesterday. Why had he come after all? What had changed his mind? 

He probably just didn't want to lose his daily meals, she thought. Who could blame him when he'd starved for so long? 

He'd been so angry when she insisted on finding Mayrina. She remembered the way he snarled at her. 

That hag will rip you to pieces. 

It stung when he didn’t come with them. She worried about him being left alone, but she couldn't force him follow her. Even if she could have, she wouldn't have made him walk straight into danger with her. She wished she’d listened to him so he didn’t have to. It would have spared her each horrible flash of memory of what she did to him - what the hag made her do. The taste of his lips lingered on her tongue and she felt disgusted with herself. She couldn’t believe he’d agreed to hug her after all that. 

She could still feel the weight of him on top of her when she first broke from the hag's possession, growing heavier once the mask fell off and he relaxed his body over hers, pressing their foreheads together. 

His body above hers was so comforting, and she was so grateful, so she asked if she could hug him. After his reaction to her first hug that morning, she was prepared for him to say no. She hadn’t planned to hug him again since he'd seemed so uncomfortable. On their way to Ethel’s she’d been trying to think of something else she could do with him, like fist-bumping with Lae'zel. Something unique to him, like a secret handshake, if he'd entertain it. But she hadn't had enough time to come up with anything before that moment, and he was right there, and she really needed a hug. So she asked. 

Yes.  

He’d said it so quickly. 

She was so relieved. He shocked her when he returned the hug, still on top of her, lying there for so long she nearly forgot where they were. Her chest ached when Shadowheart came back to them and she had to let go. Probably just sore from him lying there too long. 

Things seemed normal again so quickly, but then she’d had her fit with Mayrina and her spat with Astarion about the monster hunter. She cringed thinking about the emotional little speech she’d given him after it all. Sincerity like that felt so… embarrassing. But he seemed to accept it and her apology without judgement. Well… as little judgement as can be expected from Astarion. Rubbing circles on the pads of her thumbs with her forefingers, she thought of the feel of his silky hair in her fingers yesterday. Closing her eyes, she thought of the way he’d closed his own, letting her fix his curls for him, and she felt her cheeks grow hot at the memory. 

Why did I do that?  

Sitting up, she tried to shrug off her embarrassment. Maybe if she didn’t acknowledge it or act differently around him, he’d forget. If neither of them brought it up, she could pretend it didn't happen. 

She sighed, falling back against her bedroll. Staring blankly ahead, she wondered how long she could get away with staying in her tent this morning. 

A soft, "ahem," outside answered the question for her. 

Pulling her blanket over her head as though it might make her disappear, she groaned. "Isn't getting possessed and fighting a hag a good enough excuse to sleep in a little?" Not that she was sleeping. But she didn’t feel ready to get up and talk to people yet. 

She heard Gale chuckle through the fabric of her tent. "It most certainly is, and the others have already decided to spend the morning resting before continuing on our journey. I only had something to ask of you, if you'd care to indulge me. May I come in?" 

Erin looked around her, grabbing the dirty clothes scattered haphazardly around the space and tucking them into a corner.  

"You can come in. I'm a bit of a mess, but I'm decent." It was true. Astarion had been right when he said she smelled gross last night, so she grabbed her toiletries and rushed to the lake to bathe as soon as they got back to camp. Too tired to braid her hair or wait for it to dry, she went to sleep with it wet. It was probably flat from wherever she’d laid her head and bumpy in all the wrong places. At least she was fully dressed, having changed into her university t-shirt and purple sweatpants before going to sleep. 

Gale's head popped through the flap in her tent as he let himself in. 

"My friend, if this is your idea of yourself as a mess, I'm quite curious to know how you dress up." he smiled warmly. 

"Ha!" she let out a genuine laugh. "You might change your mind if you smelled my morning breath." 

He chuckled, "I'll be sure not to sit downwind of it, then." 

Once Gale sat down, Erin crawled over to her duffel bag and started picking things from it. Satisfied she had everything she was looking for, she reached out to hand it all to Gale. 

"What's this?" he questioned, looking a little confused. 

“Some of the magical things we've picked up so far. I pulled them from the camp chest before going to bed last night so I could give them to you. I could have sworn there were more, but I was pretty tired and probably missed some things. That's why you're here, right? I hope it's enough." 

She'd handed him several rings and necklaces, pressing them into his palms, encouraging him to take them. Looking down at them, Gale's smile softened and he thanked her. 

"Your kindness is very much appreciated. But I must admit that my condition is currently stable and I didn't come to you for this." He started to hand the items over to return, but she only took his hands and pressed his fingers closed, patting them amicably.  

"Keep them anyway,” she insisted. “That way you can have them on hand when you do need them." 

"I'll endeavor to make the loss up to you,” he responded.  

She shook her head. "You don't owe me anything, Gale. We all found these things together. You’re entitled to them just as much as any of us." 

He nodded, “You’re too kind. Truly.” 

She waved the comment away, “Don’t worry about it. So what did you come to ask me, if not that?” 

“Oh, right! I’d nearly forgotten,” he brightened. "I was hoping you'd let me borrow your little device from your homeworld." 

Erin’s brows raised for a moment in surprise. "Oh, well... I don't know if you remember me mentioning this before, but it's not working anymore. It's out of power." She frowned, a bit sad at the reminder. 

"I do remember! I also recall you saying that it ran on electricity!” He leaned toward her conspiratorially, dropping his voice to a mock-whisper, “I don't know if you've noticed, but I have a bit of electricity at my disposal." 

Uncomfortable with what he seemed to be suggesting, she hesitated. "I don't think shooting lighting at it is a good idea, Gale. I know it's not working, but I'd still like to keep it in one piece." 

"You misunderstand me,” he reassured her. “I wouldn't dream of doing something so destructive. I'd like to study it a bit, and see if perhaps a small concentration of electricity would help to fix it. No bolts of lightning or anything so dramatic required." 

Erin considered his request for a moment. After her phone died, she hadn't expected she'd be able to charge it again in Faerûn. Still, it was sentimental, and she hated the idea of it getting irreparably damaged. She studied Gale’s face. He seemed considerate, and she trusted he'd be careful. Making her decision, she dug into her duffel again. 

"Here," she handed the phone to him, then the portable charger. "If you wouldn't mind practicing on that before you try anything with the phone, I'd appreciate it. They're different, but they both run on electricity and I'd miss the smaller one a little less if it got ruined. There's a small bulb here," she pointed at the charging indicator, "it'll light blue if it's got a charge - if it's working, I mean." 

He accepted the items with careful hands. "Of course. I'll take great care with your treasures, my friend. Thank you for indulging me." He stood up to leave. "I'll let you get back to resting now." 

"Wait,” she stopped him, realizing she didn’t want to be left alone. Not with her nightmares still so fresh in her head. “Are you up for a bit of stretching? I promised to do some morning yoga with you yesterday." 

"Are you sure? I thought you wanted to sleep in?" 

She shrugged. "I'm already up. Give me a minute and I'll meet you by the campfire. Should be plenty of space around there." 

"Well then,” he smiled. “I'll see you in a moment."

Astarion

Erin was in her hideous purple sweatpants again. It was the first thing he noticed when he stepped outside of his tent that morning.  

The second thing he noticed, was that she was lying on her back, legs spread wide open as she gripped her feet and pulled her knees to her chest. 

The third thing he noticed, was the wizard, sitting on his knees in front of her, watching her intently. 

That uncomfortable feeling he’d been getting lately whenever he saw her being friendly with the wizard roiled inside him. He couldn’t explain the twisting he felt in his gut whenever she smiled at Gale, or hugged one of their companions. Didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. 

As he glared at the wizard, Astarion noticed him move forward to press Erin’s legs further up. Nostrils flaring, Astarion appeared in front of them before he knew what he was doing. It was too late to rethink and turn back though, as they’d already noticed him and looked up from their strange position. He attempted to feign nonchalance. 

"In the middle of camp, for everyone to see? Bold of you." His tone came off a bit clipped, and he hoped Erin didn’t notice. 

She looked up at him quizzically, as though he were the one behaving strangely in this scenario. "Astarion, you're the only other person out here." 

Was his presence alone not enough to discourage… whatever this was? 

"So you thought you'd give me a private show?" He asked, attempting to mask his incredulity with a tone he hoped was casual. 

Erin and Gale exchanged awkward glances before she looked back to him and asked, "...What do you think we're doing?" 

He couldn’t stand this. "What in the bloody hells am I supposed to think you're doing?!" he demanded, out of patience. 

Erin stood up. "Would you like to join us so we can show you?" she offered. 

"Would I- excuse me?" 

It wasn’t as though it was a completely foreign proposition to him. The offer was very familiar. He'd just never expected Erin to suggest such a thing to him. And he certainly didn’t want to participate in any joining that involved Gale. He was clearly misunderstanding something, and he ran through their conversation in his head, searching for an explanation. 

He must have taken too long, because Erin reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, as though to calm him. Looking down to where she touched him, his face relaxed a little and she apparently took it as a sign to explain further. 

"Remember when Gale said he liked to stretch yesterday?” she asked, “and I said we'd do yoga?" 

He did remember. He just had no idea what 'yoga' was or what doing it entailed. 

His voice came out colder than he’d intended when he answered. "I suppose I didn't imagine you were offering something so salacious." 

Her mouth dropped slightly, and her voice raised a little, clearly offended. "Excuse me? There is nothing salacious going on here, and I don’t appreciate the suggestion that there is.” 

Shit.  

She was angry with him. Again. 

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to backtrack, and pressed her further instead. "Then what?" 

Her eyes were wide with disbelief, and he couldn’t understand how he’d become the villain in this scenario. Irritation becoming more and more evident in her voice, she continued to explain as though she were educating a toddler. "Stretching,” she said. “That's literally it. I was just showing Gale different stretches that are popular where I’m from. We were just doing a pose to help get rid of tightness in the hips. It was all perfectly innocent. The pose is even called, 'happy baby,' it doesn't get much more pure than that." 

Happy, indeed.  

His eyes shifted toward the wizard and narrowed. "And that's why Gale was studying your crotch so intently?" 

"I was not!” Gale blustered. “I was studying the pose so that I might replicate it. I'm merely a pupil observing his teacher.” 

Astarion snorted. "Yes, such an observant little student. And a rather hands-on approach you have to learning."  

Gale blushed and stammered, embarrassed, but Erin cut in. 

"I asked him to do that,” she defended the wizard. Astarion’s face pinched in disgust, not wanting to hear what she asked Gale to do to her. She ignored his expression and continued, “I was showing him how another person can help you get a deeper stretch. I've been sore as hell with all the walking and fighting we've been doing and this is helping me just as much as it's helping him." 

Astarion looked at her skeptically.  

Meeting his gaze, she shrugged, apparently tired of trying to convince him.  

"You should join us,” she suggested. “You're the one who was telling me I needed to loosen up yesterday.” She paused, then gave him a cheeky little smirk. “Let's see how loose you can get." 

Wait… Is she… flirting?  

He was stunned for a moment.  

Where did this come from?   

She’d never reciprocated his own flirtations, let alone initiate any of her own.  

No. She was probably only teasing, unaware of how it sounded.  

Still, the challenge stirred something inside him. If she was going to get loose, he wanted to watch. And he wanted to join her. 

"Show me," was all he said.

*** 

Astarion had to admit, if only to himself, that he felt much better after following Erin’s instruction. Some of the positions she’d guided them in felt a bit ridiculous, but every time he looked up, prepared to refuse to continue, he saw her smiling widely at Gale for following her movements exactly. 

Teacher’s pet.  

The thought of being shown up by the wizard, whose knees cracked louder than the lightning he shot from his fingertips, was not something Astarion wanted to entertain. So, he followed Erin’s movements precisely and was quick to assist when she wanted to demonstrate a partnered modification to a stretch. He felt a smug sort of delight in preventing Gale from touching her again and forcing the wizard to watch as he touched her instead. Her reactions to his assistance were a reward all on their own. 

Ah, yep, that’s perfect. If you wouldn’t mind holding that for about 30 seconds for me? Ahhh, thank you, that’s great.  

The nearly breathless way she’d praised him, so full of relief, send a thrill straight to his core. When she’d let out that first little sigh, he had to fight against the shudder it sent through him. He hadn’t quite expected it, and it threw him off for a moment. That’s when he decided he wasn’t going to let Gale have another turn to assist her under any circumstances.  

Despite what her little noises did to him, there was something oddly respectful about it all. Trusting, even. Touching someone in that way felt strangely intimate and chaste all at the same time. She instructed him on where to touch her and when he followed, nothing else happened. She didn’t wriggle suggestively underneath him, and his hands never wandered or groped. Gale was watching the entire time, of course, but something about it made Astarion think it wouldn’t have mattered if he wasn’t there at all. In those moments, he didn’t feel like anyone else existed around them. 

There were even a couple of instances where he’d allowed Erin to assist him in achieving a deeper stretch. She asked permission before touching him each time, and respected it the few times when he managed a polite, ‘no, thank you.’ When he did allow it, he understood her sighs of relief. It truly did feel nice. He was nearly overwhelmed by it. Being able to touch someone and be touched in return - to make their bodies feel good without it leading to sex was… a revelation. And to not feel utterly disgusted and filled with self-loathing afterward? A miracle. 

It had been a lot to process, and he excused himself to his tent shortly afterward, muttering some excuse he couldn’t even remember now. He could hear Gale sighing his own thanks and relief to Erin from where he sat, suggesting they make it a daily practice. While he found himself mildly annoyed at the wizard’s participation, Astarion felt a flutter of excitement in his chest at the idea of doing this with Erin again. Alone in his tent, he allowed himself to smile at the thought. 

He wondered at his initial reaction to seeing Erin and Gale together that morning. Originally, he had been leaving his tent to go and talk with Erin. His trances were rarely restful, but he didn’t even try to trance that night, too consumed with everything that had happened yesterday. He hadn't been prepared to find her so close to someone else. 

He felt sick for it, but he couldn’t stop replaying the moments when she’d pressed her thumb into his mouth and licked across his lips over and over again in his mind. They weren’t her actions, he knew; They were the hag’s. But that fact couldn’t keep him from imagining what it might have been like if it had been her, under different circumstances, of course - no hags involved. He wondered if she was even aware of what the hag had made her do. Could she be imagining what it would be like, to do it all on purpose, too? 

Is this what a friend would be thinking about? he wondered.  

And we’re still friends? she’d asked him yesterday.  

In truth, he didn’t know. The thought of having a friend was appealing, if a little novel. But something about labeling Erin as a friend was dissatisfying, and thinking of her applying the label to him was even worse. For whatever reason, he couldn’t quite warm up to the idea - despite feeling pulled to her, wanting a connection. 

He didn't even know if he wanted to pursue the seduction anymore. She'd shut down his flirting so early on, he didn’t know how to move forward, and everything was moving so slowly.  

Playing the rake was all he knew. He'd never spent so much time with one of his victims before. Never had to think past the initial charm. 

No. She is not a victim. Thinking of her in that way, even just for a moment, made his chest tighten. He forced himself to take deep breaths, attempting to settle himself by focusing on the unnecessary action. 

She was his friend. Perhaps companion was a better word? She was something to him. Someone. He can't remember ever having someone. It made him want to protect it, whatever it was. There was also another part of him that wanted it - wanted her - only for himself. It was the part that made his stomach sink when he saw her with anyone else. She was his friend. His. 

But she seemed to want to be friends with everyone, so he was no more special to her than the rest of the group.  

If he could get her to care for him, fall for him, maybe he would be.  

To what end, though? She was already giving him her blood. Looking out for his safety. Everything his original plan of seducing her was supposed to ensure. She was just giving it to him. 

There was no guarantee she'd continue to give, though. She didn't know the things he’d done, what a monster he was. There were things about his past he needed to tell her, and soon, just for the sake of practicality while they traveled. Encountering the Gur had made it clear to him that he was being hunted by his master, and they'd need to be prepared. He was dreading the inevitable change in the way she looked at him once her told her, though.  

He was surprised she hadn't pushed him for more information about his past already.  

Perhaps she simply doesn't care.  

He knew the thought wasn’t true. More likely, she was respecting his privacy because he'd been snappish and cagey about sharing details about himself with her before. She never pushed the cleric, either. Everyone was allowed to keep their secrets with her. Still, he found it easier to think of if he imagined she didn’t care. Even if he wanted her to.

*** 

The group had chosen to take the day to rest after yesterday's fights, and Astarion decided he would use that to his advantage. He planned to whisk Erin away under the pretense of additional archery lessons so he could talk to her about everything that's happened. Not to mention she’d improved much faster than he’d anticipated, and it made him nervous that she might decide she didn’t need him anymore.  

Why on earth had he told her that the bow he'd given her was enchanted? It didn’t have a trace of magic in it as far as he could tell. She’d just been so reluctant to accept the damned thing. He knew she’d been insecure about her abilities, so he thought telling her it was magical would entice her to just take it already. But now her aim had improved and she thought it was because she had an enchanted bow. He’d have to make sure she practiced relentlessly or risk the stupid lie falling apart.  

It was her fault, really. All she had to do was take his little gifts so he wouldn’t feel so indebted to her, take them and think of him fondly, like a dog receiving treats. But she never just simply accepted, she was always asking him why or where he got it. As if any of that mattered. He sighed and left his tent again, already planning on having her shoot at targets until she couldn’t hold her arms up anymore. Maybe longer.  

It seemed he would have to wait, however. Out in the middle of camp again in her stupid purple pants, apparently staying in camp to rest meant not getting dressed for the day, Erin was doing lunges with the other ladies of the group. Karlach counted aloud, timing the duration of their movements for the others with ease, while Lae’zel went through the motions effortlessly and Shadowheart determinedly followed suit, a slight sheen of sweat starting to form on her brow. Erin was breathing heavily and he could hear her heartbeat from where he stood.  

Well, she would clearly tire out soon enough. It wouldn’t be long before she was unoccupied again, so he decided to take the opportunity to go to the lake and wash a few of his things, maybe mend a few tears he’d noticed in his clothes.  

After about an hour, his clothes were impeccable and he was convinced she would be free once he made his way back. Instead, he didn’t see her out in camp at all. He walked toward her tent, assuming she’d gone to rest after the exercise, but as he passed by Shadowheart’s tent on his way he’d heard a set of giggles from within. He stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do. Perhaps he’d just call for her, tell her she wouldn’t get out of practicing archery so easily. 

More giggles. 

Whatever they were doing in there, they were certainly having fun. His stomach twinged and he decided that it was because he was hungry. 

He walked back toward his tent and spotted three fresh bottles of blood. Erin must have filled them and brought them to his tent while he was at the lake, since he’d already drank everything she’d given him before. 

Stupid girl. 

After all the blood she’d lost from the hag cutting her up yesterday, what was she thinking? 

The unpleasant memory of her lying dead and drained beneath him only a few nights ago came unbidden as he stared at the bottles. Guilt soured his stomach and he looked away, walking toward the forest instead. Perhaps a hunt would be a good distraction. He never wanted to see her like that again. 

It was dark when he returned to camp, and he had clearly missed quite the guest, as the entire camp now smelled of sulfur. It seemed everyone had already retired to their tents for the night, but he could hear the light, intermittent pluck of strings coming from Erin’s tent. He cleared his throat as he approached and it was silent for a moment before he heard the soft plunk of the lute being set down and watched her stick her head out of the flap of her tent. His chest clenched at the sight of her swollen eyes and blotchy, wet cheeks. She’d been crying. 

“Oh, Astarion. It’s just you. I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” she said as though she didn't look the way she did. 

She held the flap open and he crawled inside her tent and looked at her. Whatever this was about, he could at least allow her to tell him with a bit of privacy. 

“What happened?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern. "You were giggling when I left camp." 

She deflated, and it looked like she might burst into tears all over again. He moved closer and brushed the wetness from her cheek with his thumb, hoping to keep further tears at bay. He wasn't used to comforting someone, and hoped he was doing it right. 

“Tell me,” he said softly, then added, “it’s alright.” 

That was it. The dam had burst and she was crying again, breath stuttering as she tried to tell him what happened. Caught up in her emotions, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as she sobbed. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped, at a loss for what to say. Clenching and un-clenching his fists, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her in return, trying to will the stiffness out of his limbs. 

“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. 

He seriously doubted that. 

There were a couple of dirty shirts lying nearby, so he took one and reached it out to her. Her nose had started running as tears streamed down her face. 

“Go ahead and wipe your face with that. I’ll wash it for you later.” 

She took it and wiped her tears, blowing her nose into it roughly when she was done. 

“Thanks,” she said, setting the ruined shirt down beside her. “I’m sorry. I feel so dumb for that. I thought I was done crying when I started trying to play that to distract myself.” she nodded toward the lute he’d gifted her.  

“Why don’t you tell me why you were crying and I could tell you whether it was dumb to do so or not?” he asked with a teasing tone he hoped would lighten her mood. 

“Um, well, I still don’t fully understand everything that happened, but I guess Wyll is a warlock?” 

Astarion had suspected as much when he noticed the Blade of Frontiers had more than just a blade at his disposal. The eldritch blast was a good indicator that he had a patron. That certainly explained the sulfuric smell left in camp from what was apparently a visit from the devil he’d made a pact with. Just like a righteous do-gooder to be completely full of shit. Hadn’t the hypocrite gone on and on about the dangers in trusting devils when he was trying to convince the group to help him kill Karlach? Typical. 

He simply made a small tsk of disapproval and Erin sniffed, nose still slightly runny. 

“So his boss, sorry, patron. His patron came to camp and uh, punished him for not killing Karlach. It was awful, I could feel some of it through the tadpole, and I don’t know how he’s still alive after what she did.” 

Astarion nodded. “From what I hear, devils aren’t known to be forgiving. If he’s still living, and not turned into some disgusting creature, it sounds like he got lucky.” 

He’d clearly said the wrong thing, because tears started spilling past her cheeks again. She covered her eyes as if to hide her crying from him, but Astarion just moved closer and reached for her dirty shirt to wipe her tears with a corner that hadn’t been soiled yet. She leaned into the touch, and before he could think of what to do next, she leaned further into him, hugging him tightly and pressing her head into his chest again. 

“I don’t think he’s disgusting, but she did something to change him. He’s got horns now, and it’s my fault.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “How on earth could it be your fault?” 

“I didn’t do anything to stop her from doing that to him, I could’ve- 

“No,” he cut her off. “You couldn’t have done a thing. I know the way things work here are unfamiliar to you, but a warlock pact isn’t some trifle. If Wyll went against something in the terms of his agreement with his patron, there is nothing you could have done. No one could have done anything.” 

She sniffled into his shoulder. “That’s what everybody said. Even after Wyll wanted to be alone, Gale told me that. But-” 

“But nothing. Much as I’m loathe to say it, Gale was right. Eugh.” 

She gave a soft laugh and smiled up at him. “You could be nicer to Gale. He’s your friend too, you know. He kept talking about how great it was to have friends to stretch with this morning.” 

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “I think he just meant you, darling.” 

“No, he said friends. Plural. You were included.” She teased. 

He was relieved to hear the slight shift in her mood and unthinkingly slid his arms around her waist to hold her where she leaned against him. “Well who needs more friends when I’ve got you right here?”  

“Oh, no, it’s too sad to only have me for a friend. I’m not nearly enough to satisfy anyone’s social needs.” She laughed into his chest. 

“I don’t know,” he teased, smirking down at her. “You’re quite the handful.” 

She chuckled softly before going quiet again.  

“I hope he’s okay.” She whispered. 

“He’s a grown man, dear. He’ll be fine.” 

“Pain doesn’t become any easier to deal with just because you’re grown. Some things hurt worse.” 

Astarion didn’t know what to say to that. He knew it was true, so he didn’t say anything at all. He just remained there, holding her in the quiet of her tent.  

After a few moments, he noticed her heartbeat slow into a steady rhythm and her breaths come deeper. She’d fallen asleep. 

So much for talking about yesterday. 

He started to adjust, getting ready to move her to her bedroll so he could leave. She stirred and gripped him tighter. 

“Stay,” she whispered, still mostly asleep. “Couldn’t sleep last night… please stay.” 

Ah. So she didn’t sleep last night either. 

It drove his thoughts back to yesterday and last night. He wondered if it was for the same reasons he couldn’t trance. He could feel her tongue on his lips all over again and then her hands in his hair as she told him he was perfect. 

Stop thinking about that while she's in your arms, you fool. 

She’d already fallen back asleep and he sighed, reaching over to grab the blanket from her bedroll. 

Gently lying her down and adjusting himself to lie beside her, he draped it over them both. He tucked her pillow beneath her head before lying his own on it and wrapping his arms around her.  

What am I doing? 

She’d asked him to stay. He was simply helping a friend. That was all this was. 

Snippet Sunday Tuesday?

Thank you for the tags, @roguishcat and @kalmiaphlox! I loved your WIPs!

I’m never on time, so here’s a little bit of Chapter 12 of Indelible Imprints now instead of Sunday lol.

Chapters 1-11 on AO3 and the pinned post on my blog!

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you @xxnashiraxx for tagging me (your WIP was so good - I'm so excited!) and everyone who has tagged me over the past Snippet Sunday and WIP Wednesday! I love getting to see all of your WIPs and I'm always excited to actually have something to share on the actual day lol.

Here is part of a WIP for chapter 13 of my bg3 isekai, Indelible Imprints! 💖

You can read chapters 1-12 on Ao3 or through the pinned post on my blog!

Tagging 💖: @justabiteofspite @elinorbard @ladyduellist @bhaalsdeepbat @verbenaa @inkymoonbunny @sashitf @roguishcat @kalmiaphlox @chaoticbardlady99 @celaenamyers if you all have something to share! 💖

Indelible Imprints

Chapter 13

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary:

-Astarion is jealous and a lil angsty for half a second

-Astarion, Gale, and Erin do some stuff in the Blighted Village

-Erin agrees to let Astarion try feeding from her directly again

-Erin is confused (so is Astarion tbh)

-SPOILER: A tiny bit of smut. As a treat.

As always, comments & reblogs are very appreciated! If you like this chapter, PLEASE for the love of GOD tell me because I AM SO NERVOUS about it. Have pity on my poor soul. 😭 (It’s my first time posting smut).

Ao3

Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

Tag list: @roguishcat @thisisew @chaoticbardlady99

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

GORGEOUS COMMISSION DONE BY @bby-bel OF A SCENE FROM THIS CHAPTER AT THE BOTTOM!!!

Astarion

Astarion stared at the ceiling of his tent. After watching Erin and Shadowheart lying together for however long he’d stood in their doorway, there hadn’t been much else for him to do but go back to his own tent and brood. He couldn’t stand to look at them any longer anyway. 

This was stupid. What even was there to brood about? He’d been foolish to let himself get swept up in some fantasy simply because he’d spent one night in her tent with her. She’d been upset, in need of comfort, and he was just a warm body. Well. A body, at least. It could have been anyone. There was no reason to think that night had been anything more than that. Nothing had even happened. 

Maybe this was for the better. He had been so uncertain about his plans to seduce her, and with her freely giving him her blood and protection, there was really no need. The cleric was even the one who had been helping her draw blood for her little donations. He glanced at the bottles of blood Erin had left for him the other day, unopened in the corner of his tent. Shadowheart would probably agree to help her protect him, if she asked. Probably.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the pang of disappointment. Now he’d never get to replace the memories of when she’d put her mouth on his against her will with a moment where she was herself, and willing. 

Not just willing. Wanting. He realized with a sting in his chest that he wanted her to want him. To want to kiss him. To touch and hold him like she had last night, when she’d been too emotional to care about being embarrassed. He didn’t know why, but he did. He wanted her to seek comfort in him, just like she had in that moment. 

Now that she was with the cleric, she probably never would again.

Sitting up, he looked back at the blood jars. He should drink at least one of them. The animals he’d been feeding on the past few nights hadn’t filled him much, and he could feel an emptiness gnawing at his stomach. Still, something within him twisted even more than his hunger at the thought of taking any more of her blood from those bottles. They only reminded him of why she wouldn’t let him drink directly from her in the first place, and he didn’t want to think about that.

But then what was the point of all this, if she was giving him exactly what he wanted and he couldn’t bring himself to take it?

This is what you wanted. Why can’t you just drink it??

Lying back down against his bedroll, he tried to ignore his hunger. He’d just save the jars for an emergency. He didn’t want them yet. If he focused on that thought long enough, maybe he’d believe it.

***

Once everyone had finished breakfast the next morning, it was decided that some of the group would go on ahead to scout the goblin camp before they all went in together. The rest would stay behind to thoroughly loot the village for anything useful in the fight ahead. Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart would go ahead, while Erin, Gale, and Astarion stayed behind. 

Astarion was relieved to see Erin agree readily to the split, with no attempts to keep the cleric close. It did make sense for Shadowheart to leave with the scouting group. She was the healer, after all, and they’d need her there more than they would at camp if the group ran into any trouble. Still, he watched them closely to see if they were disappointed to be separated. They didn’t seem affected at all. Had the night before not gone as well for them as he’d thought? They certainly weren’t acting like lovers who had just consummated their relationship. What had he seen last night, then?

He couldn’t help himself. Just as the scouting group had gotten out of earshot, he leaned toward Erin and spoke low in her ear.

“What? No goodbye kiss for your new lover?”

She jumped, clearly startled by his sudden appearance behind her. She was far too easy to sneak up on.

“Shit!” When she caught him smirking, she smacked his chest, but there was no real effort in it. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that. I’ll have a heart attack.”

He chuckled at her overreaction. “We can’t have that, can we?” 

Settling from the shock, she asked, “Sorry, what were you saying before I jumped out of my skin just now?”

“I was asking about your new lover. I thought the two of you might have been more inclined to stay together after your tryst last night.”

She looked confused. Her brows shot up, creasing her forehead when she asked, “My… what?”

His expression dropped. Was she purposely being obtuse? “Really, darling. It’s not as though the entire camp didn’t see you leaving the same place this morning for breakfast.”

Realization finally set in her eyes, but instead of blushing she made an annoyed snorting sound.“Oh my god. You’re just as bad as she is.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“About?” he prompted her, attempting to mask his frustration.

“Making assumptions about my sex life, apparently. Nothing like that happened last night.”

His heart lightened. “Oh? Did you want something to happen?” he asked, hoping she’d say no.

She rolled her eyes. “Again, you’re just as bad as she is. No. She’s my friend and I don’t see her that way. You guys act like we don’t have anything else to worry about,” she added, sounding a bit incredulous. “Sex has kind of been the last thing on my mind with these worms in our brains, and all.”

 “You poor thing,” he teased, grinning wide. “So repressed you can’t even distract yourself with the simplest of pleasures?”

A small offended noise escaped her mouth and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m not repressed,” she protested, “I’ve had plenty of se-“ she stopped herself and glared at him. “You know what? I’m not talking about this with you.”

He grinned even harder, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much. “Oh no, do go on!” 

She crossed her arms and turned, walking away from him. “I’m leaving. Bye.”

He chuckled to himself as he watched her go. The thought of her being with others wasn’t exactly his favorite, but he was in too good a mood to dwell on it. Besides, he liked seeing her flustered. The blush that spread to her face was adorable, and reminded him of the blood coursing underneath. 

She and Shadowheart didn’t have sex. He was more relieved than he should have been.

Erin

Erin was watching Gale stir ingredients into a pot, trying very hard to listen to him as he narrated the steps he took to brew the healing potion he was making. It turned out that one of the houses in the village had belonged to an apothecary, and most of their stores seemed untouched. Gale had been delighted, immediately noting they had enough to make potions to last them a while. Erin had asked him if a person needed magic to make potions, and when he said it wasn’t necessary, she asked him to teach her. Since she was the least capable of the group in a fight, she figured the least she could do was learn to make a few potions so she could help keep them stocked. Besides, she was more prone to injury than the others and it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra healing potion or two on hand so they wouldn’t have to worry about her.

She also needed a distraction. After her chat with Shadowheart last night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Astarion. She’d dreamt of him again, and she tried to convince herself it was only because Shadowheart had kept teasing her about her attachment to him. All the talk about sleeping with him just put it in her head. It wasn’t her fault that he ended up in her dreams. Again. 

But she couldn’t stop thinking about the things Shadowheart had said. Did he really look at her so differently than the others? Was it so obvious?

Of course he does, you let him drink your blood. Shadowheart even said it, he looks at you like he wants to devour you. You’re just a meal.

She blushed, embarrassed for letting Shadowheart get to her head. He was her friend. Just because he teased a bit didn’t mean there was anything else there. He’d even spent the night in her tent without anything happening. Surely someone as flirty as him would have actually made a move then, if he’d been interested. 

No, he was just being a good friend, comforting her while she was sad. Guilt tugged at her chest, convinced that she’d made him feel trapped into doing so, unintentional as that was. Being close to people didn’t seem like something he was actually comfortable with, but there she was, constantly forcing proximity. He didn’t seem to begrudge her for it though.

It wasn’t fair, that stupid hag had put all of this into her head. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him in ways she shouldn’t since that day in her den. They felt like nightmares at first, flashes of her licking his lips in her dreams in the aftermath. But, that night he held her in her arms, her dreams were softer, sweeter. Their hands were in each other’s hair as they sighed into each other’s mouths. Those dreams played out more like fantasies, and the way he touched her in them made her chest feel warm. It felt good. She tried to ignore it.

But then Shadowheart had to insist on talking about them like they were a couple last night, stoking the fires of Erin’s dreams no matter how much she denied them while awake. She’d had a genuinely nice time with Shadowheart that night, comforted to be close to a friend, but as she drifted into sleep, the arms holding her became his again and she didn’t mind it at all. 

When Shadowheart woke her this morning, she panicked for a second, as though she would somehow know what she’d been dreaming about and judge her harshly for the unbidden fantasies that came to her while she slept. 

Everybody has sex dreams. They don’t mean anything. Shadowheart was talking about sex last night so of course that’s what you dreamed about.

Astarion wasn’t helping. The way he’d lowered his voice when he spoke into her ear this morning had shocked her, and sent a spark of heat into her belly. And all to suggest she was sleeping with Shadowheart? If this was the way he teased her over things that didn’t even happen she was grateful he couldn’t see the things she dreamed about. She’d probably die.

“Erin, are you listening?”

“Hmm?” She looked up to see Gale watching her, waiting for an answer. “Oh, I’m sorry Gale. What was the question?”

“What ingredients do you need for this potion?”

“Oh, that’s easy, she answered. “Rogue’s morsel, which is the weird phallic-looking mushroom, and salt.” 

Gale blushed. “Ah, close, but no. Firstly, it’s salt of Rogue’s morsel, and second, you need to add it to a suspension.” He paused, turning a slightly deeper shade of red. “Um, and the mushroom you were describing was actually Bonecap. Rogue’s morsel has a cap that looks more like a pointed hat. It’s not as, ahem, phallic… as the Bonecap.”

“Ha!” Her eyes lit up. “Not subtle with naming your plants here, huh? BONE-cap?” she cackled. 

Gale rolled his eyes at her immaturity and gave her a lighthearted shove. “All right, that’s quite enough. At least until I have better knowledge of your own world to tease you with.”

“Ask me anything,” she gave him a mischievous grin. “We have mushrooms shaped like dicks over there, too.”

“Duly noted,” he chuckled.

“By the way,” she started. “Have you figured anything out with my phone yet?” She didn’t want to seem impatient, but she was hopeful that he might get it to work again soon.

“Ah, not quite yet,” he gave her a sympathetic smile. “Given that I’ve only got a couple of chances, I’m taking my time with finding a solution. As you said, I don’t want to just ‘shoot’ lightning at it.”

“Oh,” she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Still, she was grateful he was being careful. “No worries, Gale. Take your time.”

Astarion burst out of the apothecary’s house, excitedly hurrying to where they stood over their potion at the campfire.

“I found a secret cellar. Someone come with me so we can raid it for good wine and dirty secrets.” He said, downright giddy.

“What makes you think there are dirty secrets to find?” Erin asked him.

“Please. A hidden cellar is hidden for a reason. It’s probably positively depraved.”

“Let Erin go with you, then,” Gale said, winking at her. “After our little discussion, she’d probably love it.”

“Don’t be a Bonecap, Gale.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Astarion looked back and forth between the two of them. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

“You never tell me anything,” he scrunched his nose at her. “You’re no fun.”

***

The cellar turned out to not be particularly depraved, but it did seem to contain a few secrets. While Astarion raided the stores of wine and dug through various notes, Erin looked through the shelf of books and desk nearby. She found a key in a drawer and slipped it into her pocket, in case they found a locked door later. There was suddenly a ‘click’ and the sound of stone dragging. She looked up to see the wall ahead of her sliding open and called out to Astarion.

“Astarion? Was that you?”

He appeared out of the corner he’d been digging in. “Yes, I found a lever behind those crates, and what do you know? A secret cellar within the secret cellar.” he laughed that high-pitched, airy laugh that Erin was growing fond of.

“It’s cute, the way your fangs peek out like that when you laugh,” she blurted out before she could think better of it.

He stopped laughing, eyes widening just a little as he looked at her. He didn’t look unhappy, but she was a little sad to see his smile gone so quickly.

“Anyway…” Pivoting from the awkwardness she’d just created, she nodded to the room the hidden door had just revealed. “Shall we?”

He cleared his throat before answering, and his expression looked normal again as he gestured ahead of them. “After you, darling.”

Erin immediately noticed a small grate that looked like an old prison door and walked up to see what was inside. It was a small room, with nothing but a book sitting on a dusty stone table. She looked down at the padlock on the door and pulled out the key she’d found earlier, ready to unlock it.

“Before you do that, mind if I check for traps?” Astarion asked from behind her. “Something about it being the only locked door in this house makes me think we should err on the side of caution.”

“Oh,” Erin felt a little stupid. “Yeah, that makes sense. Go ahead.” 

He knelt down before her, inspecting the door and the floor below it. “Aha. Go ahead and step back a moment, darling. Just to be safe.”

She did as he said as he pulled his tools out of his back pocket. She tried not to watch his hands too closely as he worked.

“There we go,” he said after a moment, standing. “You can go ahead and use that key now.”

She slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. She looked down at the book. It was disgusting. The cover looked like it had been bound in the skin of someone’s face and she really hoped it was just a really gross, albeit detailed, leatherwork design. She tugged her sleeve down to cover her hand so she wouldn’t have to touch too much of it and pulled the book from the table. Sitting on the floor, she set it down and looked at it, wondering why it had been locked away and guarded with a trap. 

Astarion leaned in close, looking at the book over her shoulder.

“That looks terribly heavy. Why don’t you let me carry it for you?”

She smirked at how obvious he made it that he wanted the book. “Here,” she handed it to him. “It’s yours. A gift for finding that trap and saving my life… again.”

“Of course,” he took the book from her and slipped it in his bag. “I’m happy to save your life if it means I keep getting books and favors.”

“And not my company? I’m hurt.”

“Well that goes without saying.”

“Does it?” She looked at him, surprised.

He met her gaze and then looked away.

“Well I suppose it does now.”

His expression almost seemed shy, despite that being one of the last adjectives she’d use to describe him. 

*** 

After they’d cleared out what they could from the basement, Erin and Astarion walked back to put it all in the center of camp for organizing. After spending a bit of time going through it all, they decided to take a short break so Erin could eat and take care of the rest later. Gale had been taking inventory of everything, scribbling what they had and how much of it there was in a small book. He told Erin he’d write some recipes for a few basic potions that she could follow later in it as well as they ate. Astarion had gone to his tent, and she remembered she had found something she wanted to give him yesterday.

She excused herself from lunch with Gale and went back to where she and Shadowheart had slept last night. After finding her duffel bag, she reached in and dug around for the headband she’d found on one of the ogres they’d fought when they got to the village yesterday. Pulling it out, she gave it a quick look for any blemishes she could wipe clean. It looked alright. More than alright, it was extremely pretty. It was made of silver, with small branches sticking out and surrounding a cracked blue stone. The crack didn’t take away from its beauty, and after she’d cleaned it yesterday, she couldn’t help but think how nice it would look on Astarion. She hoped he would like it.

Approaching his tent with the headband in hand, she called his name. 

“Hey, Astarion? Can I come in for a second?”

There was a pause, and then he answered. “Sure, darling.”

She ducked under the flap and crawled inside his tent. He was sitting with a small chest in front of him. He picked the chest up and set it aside. She looked around, a little shocked at the mess inside. He had empty bottles everywhere, and rags stained with blood scattered around the floor. Instead of a bedroll, there was a wooden plank in the corner of the tent with a single dirty blanket that didn’t look big enough to even cover him comfortably. Her heart suddenly ached to think he was living like this. Why did he keep all of his nice things outside of his tent? Surely he could have brought a few of the pillows in here and at least thrown out some of the trash to make it a little cozier in here.

“Did you need something, dear?” he asked, sounding slightly anxious as she stared at the plank of wood on the floor.

“Oh, no,” she said, looking back to him. “I just wanted to give you this.” She handed him the headband she’d been holding. 

He took it, then squinted at her. “Why?”

She sighed. “Aren’t you the one who told me I should just take the gifts you’ve given me? I just thought you might like it.”

“You don’t want it?” 

“To be honest, I think it would look much nicer on you.”

He smirked, “Yes, well most things do.”

She rolled her eyes, ready to tease him for being so full of himself, but her eyes landed on the bottles of blood she’d given him, still full.

“Hey, isn’t that the blood I gave you? That was a few days ago, why didn’t you drink them? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine.”

“But, you said animal blood wasn’t enough? Is there something wrong with what I gave you?”

“No, nothing! I just… It’s a bit odd to drink it this way, honestly.”

“From a bottle?”

“Yes… I suppose it just feels a bit unnatural. I’ll drink it when I need to.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” She paused. “Do you want to try drinking from me again?”

“What?”

“From me. Like you did the first time. Well, hopefully not exactly like the first time.”

“You trust me enough to try it that way again?”

“Astarion, you’ve saved my life enough now that I can’t imagine not trusting you. I mean, you were starving the first time. I can understand how you ended up going overboard. But you’re not starving anymore. We can try again.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. Just… eat something beforehand. Probably best for you not to try this again on an empty stomach.”

“Of course, darling. I can go hunt now if you wont mind trying once I get back.”

“Sure. Just meet me in my tent when you’re back.”

Astarion

He stood outside her tent, almost unable to believe she’d invited him there. That she was allowing him to drink from her again. After what he’d done the first time, he was sure he’d never get to do it again. Now that he was about to, his fangs ached at the thought of sinking into her skin. As soon as she’d left his tent, he downed the bottles she’d given him as quickly as he could, wiping the drips that had spilled past his lips with a stray rag before he left to drain the first animal he could find. 

Now he was here, outside her tent, waiting for her to meet him. She’d gone off to grab a snack when he’d come back and met her by the campfire. When she came back, she had a banana in her hand and a book under her arm. She held the tent flap open for him and followed him inside.

“Good book?” he asked.

“It’s pretty fun, actually. Gale loaned it to me. ‘The True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow.’ She’s had some very interesting adventures so far.”

“Oh, yes, that’s a good one. She applies the word ‘true’ to her tales a bit liberally, though.”

“Don’t ruin the illusion for me. She was on her way to being my new hero.”

Astarion laughed and she smiled.

“Alright, so how do you want to do this?” she asked, setting the book and the banana down for later. 

He hesitated. “I… I want to try something, if you’ll let me. I think it might prepare the flow of your blood better and make the initial sting less painful for you.”

“I mean, if you’re worried about blood flow, I could always take a quick jog? Or do some jumping jacks.”

“Oh no, I believe this will be quicker, and a little less inconvenient for you.”

“If you say so. So what is it you want to try?”

“Would you allow me?”

“Um, sure. Should I move?”

“No, no. You’re perfect right where you are.”

He crawled to sit behind her, crossing his legs rather than spreading them around her and pulling her into his lap like he’d like to do. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her closer, so he could access her neck. She was awkward and tense, clearly trying to avoid leaning against his chest or touching him in any way. 

Gods, but he wanted her to. He ignored the thought and carefully pulled her hair away from her neck as she tilted her head to the side for him, caressing her skin with the tips of his fingers under the guise of brushing the hairs away. As he watched the trail of goosebumps follow in the wake of his touch and heard her heart skip a beat, he couldn’t help but think how much he wanted to caress her skin with no pretense at all. He didn’t want to need a reason to touch her. He wanted to be able to do it simply for the fact that he wanted to. 

“So what now?” She asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hm,” he started, unsure of how he’d explain it to her. “Well, it may be easier for me to just show you. You can stop me at any time, of course.”

She tilted her head further in assent, so he leaned forward and pulled her a little closer. His lips hovered above her neck, and he longed to drag his tongue up and down the length of her throat, just to hear the way it might make her gasp. Instead, he gently placed his mouth over the juncture between her neck and shoulder and gently started to suck the skin without biting, keeping his tongue respectfully still.

Her heart skipped another beat, and at the sound of her breath hitching, he sucked a little harder, willing his tongue to stay still against her skin. 

Suddenly, she pushed herself forward, breaking the contact. She whipped her head around to look at him and he tried to hide his disappointment when he asked, “Something wrong, darling?”

“That was your idea? Giving me a hickey?” She reached up to rub her fingers over where his mouth had just been and he noted the way they lingered over the small bruise instead of wiping away the moistness he’d left there. 

“Well,” he fidgeted with his hands a bit. “I thought it would be a quick way to warm the area up a bit and increase the blood flow…”

“You could have at least told me you planned on leaving a mark. I’d have had you do it to the side of my neck you’ve already bitten. How am I supposed to explain a random hickey if someone asked?”

“Why do you care?” he asked.

“People might get the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?”

“That we’re… you know what it would look like.”

“So what? What’s so bad about that?”

“Besides the fact that it isn’t true??”

“Would it be so horrible if it was?”

“What?”

He leaned closer. “Would it embarrass you so much? To have been with me?” He whispered, nose nearly touching hers.

“No, I,” she swallowed hard, and he could hear the way her heart was thundering in her chest now. She turned to look away from him and her eyes landed on something behind him and she squinted at it.

“Wait,” she said, and he watched her crawl toward the stack of clothes he’d left in her tent last night. She pulled the shirt lying on top into her hands and looked at him questioningly. “What’s this?”

“That would be a shirt. Blouse, if you prefer. A more general term might be garment.”

“No, I know what it is…” she tenderly brushed her fingers over the embroidery that had been added.

“Did you do this?” she asked him.

“Yes, well. I told you I’d wash it for you the other night.”

“And this?” she pointed to the embroidery.

“It’s nothing, really. You had holes that needed patching up. Really, darling, you’re terrible about picking at fabric. Don’t you dare pull on that embroidery.”

“Oh, I guess I am… I’ll take care of it… Thank you.”

“See that you do.”

There was a pause, and while she stared at his embroidery, he cleared his throat to break the silence.

She looked up from the shirt and met his gaze. “Oh, right,” she set the shirt down and moved to sit in front of him again. “Where were we?”

“You were chastising me for leaving an extra mark on your skin. Would you like me to try over the bite mark instead?”

“Yes, that would be better,” she breathed.

He held her gaze as she nodded, then dipped his head to the other side of her neck, pressing his tongue against his old bite mark and taking her skin in his mouth again. He sucked harder than before, and when a small gasp escaped her lips, he swirled his tongue around the tender flesh of her neck as he sucked, throwing aside the restraint from before. He groaned in spite of himself and leaned further into her, pushing her lower and caging her beneath him with his arms on either side of her. Hoping to hide behind his hunger, he pulled back to bare his teeth, preparing to bite, but she stopped him.

“Wait, Astarion.” she said. 

He was disappointed, but not surprised. Of course this was too much, something she didn’t want. Slowly, he lifted his head from her neck to meet her gaze, but she didn’t say anything. She reached out to touch his cheek and guided him closer, his face hovered above hers. She brought her other hand up to cup his cheek, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones, and looked at him in a way that made him shiver, despite the warmth of her hands. 

Everything went quiet, and all he could hear was her slow breaths as she looked into his eyes, her brows canted slightly upward, a cute little crease forming between them. She’d never looked at him like that before. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want this closeness to stop. So he lowered his face toward hers, searching for a sign that she didn’t want it to stop either as he brought his lips just above her own. Their noses brushed ever so slightly and they were so close that when her heart skipped a beat, it felt like his did too.

Suddenly, she brought her hands to the nape of his neck and pulled him down to her, closing the gap. Her lips were soft and warm against his as they pressed together slowly. 

She was kissing him and he was kissing her back and it felt so good. What had started soft and slow grew quickly heated and urgent, as she threaded her hands in his curls, pulling him impossibly closer and gently scraping his scalp and he nearly moaned at the sensation. He grabbed her waist, needing to touch her, and let his hands roam up and down her sides. 

He swept his tongue against her lower lip before pulling it into his mouth and gently nipping at it, careful not to cut her on his fangs. She let out a soft little “mm” and he gave her lip one last suck before slipping his tongue into her mouth. She let him in and circled her tongue over his in a way that made him want so much more. She was running her hands down his sides and as they settled on his lower back he brought his own up to cup her cheek.

He started leaving a wet trail of kisses from her mouth down her neck, and she gasped, but before he could go any further she pushed against his chest, stopping him. Her heart was racing and she was out of breath. He looked at her mouth, pink and shiny from their kissing, and wanted desperately to keep kissing her. 

Why did she stop?

Confused, he looked down at her and saw only shock in her expression. 

“Darling?” he asked, “Is everything alright?”

She pushed herself up but turned away from his face, as though she were suddenly unable to look at him. 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” He didn’t understand what could have changed in such a short moment. Couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong.

“We should not have…” she paused, still looking anywhere but at him. “I shouldn’t have done that. We shouldn’t do this,” she said again, then voice trembling, “I’m sorry.”

He was too stunned to say anything as she got up to leave, so he watched her go and sat in her tent alone. 

Erin

What the fuck were you thinking?? That was so stupid. You’re so stupid.

She ran back to the room she and Shadowheart had shared the night before, hoping Astarion would eventually leave her tent on his own. She couldn’t think of what possessed her to kiss him like that. What was wrong with her?

And he kissed her back. Somehow that made it worse. 

What she’d said to Shadowheart the night before had been true. She couldn’t do this. Eventually, she was going to get home, and she couldn’t start something that she knew would only end. And she definitely didn’t want anything casual. With someone as beautiful as Astarion, that would only end up with her getting hurt. 

She liked Astarion. He was rude, but he was also funny and just fun to be around. He was the only one in their group of companions that she truly felt she could talk to. Besides maybe Shadowheart, but he’d shared far more about himself with her than she had so far. She could fight with him, because he’d fight back. He challenged her, and because of that she felt like she could be honest with him. He’d saved her life multiple times and she hasn’t known another person she’d been more grateful to have in her life. He never held what had happened with the hag against her, even though it would have been so easy. 

He was her friend. She didn’t want to fuck that up.

She brought her fingers up to her lips, and she could still feel his kisses there. She dragged her fingertips down where he’d left a trail of kissed along her neck and shivered.

He had kissed her back. 

***

Astarion had left her tent at some point while she was gone, and she was grateful she didn’t have to face him when she came back for dinner. She had a nice chat with Gale about the book he’d given her and he quizzed her on some of the more basic potion recipes he’d given her earlier that day. It was fairly quiet without the others back yet. After dinner, she said goodnight to Gale and went back to her tent to sleep. With only three of them in camp, it didn’t feel safe for her to spend her night too far away, so the bed was out of the question.

Unfortunately, being in the tent where she’d kissed Astarion only hours ago made it very difficult for her to stop thinking about that kiss. The way he’d been so careful with her, even when he nipped at her lips, sent a shiver through her body. And then the way he pushed his mouth harder into hers, as though he were hungry to kiss her, more than he was for her blood, grabbing her waist so firmly it made her ache inside.

She was becoming flustered all over again. 

It’s just because it’s been a while. You’re stressed and pent up. 

Closing her eyes, she reassured herself that that’s all this was. She just needed to do something to relieve the stress a bit. She told herself that maybe this would help her sleep. She pushed all thoughts about him out of her mind and repeated these things to herself over and over again as she slowly slid her hand beneath the waistband of her pants.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered to herself as she lightly scraped her nails against her underwear.

She tried eliciting something, a tingle, a shiver, anything. But her ministrations along with her repeated mantra was too clinical. She couldn’t do it like this.

Maybe she could drop the mantra to allow space in her head for something a little sexier…

White curls and pale skin came to mind.

No! Think of a celebrity or a character from a movie like a normal person!

She continued her touching while she tried to summon an adequate fantasy.

Why couldn’t she think of anything? It was like every man and woman she had ever found attractive had been wiped from her mind. Fine. She’d focus on the actions, the feelings, instead of the face.

She dragged the hand that wasn’t in her pants up, skimming past her stomach and up to her breast, pushing her shirt up and out of the way. Without a blanket covering her exposed skin she felt a chill, and suddenly imagined cool hands spreading across her body.

She dipped a finger into her folds and the coldness of it was a relief, finally sending a thrill through her as the nipple under her hand pebbled at the sensation. She sighed and slid the finger up and down to spread the slick that was growing with her arousal, undulating her hips slightly into the rhythm. she rocked into her hand until she ached so much she couldn’t stand it and dipped her finger deep inside.

It was at that moment she’d realized who the cold hands she’d been imagining belonged to, as an image of Astarion above her, his hands touching her bare skin, came rushing into her head. 

“Ughn,” she whined into her shoulder.

No! Not right now!

She closed her eyes, but that only made the image clearer. She felt the pressure rising inside her core and didn’t want to stop and lose that feeling.

Keeping her pace, she searched for something to replace him in her mind. Nothing would come. Frustrated, she whined, and when she did, an image of him smiling down at her, amused by her pathetic sounds came to mind.

Fuck it.

She stopped fighting the fantasy.

Astarion

He’d heard her whine from inside her tent.

It was the middle of the night and he could hear Gale snoring from his tent. She was alone tonight.

Worried, he came closer. When he was just outside of her tent, he heard her again. Not a whine. A moan. A muffled moan. 

He stood there dumbly as he realized what she was doing. Now that he was closer, it was obvious. He could hear her heart starting to race and the slick sounds of her fingers working.

Oh gods.

He heard her sigh and he felt an ache deep in his core.

He should not be here. He should go. Leave her to her own business. He could ignore the growing tightness in his pants, or take care of it in his tent, but he should go.

But then he heard it. The slightest whisper released into a sigh, barely perceptible, but he heard it.

“Astarion…”

He didn’t ignore the throb in his cock this time. He palmed himself and inhaled quietly, thankful that his lack of need for air gave him incredible breath control for involuntary responses like this. He crept behind her tent, fully out of view of the camp and softly lowered himself into the grass beside it.

“Ahhh,” she whined.

She sounded muffled and he imagined her moaning into her shoulder, bared and naked, as he loosened the ties of his trousers. He thought of her undressing, slipping out of her pants and pulling off her shirt before she touched herself. 

While she thought of him. He had to fight the moan that threatened to escape him at the idea that she was thinking of him while she fucked herself. 

Oh gods, he wanted to lick every inch of her skin. He wondered what her blood would taste like mixed with her sweat and slick as he freed himself from his pants. Taking himself in his hand and pumping slowly, he listened to the rhythm she set for herself and tried to match it. Closing his eyes, he leaned onto the ground and let his head roll back as he thrusted into his hand. 

Why was she doing this to him? If she wanted him like this, why did she stop their kiss? He could have done so much more to her than she could achieve with those little fingers. 

The thought of her hands slippery and wet from touching herself, wrapped around his cock as she kissed him soft and slow like she did earlier in her tent sent his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

He imagined skimming his fingers down her sides, making her shiver while she sat on his cock and he rolled her hips into her. 

She was working herself faster now and he could her her heartbeat speeding up in response. In the fantasy playing out in his head, she was riding him fast and hard, chasing her release as he felt every part of her he could touch and lick and kiss. 

Quickening his own pace to match hers, imagining it was him thrusting into her instead of her fingers, he felt himself getting closer. Then, she gasped, her breath stopping for a moment even while her fingers kept going. Just imagining the feeling of her walls clenching around him was enough to push him into his own climax. He forced himself to stay quiet, riding it out while he listened to her shuddering exhales in the aftermath of her own release. 

He wiped his hands on the grass beside him and lied there beside her tent, listening to her breathing. After a while, he heard the tell-tale sounds of her slow breath and steady heartbeat, letting him know she'd fallen asleep. Lying there a little while longer, he wondered if she looked flushed and pink in the aftermath while she slept, and wished she sleeping in his arms again. 

Why isn't she? he wondered, as he put himself together and got up to start walking, not quite ready to go back to his tent.

She could have been sleeping in his arms now. She could have kept kissing him earlier today in her tent, and he would have let her, kissing her back until both their lips were raw. He couldn't think of a time when kissing someone had felt so good. He didn't want it to stop.

But then it did. She did. He was sure he'd fucked things up somehow, replaying it all in his head, looking for where he went wrong. For a moment, sitting there in her tent, he'd wondered if he'd forced her into it, caging her beneath him and getting close like that.

It was her that closed the gap, though. She kissed him.

So why did she stop?

In that moment, he'd have kissed every inch of her skin if she'd have let him. Let him. He nearly laughed at the thought.

He'd spent so many years wishing for a day he'd never have to touch or be touched by another person again. Done so many things to bring others pleasure while he wallowed in disgust and self-loathing. And here he was, wanting to do so many of those things to her. She'd just brought him pleasure he didn't think he was capable of experiencing anymore and she didn't even know it. She hadn't even touched him to get him there.

What in the hells was wrong with him?

His aimless wandering brought him standing in the room where he'd found her lying with Shadowheart the night before. Although he knew now that they weren't romantically involved, his insides still twisted into knots as he thought about the closeness they'd shared. He wondered if she'd let him get that close to her again.

Sitting on the bed, he realized it still smelled like her. He crawled to the side where her scent was the strongest and laid down, pressing his face into the mattress. Staying like that, inhaling her, he let himself drift into sleep, hoping he'd dream of her.

Behold! The art I commissioned from the incredible @bby-bel of Astarion and Erin after their first kiss!! Behold it!!

Can you write one where Astarion realizes that Tav is acting strangely because it's actually Orin and the actual Tav is kidnapped by her?? Thank you so much and I love your work!!

A/N - Oh my god I absolutely adore the trope of kidnapped lover being rescued (the parasites in me crave the angst). I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun writing it! So thank you @fanficlov-3-r <3

I Know You

Preview - "And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, '(Y/N) isn't amongst us.'"

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, canon BG3 violence

Word Count - 3.9k

Astarion prided himself on his ability to have memorized everything about you, from how your nose scrunched when you saw something you disliked to how your eyes sparkled when you noticed him staring at you from across the fire. It was those little things that simply made you … well … you. 

Which was why he found it very offputting when he noticed your excessive alcohol intake while attending a Tiefling party. Yes, you liked to indulge in a glass of wine or two while you chatted happily with Astarion or any of your other companions – but never had he seen you cradle an entire bottle of wine to yourself and drink it in its entirety. 

But that behavior was only one of multiple that he had noticed throughout the night; you were dancing with any Tiefling who offered their hand, you seemed to stray away from him and the others throughout the night, and the smile you wore did not reach your eyes in the slightest. It seemed fake, similar to the smiles that Astarion had once flashed at you to get your clothes off. 

“Is it just me or does (Y/N) seem a little … off?” Shadowheart comments, her eyebrow raising as she watches you indulge another Tiefling in a drunken dance. You stumble over both your feet and his own, a detail that both she and Astarion narrow their eyes at. 

For an oh-so-grateful leader, you were being careless tonight. 

Astarion’s eyes follow those of Shadowheart’s, landing on you just as you are finishing a dance with your fifth Tiefling of the night. He bows to you shakily, and in return, you curtsy – another move that Astarion had never thought he would see you perform. 

“I must say that I agree with Shadowheart. Excuse me for a moment,” Astarion abandons his half-empty wine glass, sliding it across the bar. The bartender raises a brow at Astarion, but says nothing. 

You chuckle heartily as a Tiefling female approaches you, in her hands a sparkling glass of champagne. You take it from her the moment it’s offered, just about to bring it to your lips before a pale hand clasps over your shoulder. 

“Ah-ah darling, I think that’s enough with the drinking for one night,” Astarion says with a fanged smile, angling himself so that he’s able to pluck the champagne glass from your hands quickly. You turn to him, eyebrows pinched together in an expression that mixes frustration and shock – as if you had been caught doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Come off Astarion, I can indulge if I so choose,” you retort quickly, fingers extending towards your glass. Astarion lifts his arm, the glass just barely out of your reach. “You are indulging tonight, are you not?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling against your shoulder as his scarlet eyes rake over your figure. Something was wrong, it wasn’t just your general composure – it was everything down to the very way that you stood on your own two feet. 

“While that is true, I am watching what I indulge in,” Astarion says, already glancing at Shadowheart, who nods knowingly. She mumbles something inaudibly then to Gale, and soon a secret message is relayed over all of your companions. 

The Tiefling female had long since left your side, only adding to your annoyance that Astarion had come to your side. You turn sharply to face him, eyes narrowing at him. 

“And just explain to me why you thought it necessary to disrupt my fun?” you snap, glaring daggers into the vampire who stands in front of you. Astarion merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. His eyes flicker over you again, and it is in that moment that he realizes something … you were most certainly not you. 

And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, “(Y/N) isn’t amongst us.” 

“Because I know you (Y/N), and right now,” Astarion pauses only to yank you closer, lowering his lips to your ear. “You are not who you say that you are.”

You freeze in his arms, eyes flickering to look at him. The crease in your eyebrows vanishes, your expression of frustration replaced now by one of shock. “What are you on about?”

“Oh come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” Astarion growls, his grip over your wrist tightening, “I know (Y/N), and she would never indulge in such things of her own accord.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not protesting as a very angered Astarion drags you out of the Tiefling party. He is quickly flanked by Shadowheart and the others, none of whom offer you looks of sympathy – if anything, they look just as angered as the vampire in front of you. 

The moment that your feet touch camp, your wrists and ankles are promptly tied by Karlach, who offers you no answers even as you demand to know what in the hells is going on. Astarion stands quietly at her side, his arms folded over his chest whilst his mind promptly races.

Where were you? Who was sitting in your place? Where the hells were you?

With a singular wave of his hand over your body, Gale reveals Orin to the others, then steps back and glares down his nose at her. In response, her lips only turn upward in a grin, one that sends a shiver down the spines of those that surround her. 

“Where is–”

“Oh please, save me the dramatics,” Orin says with a roll of her eyes, adjusting herself so that she sits comfortably. Her attention moves to Astarion, her smile widening at the sight of the expression that he wears. 

“You have five minutes to answer our questions before–”

Orin’s head tilts in Lae’zel’s direction, her eyes crinkling as her smile widens impossibly further. Her lips part, a delighted chuckle falling from her lips. “Before what? You kill me? If I die, (Y/N)’s location dies with me.”

In a flash of white and silver, the blade of a dagger is pressed against the skin of Orin’s neck, pressed down just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. Astarion kneels in front of Orin, narrowed eyes glaring daggers into her as his lips pull back in an angered growl. 

“You will reveal (Y/N)’s location lest you want to end up a paled mess on the ground.” He was shocked by how much your disappearance had affected him – especially considering that he was supposed to be keeping his affection for you a secret from the others. 

There was a reason behind his secrecy, however, a reason that you had agreed with when he had first proposed the idea to you. It was for your safety, for your protection. But it seemed like even with that … he still couldn’t keep the one thing that kept him sane safe. 

Orin chuckles, leaning forward so that her nose just barely grazes his own. He can feel her breath as it fans over his face – it disgusts him. 

“Is that so?” Her head tilts, another delighted chuckle bubbling up her throat and spilling over her lips. Astarion pushes the blade further against her, ignoring the yells of warning delivered by the other members of the party. 

His eyes narrow, his eyebrows pinch together, and his expression hardens. Orin only chuckles again, sighing dreamily in a way that reminds Astarion of a hopelessly lovesick girl. Gods, what he would give to plunge the blade of his dagger into her neck. 

“Fine, but I hope you know I’m not yielding because of your … intimidation,” Orin murmurs, pouting childishly as Astarion pulls her to her feet, still glaring at her. He says nothing as he drags her past the others, not checking over his shoulder to see that the others have followed him.

< … >

Another chilled shiver runs up the length of your spine, using your vertebrae as a ladder. You turn uncomfortably onto your side, trying once again to tug your ankles from their shackles. All you’re met with is the sound of rattling metal. 

It had been a few hours … or perhaps even a few days since you last saw the others. You didn’t know – perhaps time worked differently when you were captured. 

The last you remembered, you were walking silently along a forest pathway with Astarion a few feet behind you. You were engrossed in the beauty of the willow trees that hung silently over you, their branches serving you the beautiful luxury of shade that covered you from the sun’s blaring rays. 

Just as you turned a corner in the forest, a cold hand that wasn’t Astarion’s clasped over your own, tugging you away into a forest patch. One good knock to the side of the head … and that was the last that you were able to clearly remember. 

When you awoke, your ankles were shackled to a wall and your wrists were bound with rope, rubbing uncomfortably against your skin and leaving behind angry red marks. 

Your body had been littered with marks; cuts, bruises, and gashes. At first, they hadn’t hurt you at all – but you blamed that entirely on your adrenaline. Now every cut burned, every bruise ached, and every gash felt as though it would never stop bleeding. 

Surely every vampiric creature within a 50-mile radius could smell your blood … especially considering how much of it lay in a disgusting puddle surrounding your body. 

A shaky breath escapes you, one that you surely hoped would be your last. Your teary eyes flicker around the cell that you’d been thrown into; the cell that lacked even so much as a window. You were completely disconnected from the outside world, and for a singular moment, you thought that maybe you had died. 

And maybe you were okay with that now … with dying. 

Even though for so long you had tried your hardest to protect everyone – practically throwing your life down on the line for the lives of your companions – being captured was making you realize something. 

Maybe they didn’t care about you nearly as much as you cared about them.

If they cared, they would be searching for you. If they cared, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in some dank old cell with no way to know what time of day it was. If they cared … they would prove it, wouldn’t they?

A choked sob claws its way up your throat, legs curling inward. You wrap your arms around them, hugging them against your chest as your body curls inward into a fetal position. 

They didn’t care. Not Gale, not Karlach, not Lae’zel, not Shadowheart. 

Not even Astarion.

Astarion …

After everything that you had done for him. You had spared him that morning while walking with Shadowheart. You had let him stay in your camp even though he spat venomous insults each time you interacted politely with him. Hells, you had even let the damn man feed on you. 

In exchange for your blood, he was letting you rot alone in a cell. 

So much for helping others, you think quietly to yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks as your lashes flutter shut. A gentle numbness spreads over you as if someone had draped a blanket over you. It felt nice. It felt safe. 

Your shoulders relax, your lips part. 

One gentle breath falls from your lips before all goes silent.

< … >

“Come on now, I’ve led you right to where she is! The least you can do is entertain a conversation,” Orin complains loudly, huffing childishly as Astarion continues shoving her forward. 

There was no lie to her words, she had led Astarion and the others to where she had thrown you – a dimly lit dungeon hallway that was only filled with the sounds of low groans and dripping water, but even those had become scarce the longer that they walked. 

“The only thing I’ll entertain is your demise,” Astarion bites out, though he desperately wishes that he had kept his mouth shut. Orin doesn’t fail to catch the tremble in his voice – the vulnerability that seeps from his words. 

Her lips curl, another delighted chuckle rumbling somewhere deep inside of her chest. Her eyes flicker to catch a glimpse of Astarion’s profile, her chuckle deepening as she notices the emotional turmoil sketched into his features. 

“I wonder what you will do to me when you realize that she’s–”

“Hush,” Astarion hisses, reaching down and yanking the bonds around Orin’s wrist. The rub of the rope against her skin is enough to silence her. “Not another word out of you, wench.”

Orin stifles the small whimper of pain that had threatened to fall from her lips, instead turning to the cell that they were nearing; your cell. 

At the sight of the metal bars and uneven stones, she giggles. Astarion passes her off to Shadowheart, ignoring the cleric’s protests as he approaches the cell. 

“Oh shit.”

The world seems to go completely silent at the sight that lies before Astarion’s eyes, a sight that he immediately wishes that he could forget. 

You lay on your side with your back facing the cell’s door, blood – your blood – surrounding you in a crimson puddle. The bits of skin that Astarion can see are littered with cuts and bruises, your legs covered in gashes that continue to drip with fresh blood. 

In any other situation, Astarion would have marveled at both the sight and smell of your blood … perhaps even allowed himself to indulge in it. 

But now?

Gods, he had never been more disgusted by any one sight or smell. 

“Astarion? What’s – oh my Gods,” Karlach raises a hand to her mouth, palm covering her lips as she gazes upon the same sight as Astarion. The others join her, and each of them falls silent. “You take … her … and get out of here.”

Shadowheart nods, shooting Orin a sharpened glare before tugging the shapeshifter back down the way that they had come, ignoring her yells of protests and the way that she struggles against the ropes that bind her wrists together. 

With one tug at the already worn-down metal, Karlach disconnects the bars of the cell. She steps inside, carefully approaching you before copying her previous actions and removing the shackles from around your ankles. 

“(Y/N)?” she murmurs down to you, lightly shaking your shoulder while simultaneously trying to be sure that she does not burn you – the last she wants is to add to your injuries. 

She’s pushed aside by Astarion, who kneels beside you and feels his breath hitch at the sight of your paled face. Your cheeks have lost their usual rosy color, replaced instead by a white that looked as though it could rival the color of his hair. 

“Shit,” is the only thing that he’s able to say properly before he scoops you into his arms. He shakes on his feet for a moment, the sudden weight in his arms debilitating his balance. He says nothing as he strides past the others, making a beeline for the exit.

< … >

The first thing that you feel is a dull ache, then followed by a wave of pain that has you shooting upright and promptly vomiting onto whatever surface happens to be beside you. The moment you’ve finished emptying your stomach, a piece of cloth is offered to you by a pale hand – a familiar one this time. 

Hesitantly, you take it, dabbing the cloth against your mouth before looking up to who had handed it to you. 

“Astarion?”

“That would be my name, yes darling,” Astarion responds, though his tone doesn’t hold his usual flirtatious lilt that you had grown so used to. No, he sounds exhausted … it made you wonder just how long he had sat at your bedside. 

Your eyes roam over him, taking note of the tiny, barely-there bags that rest beneath his eyes. For a man who cared so deeply about appearance, he surely looked as though he had let himself go … likely because of you.

As much as you wish to take him into your arms and comfort you, a fleeting thought passes through your mind — he had taken his sweet time in finding you. 

If the roles had been reversed, and it had been Astarion who was taken from you, you already knew that you would have searched Heaven and Earth trying to find him. No stone would have been left unturned, no witness left unspoken to … you would have stopped at nothing. 

But it felt as though Astarion hadn’t cared enough, if he had, you wouldn’t have been as badly wounded as you were. You wouldn’t have laid in that cell for as long as you have, not that you knew the length of time in which you had been missing anyway. 

Astarion’s head lifts at the sound of you rustling, body scooting back from him until your spine rests against the headboard of your bed. You lift your knees to your chest, hugging around them. 

“Darling?”

You remain silent, but you allow your eyes to raise to meet his awaiting gaze. He waits patiently, though you can’t help but feel as though he’s analyzing you.

“How long have I been gone?” you ask. Astarion pauses, scarlet eyes flickering away from you. He swallows, you can see the emotional turmoil that swims in his eyes. Answer me, you usher in your mind. 

“Orin wouldn’t tell us,” Astarion answers honestly, voice wavering as he recounts his angered questioning of the shapeshifter. She had only giggled in his presence and “answered” his question with another question of her own. 

You remain silent, nodding to yourself as you glance down at the bandages that adorn your arms and legs. It makes you wonder if Astarion had patched you himself … or perhaps he had made one of your other companions do it. 

You lift your head, noticing now that Astarion’s attention was focused elsewhere. His expression looks identical to your own — caught in his own mind. Guilt. 

Did he feel guilty?

“Does anything—“ he pauses to clear his throat, “—anything hurt you?”

”Just my arms and legs,” you answer. Astarion nods, inhaling deeply and shifting in his chair. For some twisted reason, you want him to stand up and leave. Maybe it was to further prove your point, or maybe you just wanted to be alone. 

You’d never really know the true answer. 

He hums, nodding to himself before he shifts again. For a fleeting moment, he debates on whether or not he should stand and exit — it was clear that you wanted your space anyway. 

Astarion knew you … and he knew that right now, you certainly didn’t want him around. Never were you short with him, but your tone insinuated that you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Not that he could honestly blame you. 

And so, he stands from his chair. You don’t lift your head to look at him again … telling. 

“Why did you take so long to come for me?”

He freezes, feeling as though someone had doused him in freezing water. His back stands rigid; you could see the way that his spine visibly tenses the moment that his mind processes what it was that you had asked him. 

You snap your jaw shut the moment that the words fall from your lips, regret filling your senses. Sheepishly, you look down, staring at your lap and screwing your eyes shut. 

You freeze at the feeling of arms wrapping over your shoulders, tugging you against a chest that you had spent many nights resting against. His skin felt cold against yours, a welcome contrast to the heat that was currently making you very uncomfortable. 

Astarion’s cheek rests against the side of your head, his hands squeezing at your waist while also being mindful of the injuries that you had sustained. He sighs shakily into your hair, feeling himself relax as he feels you reciprocate his embrace. 

“The moment that I realized that I was not interacting with you, I went out to find you,” Astarion confesses, holding you tighter as he recounts the fear in the moment when he realized that you were not you. 

You remain silent, simply soaking up the comfort that Astarion’s arms provides you with. Your head rests comfortably in the junction that connects his neck and his shoulder, nose buried into his neck. 

“You have … absolutely no idea how frightened I was,” he whispers, his voice so low that it even the rustle of the blankets overpowered his words. His arms shake where they rest around your waist, his fingernails just barely digging into the exposed skin of your waist. “The prospect of losing you–”

“Astarion.”

He pauses, feeling you shift in his arms. Without any word of protest, he releases you, settling onto his knees on the bed in front of you. You adjust yourself, then reach out to take his hands into your own. 

Astarion flinches. You pause, waiting for him to say something to you. He doesn’t, and so you take it as an okay to continue. Your fingers squeeze his own, the action directing his eyes to your own. 

You stay silent for a second or two, simply taking in the way that Astarion’s eyes soften at you. His usually sharp scarlet eyes are glazed over now with a new emotion – guilt. Guilt over not being there for you, guilt over not saving you sooner …

… guilt that you had gotten hurt. 

“Darling, if I had the chance to save you sooner, know that I would have taken it without a second of hesitation,” Astarion admits, shifting an inch closer to you. You feel the tears building along your waterline, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you attempt to suppress the sobs that begin to bubble up somewhere in your chest. 

One of his hands releases yours, hesitantly laying against your face. He thumbs away the tears in your eyes, sighing as you crumple and reach for him again. Astarion doesn’t waste a single second, wrapping you in his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

“I thought that,” you hiccup, “you and the others had forgotten about me.”

His arms tighten around you at that declaration, chest promptly collapsing it on itself as he realizes just how scared you had been. He doesn’t want to imagine what you must have been thinking in that cell, likely thinking about if you would ever be saved.

If he would ever come for you.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair, fingers stroking comforting circles into the small of your back. “I would never forget you, ever.”

“You are the first thing in my entire life that makes me feel … feel something. Something other than burning hatred. You make this wretched world worth living in.”

You squeeze at him, hands bunching up his shirt from behind. He doesn’t bring attention to it, letting you cling to him with as much force as you need. 

“And I’m not going to let you go. Not now, not ever,” he promises you. You close your eyes, sighing shakily through your nose. He can feel your nod against his chest, his cheek leaning further into your hair. 

And that night, when the glistening moon hung over your tent and signaled to your companions that it was time to rest, Astarion remained at your side – fulfilling his promise.

He wasn’t going to let you feel that scared again. Not now, not ever.

Just thinking about Astarion as a personification of the trope "unamused until my S/O walks into the room."

Just imagine it.

Karlach had practically insisted that the group rest at a nearby tavern following a successful battle against a particularly nasty band of goblins. Nobody dared protest with her, not when you smiled and nodded happily along with her idea.

That led you and the rest of your companions to a small, rundown tavern on the outskirts of the town you had visited.

To be fair, Astarion had never been a fan of spending time in crowded places -- that much had been evident from the very start. You had always noticed that on the nights where you and the others gathered around the camp's fire Astarion would retire for the night.

You never pushed him, and for that he was grateful. And after all, he would have you to himself soon enough. You always sought him out after spending time with the others, ready to sleep curled up against his side and whisper to him underneath the moon's glow.

But this time was different, now he was surrounded by lowly creatures that he couldn't be paid to interact with. They danced happily and drank with one another, their happiness only adding to Astarion's very visible frustration.

He stands off to the side, his arms crossed firmly over his chest while his hardened scarlet eyes roam over the tavern's patrons. Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae'zel seem to be enjoying themselves, drinking happily and engaging in pleasent conversation. Karlach is most definitely enjoying herself, indulging in the tavern's ale and laughing heartily.

Astarion's ears perk at the sweet sound of your laughter, his eyes flickering to you. You were talking with the tavern's bartender, lips curled upward at something she had said to you.

The sight is almost instant; Astarion's eyes soften, the crease in between his brows vanishes, and the scowl on his lips is replaced by a gentle smile. He leans a bit more comfortably against the tavern's wall, attention focused on you.

He may despise going on, but to see you smiling and happy? Maybe going out wasn't so bad after all.

Astarion, once he's comfortable with you, is definitely the type of man to sleepily reach for you when he realizes that you've rolled out of his arms at night.

Like the moment, and I mean the moment, that he doesn't feel you wrapped up in his arms, he's up. Sure, he's groggy as all hell and he can't properly see anything around him -- but all he knows is that he's not holding you when he most definitely should be.

He'll push himself up onto his elbows, squinting to see that you've turned yourself away from him and rolled out of his arms. Your back is turned to him, but he knows that it wasn't intentional.

With a fanged yawn, Astarion reaches for you again. His arms loop around your waist and turn you around, tucking your head beneath his chin. Instinctively, your legs tangle with his own, your arms adjusting to wrap around his midsection.

He grins to himself, content again.

Listen, I am all for Larian’s beautiful cutscenes and character moments —

— but why the fuck weren’t we allowed to comfort Astarion after he murders Cazador?

(Consider this a little fix-it fic for that specific moment in game.)

His cries were heartbreaking to hear.

They echoed throughout the dungeon, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in your ears, making your chest tighten further and further.

His body shakes as his cries die down, shifting back to rest on his knees as his eyes blankly stare down at Cazador's corpse. Stray tears drip down his cheeks and mix with the blood that coats his face, yet he makes no move to wipe any of it away.

Astarion's neck and body stand rigid as his ears begin to ring, drowning out the sounds of the confused spawn that surround him. Their voices sound muddled in his head, buzzed little whispers that he can't decipher.

He's dissociated completely, separated from reality in a way that makes your heart crack. His eyes were blank, devoid of that usual mischievous spark that never failed to make you smile. Now he was a hollowed out man, one troubled by a past that he had just ripped himself from -- by means of murder.

Slowly, you approach him, your hands planted firmly against your sides so that you would not be tempted to accidentally overwhelm him. Your eyes rake over the entirety of his figure -- his blank eyes, his devoid expression, his hunched body. You couldn't put into words the heartbreak you felt simply by gazing at him.

"Astarion."

His head just barely tilts in your direction, as if he hadn't heard you properly. Unlike the voices of the spawn that surround him, your voice sounds as clear as day to him. It pierces through the ringing that buzzes in his ears, reaching him with a softness that feels so foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

You kneel down beside him, glancing quickly at Cazador's corpse before your gaze flickers to glance at his profile.

Silently, you reach your arms out, wrapping them around Astarion's neck and lightly pulling him against your chest. He doesn't fight against your touch. Oddly enough, he finds himself leaning into it even though every atom of his body wants to fight and thrash against you.

"I'm here," you murmur to him, tightening your hold on him. "I'm right here with you."

Astarion's hands grip onto your arms that encircle him, his eyes falling shut as he soaks up the warmth of your embrace like a dried sponge.

And in your arms, his world goes quiet. But not in a way that scares him. No, this touch ... your touch ... it comforts him.

It reminds him that his actions were worth it in the end, for he was able to turn and find you still at his side.

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024

Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett

NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Jump!

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”

Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”

“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”

Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.

“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.

Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.

His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”

Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.

Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”

Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”

Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”

Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”

“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”

Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.

Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.

Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”

Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.

The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.

She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.

His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.

Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."

His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.

The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.

Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.

But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."

Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.

His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”

Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."

Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”

She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.

Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."

His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”

Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”

Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”

Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”

Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”

Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”

Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”

Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”

Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”

And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024

Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett

NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Jump!

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”

Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”

“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”

Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.

“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.

Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.

His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”

Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.

Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”

Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”

Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”

Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”

“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”

Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.

Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.

Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”

Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.

The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.

She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.

His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.

Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."

His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.

The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.

Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.

But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."

Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.

His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”

Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."

Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”

She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.

Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."

His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”

Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”

Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”

Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”

Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”

Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”

Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”

Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”

Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”

And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.

I have officially joined X! As I'm trying to get more eyes on my work and also because I am slightly concerned I might be shadowbanned on Tumblr. Please consider liking this post if you see it! Either way, I have emailed Tumblr support just in case! Here's my X account too: https://x.com/BellasMumbles where NSFW versions of art shall be as well! Art by @drawinglinestoconstellations

Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 116k

Warning: SMUTT, Heavy BDSM Play!

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 16: Oct 2 2024

Song of the Hour:

Red Room - Bryce Savage

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust

Astarion led Sima through the grand halls of his palace, the air thick with a quiet urgency. Vampires flitted about like shadows, their presence a mere whisper against the ancient stone. Their eyes flicked toward him in deference, but they lingered on Sima, drawn to her like lost souls hungering for the light. Curiosity simmered beneath their gazes, envy curling like smoke. And in some, something far darker stirred—a longing to possess what they dared not approach. Sima stood out, a jewel in their midst, glowing against the cold, pale hues of the vampire nobility.

Astarion, acutely aware of the eyes on them, moved with deliberate grace, as though the palace itself bent to his will. Every glance cast her way only strengthened his resolve. She was his now—part of this empire, whether she realized it yet or not. Each step was regal, his posture composed, betraying none of the urgency thrumming beneath his calm exterior. The palace was his stage, and he was its ruling actor, commanding every glance and whispered breath. His power was absolute, and yet, tonight, he sought something more. He wanted her to see it all, not just his dominion—he’d give her this world. But the final say would always be his

Through winding corridors and hidden passages, Astarion revealed the full extent of his reach. Beneath the city, his network of spies slithered through the Under City’s labyrinthine tunnels, gathering secrets only a vampire lord could possess. They passed vaults lined with glittering treasures—gold, jewels, artifacts from centuries past—proof of his wealth and influence over the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. He painted vivid portraits of their future with words laced in silk, of ruling together, their “benevolent” reign absolute. Yet, his crimson eyes sought hers often, the charm on his lips masking a deeper hope for approval.

As the evening darkened, Astarion’s touch lingered when he brushed Sima’s hair aside, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck, a deliberate tease. "The night wanes, my sweet," he purred, that velvet tone steeped in rich intent. "Shall I show you the rest of what belongs to me?"

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he led her toward his private chambers, away from prying eyes and the reach of judgment. This, above all, was his sanctuary. Here, behind these walls, he could indulge the desires he had kept locked away from the world. He wanted her to see everything—the things no one else had ever been allowed to witness.

Sima’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Another bedchamber? What makes this one worth the theatrics?”

Astarion’s smile widened, wicked and familiar, his pale lips curling with rakish charm. The same smile that had seduced countless others before her, though none had ever stirred him the way she did. “Nothing… save for what unfolds here.” He whispered in lustful and dulcet murmurs. 

He pushed open the door, revealing a room steeped in sin. Opulence cloaked in debauchery, indulgence disguising the darker truth—that every inch of it was designed to demand obedience. The crimson velvet bed gleamed under the dim light, framed by gold-threaded pillows. Black silk curtains wrapped the room in shadow, cutting them off from the world beyond. The walls, adorned with hedonistic murals, whispered of forbidden pleasures, and along the edges of the room hung the tools of indulgence—restraints, whips, and finely crafted toys, each piece as exquisite as it was dangerous.

Astarion’s gaze never left her as she took in the sight. The pride in his smile was unmistakable. He had always delighted in the dramatic, but this room—this sanctuary of decadence—was the purest manifestation of his desires. “I thought it was time I had a proper playroom,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of amusement, but beneath it lay something deeper, hungrier. “No more hiding in caves. This is my domain now, and nothing here is out of reach. Including you.”

Sima stepped into the room, her fingers trailing over the silk sheets, feeling the cool, luxurious fabric beneath her fingertips. She had seen many sides of him before, but this... this felt like stepping into the core of who Astarion truly was—a place where control, desire, and power fused into one. Even as she let him lead, there was a thrill in knowing she could still say no. She let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing against the silk restraints on the bedposts. “I see you’ve expanded your collection.”

Astarion’s smirk grew, his gaze flickering over her with palpable hunger. “I have,” he purred. “No more limits. No more hiding. Only indulgence.” His eyes lingered on the violet and gold fabric of her embroidered blouse, the way it hugged her figure, laying beautifully against her rich brown skin. “Nothing I will deny myself.”

She met his gaze, her dark ringlets cascading down her back as she leaned against the bedpost, fully aware of the effect her presence had on him. She could see it in the way his breath caught, how his crimson eyes roamed over her, momentarily lost in the sight. In this moment, she held a kind of power over him, one that made her burn with satisfaction. 

He moved behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine before pulling her flush against him. His breath, hot against her ear, made her shudder. "You're a vision… a masterpiece," he whispered, voice a low, dangerous growl. His crimson eyes gleamed with hunger. "The things I could do to you… they’re endless."

Sima locked eyes with him, her own gaze bold and teasing. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Astarion’s pulse quickened, a fierce, unrelenting desire surging through him. She awakened something in him, something that had lain dormant for centuries. The challenge in her eyes only stoked the fire inside him. His hands tightened on her waist as he leaned down, his lips grazing her neck. “Nothing… nothing but permission,” he whispered, his voice thick with unslaked lust.

Sima’s eyes fluttered shut, the tremor of his touch sending a pulse of heat through her, awakening something wild and untamed beneath the surface. His fingers traced the open back of her blouse, teasing her skin with each light touch. “Total permission? Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice breathless, knowing full well the answer.

Astarion’s lips hovered near her ear. 'Absolute and utter submission,' he whispered.

Astarion eased back just enough to catch her gaze, his smile darkening as a wolfish hunger flickered in his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’ve set free,” he whispered like a dangerous caress.

Sima’s confidence never wavered. She met his gaze, her voice a daring whisper. “Show me. You have my permission.”

Astarion surged forward, as his body crashed against her and devoured her lips. His hands curled possessively around the small of her back, pulling her flush against him as his other hand tangled in her hair. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and power, as his tongue sought hers, and together, they fell into the heat of their connection.

Sima moaned softly into his kiss, her body pressing against his, the heat of her desire burning through her. Her fingers raked across his chest, nails grazing his skin as she reveled in the feel of his taut muscles beneath her touch.

Astarion's breath hitched as he ripped the blouse away from her body, the fabric falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. He took his time undoing her slacks, savoring the moment, the anticipation building between them like a coiled spring ready to snap. She broke from his kiss, her lips trailing down his jawline, nipping playfully at his throat. Her own hands making quick work of his finery.

He growled softly, a low sound of approval, as his hands found the waistband of her pants. With one smooth motion, he slid them down her legs, his lips brushing against the curve of her hip as she arched into him, her body bending under his touch.

Astarion’s body burned and ached with a fever at her touch. Sima's hands moved across his back, her soft moans filling the air between them even as her hands found the ridges of his old scars. Her touch was fire, branding him, marking him as hers. He reveled in the feel of her beneath him, her body yielding to his as he pushed her back onto the bed.

Sima collapsed onto the silk sheets, her breath quickening in shallow bursts. Her gaze flicked to the restraints waiting for her, anticipation coiling in her gut. Red ropes, tied neatly to the four bedposts, awaited their turn. Her eyes locked with his as she lay there; her dark, mahogany skin gleaming in the dim light and her curves a delightful sight.

Her voice was a soft whisper, filled with challenge and desire, as she looked up at him. "Play with me?"

For the briefest of moments, Astarion’s crimson eyes flickered, though he quickly mastered his expression. The surge of excitement her words evoked threatened to surface, but he reined it in. This was a game, yes—but a dangerous one, and she had given herself so easily. His hand moved to trace the curve of her breasts, fingers lingering on the soft swell as he leaned down to breathe the next words out as a wanton hiss,

"Play, my darling? Oh, I intend to do far more than that tonight."

Sima moaned softly against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip as his hand latched around her breasts and his fingers expertly pinching her nipples. A mounting desire rose between them, her impatience growing as she ground her hips against his body. Would he tie her up? Blindfold her? Punish her? Her mind raced with anticipation, even as his kisses deepened, stoking the fire between them.

Astarion knew it was time to test her limits. He wanted to see just how far she’d let him push this. His hands moved with expert precision as he captured her wrists, binding them behind her back with the soft red ropes. She couldn’t escape now, her hands rendered completely useless. He stepped back, admiring his work with satisfaction before leaning in once more, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear.

"You're such a good girl, Sima. Such a beautiful, good girl, just the way I like you..."

Sima’s back arched, her dark ringlets spilling down her shoulders, framing her face as her body lay exposed—vulnerable, yet unyielding in its submission. The silk ropes around her wrists held firm, not too tight yet secure enough to remind her that escape was not an option. He fisted his hand into her hair, tugging her head back sharply, eliciting a gasp before he threw her back against the bed. Her legs were still unbound, and the only barrier between her and his lustful intent was the fragile black thong she wore.

Astarion didn’t hesitate. His hands explored her body with reverence, savoring every curve, every inch of her warm mahogany skin beneath his fingers. His lips grazed her ear, his breath a hot whisper. “You’re exquisite… I can barely imagine how divine you’ll be as a vampire. The deep brown of your skin, those perfect curls… utterly irresistible.”

The hunger in his voice was palpable, a deep, consuming desire that drove him to the edge of control. In one swift motion, he tore her thong away, leaving her utterly bare before him. Her legs were pulled back and tied to the bedposts, her wrists now secured above her head as he adjusted the ropes with deliberate care. Sima was spread open for him, a vision of raw, unrestrained desire. Astarion couldn’t help but smile, admiring the sight of her vulnerable and exposed.

There was nothing else but surrender left at this moment. She lay stretched across the bed, every stretch of soft flesh exposed in a way that made her heart race. Her wrists pulled against the ropes, testing their give. Even tied, she still had power in the way her hips arched into his touch, the way she forced him to wait. 

Sima’s gaze met his, as he hovered over her, his expression dark with hunger that went far beyond mere need. He loomed over her like an artist before his masterpiece, preparing to shape her as he saw fit. She gave herself so willingly—far too easily for it to be real submission, he thought.

Astarion’s grin widened as he took in the sight of her, helpless and at his mercy, bound and ready for his pleasure. Her body was his to mold, and he reveled in it. Leaning down, he began to work her breasts with expert hands, caressing, kneading, and pinching the sensitive flesh, coaxing soft moans and whimpers from her lips. His mouth followed, tongue tracing her skin down her body, teasing her until she squirmed beneath him, utterly his.

Sima gasped as his tongue flicked between her thighs, her body arching as his hands continued their teasing play with her breasts. She glanced down the length of her body, watching him, her hands tied and helpless to stop the teasing assault. The torment of it—the way he brought her so close, only to pull away—left her breathless with frustration and want.

Astarion watched her closely, delighting in her every reaction. He reveled in the control he had over her, to make her beg for him. To him, it was all a dark performance—one he had perfected over centuries. And now, he was playing it out with the woman he desired more than any other.

With each soft moan that escaped her lips, he kissed them away, his teeth grazing her skin as mouth grew more demanding. His hands returned to her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples with more intensity, watching with satisfaction as her body shuddered beneath him. She was so sensitive, so eager for him.

Astarion growled, low and seductive, the heat in his voice meant only for her. His hands moved lower, sliding up and down her thighs, teasing her with every pass, his fingers brushing ever so close to her clit before pulling away again. The evidence of her desire was clear on her slick skin, a testament to the power he held over her.

"Look at you..." he purred, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "My perfect little slut. Filthy, aren’t you? But only ever for me."

Sima’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed her tender core, her body trembling. Caught by surprise she gasped as he hoisted her legs higher in the ropes, leaving her even more exposed. Astarion’s hand came down with a sharp slap against her ass, the sting making her body jolt, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

"Yes..." she breathed, her voice shaky with anticipation. "I like being yours."

Astarion’s eyes darkened with pleasure at her words, and he slapped her again, harder this time, watching as she groaned and hissed, stifling a moan. Power surged through him—intoxicating, undeniable—but it was her willing submission that felt like the ultimate triumph. He leaned in close and deeply commanded her, as the breath on his lips caressed her skin.

"Like being mine? Say it and mean it Sima. ‘I love being yours.’"

Her mind swam as she felt the power of his compulsion wash over her, her eyes glowing violet under the influence of his command. Her voice was soft, sultry, as she repeated the words, her tone mimicking his.

"I love being yours..."

Astarion’s hesitated a moment, taking in the look of her pure surrender. Then, as he snapped back into himself, his fangs grazed her neck as he released her from the spell, allowing her will to return. He craved her true submission, her real consent—but the echo of his whispered command still lingered in her mind, making the drip between her legs poor even more.

Sima blinked, momentarily disoriented, but as she looked up at him, tied and bound, her lips curled into a smile. She bit her lip as she watched him, blood still staining his mouth, the deep red glow of the room framing the scene in a perfect tableau of their shared depravity. He turned away, walking toward the wall of toys, a display of his intent that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She smirked as she observed him, like a curator selecting his favorite piece* “Well look who's so utterly satisfied with himself…” Her bratty tone mixed with the thrill of her desire.

Astarion grinned as he glanced back at her, his fingers trailing over the various implements hanging on the wall. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he considered his options, finally selecting a medium-sized paddle. He turned back toward her, his voice thick with amusement.

"Tell me... do you have a preference?" he asked, his voice teasing. "You've always been so good with your toys and playmates. Let me know what you want to explore. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

Sima’s eyes followed him closely, her breath hitching as he traced his fingers over the floggers and paddles. Her gaze lingered on the paddle in his hand, her body tensing with anticipation. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to ask for it.

"Please," she breathed, her voice dripping with both defiance and mocking submission. "I've been bad... I need to be spanked."

Astarion’s eyes lit up with delight at her challenge, savoring the bratty spark in her gaze. He could never resist that rebellious streak in her. With a wicked grin, he raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp crack across her rear.

Sima’s body jerked in response, a cry escaping her lips as the pain seared through her, mingling with the intense pleasure that coursed through her veins. The sting left her trembling, her body arching toward him as her desire grew with every passing moment.

Astarion took his time, relishing each reaction, watching her with the intensity of a wolf cornering a fawn. Again and again, the paddle came down, each strike landing on fresh skin, painting her rear in a deep maroon hue, darker than the red of the ropes that bound her.

She groaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands tightened around the ropes. Her body arched with each strike, the mixture of pain and pleasure building into an unbearable tension. Every time the paddle connected with her skin, a new wave of sensation washed over her, each one more intense than the last. Her dark brown eyes fluttered shut as the dampness between her thighs grew. The sensation of his marks, left behind on Sima began an addicting ache.  

Astarion was relentless, his strikes precise, his pace measured. He alternated the force and location of each hit, aiming deliberately toward the most sensitive spots—just above her clit, along her inner thighs—drawing out sharp yelps of rapture from Sima. Her body writhed beneath him, unable to escape the onslaught, her need palpable as the tension coiled tighter within her.

Her breath hitched as his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers brushing over her slick folds, teasing her mercilessly. The soft sounds of her soaked skin filled the room, a testament to the control he held over her. Every inch of her was his, and she couldn’t deny how much she craved this.

"You're such a filthy little thing," he murmured, completely wanton. "You love it when I make you beg, don't you?"

Sima whimpered, her body trembling as his fingers danced across her swollen bud, her hips bucking involuntarily toward his touch. She was so close now, the tension building into something almost unbearable, her need for release overwhelming every other thought in her mind. The torrent of feeling across her skin, left her only able to frantically nod. 

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her confession, his fingers sliding inside her now, curling just right to hit that hidden spot within her. He watched with dark delight as her body responded to him, her moans growing louder, her thighs quivering with every movement. His voice dropped to a growl as he spoke again, his breath hot against her ear.

"Come for me, Sima… Prove just how much you crave being mine."

Sima’s body tensed at his command, the words pushing her over the edge. Her back arched off the bed, her breath catching as her orgasm crashed over her in a wave of heat and ecstasy. She cried out his name, her body shaking as she came hard, her core tightening around his fingers, pulling him deeper into her.

Astarion watched her with wanton craving, savoring the sight of her falling apart beneath him. His own desire surged as he felt her body convulse with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the last waves of her climax. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting her juices with a wicked grin.

"You taste delicious," he murmured, a mix of potent lust and longing. "But don’t think we’re done, my love. The night is still young, and I’m far from satisfied."

Sima lay sprawled across the bed, her body slack in the ropes, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants. Her skin was flushed, glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. But as she looked up at him, the gleam in her eyes hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

"Don’t waste another minute then" she whispered, her voice still tinged with defiance despite the exhaustion in her limbs. "Show me."

As Sima squirmed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, Astarion leaned over, his lips pressing softly against her neck. He trailed kisses and licks along her flushed skin, savoring the heat she exuded. His fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, the wetness greeting him with a surge of desire. He smirked against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body under his touch.

Her cries grew louder as his fingers found her aching bud, relentlessly teasing her as she gasped his name. Sima was oversensitive and he knew it. Her deep brown eyes locked with his crimson gaze, full of unspoken pleas. Every brush of his fingers coaxed her closer to the edge, the pressure within her building, her body trembling with the promise of release.

Sima’s hips bucked desperately against his hand, her need palpable as she sought more—harder, deeper. She was so close now, her body tightening with every stroke, her voice breaking with frustration and desire. Astarion watched her with a hunter’s focus, his own desire barely contained as he relished in her vulnerability, in the power he held over her pleasure.

"Tell me what you want, darling," he whispered, his voice a low growl, laced with dark intent. His breath was hot against her ear as his fingers continued their relentless teasing, drawing her closer to that sweet oblivion. "Let me hear it, and I’ll give you everything."

Her voice broke into a desperate whimper, her body shaking with need as she bucked harder against his fingers. "Harder..." she gasped, defiance edging her voice. "And tell me those dirty things I love."

Astarion chuckled softly, amused and aroused by her defiance. His fingers moved faster, the pressure growing more insistent as he leaned closer, his breath sending electric shocks through her. His whispers turned filthy, each word dripping with condescension and desire, feeding the fire that burned within her. He reveled in her submission, the way she squirmed beneath him, her body completely at his mercy.

"Such a good little whore," he whispered darkly, his voice thick with lust. "You love it, don’t you? Being mine... utterly helpless."

Sima groaned in response, arching off the bed as his degrading words washed over her. Her ringlets spilled over her face as she bucked harder, grinding against his hand, desperate for more. His fingers matched the frantic rhythm of her hips, bringing her closer to the edge with every stroke, keeping her teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

Astarion watched her closely, his crimson eyes gleaming with pride and hunger as her body trembled beneath him. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them expertly to hit that hidden spot that made her gasp. His whispers continued, taunting her with promises of more until she couldn’t take it anymore.

"Is that it?" he murmured, his voice a tantalizing tease. "Is that the kind of filth you crave? I can make you feel so much more, Sima... just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll show you everything."

Her body shook with need, her frustration evident as she begged for more. "Yes... please..." she gasped, her voice trembling. "Keep calling me names..."

Astarion smirked, loving the way she begged, the way she writhed beneath his control. His voice was a dark whisper in her ear as he continued his filthy endearments.

"Such a good little slut," he purred. "You’re mine, Sima... always mine."

The words pushed her over the edge. Her body tensed, her hips lifting off the bed as her core clenched around his fingers. Her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, her cries filling the room as her body shuddered with the force of her release. Her head fell back against the pillow, her body trembling as she surrendered to the tremors radiating through her.

Astarion drank in the sight of her with pride and wanton greed. The sound of her moans, the way her body moved beneath him, sent a surge of satisfaction through him. He pulled his fingers from her slowly, this time bringing them to her own lips to coat them in her slick. 

Sima lay slack in the ropes, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in soft pants. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body still pulsing with the remnants of pleasure. A soft whimper escaped her as his fingers made her taste her own spent desire.

For a fleeting moment, the familiar arrogance ebbed, replaced by something deeper—something tender. His smile lingered, though softer now, a trace of genuine pleasure in his eyes. His voice dropped to a near whisper, reverent in its softness.

"Such a good girl..."

The words barely left his lips before he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he savored the taste. The plush drag of their mouths full of heat and longing, as if neither of them could get enough of the other.

Sima pulled against the red ropes that ensnared her. Leaning forward with her body as she ached, to hold him, but the restraints kept her bound. She whined softly as he shifted on top of her, his stiff, unspent cock sliding against her folds languidly.

Astarion ran his fingers through her wild curls, his gaze never leaving hers. In that moment, something stirred deep within him—something more than lust, more than the thrill of conquest. It was a connection, a sense of completion that he hadn’t felt in centuries. It unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny it.

He leaned in closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, and a soft whimper escaped his darling’s lips as the restraints prevented her from wrapping her legs around him as she craved. Desperation edged her voice as she pressed her lips against his ear, her breath warm, thick with need.

“I want you… fill me.”

Astarion’s restraint shattered in an instant. Her words, dripping with raw longing and insatiable hunger, stripped away his usual poise. His ruby eyes blazed with an uncontainable need as he thrust into her with a single, powerful stroke. His lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss. Each flick of his tongue a promise that he would not stop until he had consumed her completely, until her pleasure had devoured them both.

Sima groaned deeply, the ropes biting into her skin as she pulled against them, her body desperate to move with him, to wrap herself around him and pull him even deeper. When he pushed all the way to the hilt, her inner walls fluttered and her throat caught before he began thrusting at a primal pace. Each collision of their bodies burned a fervor  under her skin that only grew with each stroke. Their mouths remained locked, her tongue flicking against his fangs until she tasted the sharp tang of blood on his lips. The blood only fueled the fire between them, heightening every sensation, every thrust, every kiss.

For Astarion, this was the pinnacle of everything he had ever wanted. She, who was always so strong, now lay utterly helpless, surrendered to him, completely at his mercy. His hands gripped the sheets, his jaw clenched as his lips moved feverishly from hers to her neck, down to her collarbone. Everywhere he touched her, he claimed her, his desire raw and unrelenting.

His usual cool demeanor had long since vanished, replaced by a frenzied, animalistic rhythm. He kissed her hungrily, savoring the taste of her blood mixed with the sweet scent of her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh as he drove into her harder, faster, losing himself completely in the heat of their connection. Every moan, every gasp, every roll of her hips sent him closer to the brink, her body a perfect vessel for his darkest desires.

Sima whimpered against his mouth, her body moving with his in perfect, desperate harmony. Each thrust filled her so completely, stretching her to the point where it felt like she might shatter. Her core tightened around him, her hips bucking wildly as she felt herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, consuming her with each passing second. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her body undulating with the frantic rhythm they had created. She bit down on his lip, hard, drawing more blood as her moans softened into breathless gasps, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

Astarion’s hand moved to her throat, gripping it just enough to hold her steady as he kissed her deeply. Her moans, her whimpers, the way her silken vise gripped him so tightly—it was all too much. The pleasure surged through him, driving him into a frenzied rhythm, his every thrust pushing them both closer to oblivion.

Sima’s soft, desperate voice broke through the haze, her moan vibrating against his lips. "With me? Gods... I’m close..."

Her words shattered the last vestiges of his control. Astarion’s breath hitched, his body moving faster, his thrusts harder, more frantic as he pushed even deeper into her, hitting that hidden trigger inside her with precision. 

"Yes... yes... yes..." he panted, his voice raw and desperate, each thrust sending them both hurtling toward their shared release.

Sima’s body arched off the bed as she cried out Astarion’s name as she broke against her own peak. Her core tightened around him, milking him with each tight flutter and her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his. Each wave of pleasure left her gasping for breath. For a moment, it felt like she was suspended in free fall, her mind blissfully empty, consumed entirely by the pleasure he had coaxed from her. Her eyes locked onto him as he chased her over the edge.

Astarion couldn't hold back any longer. Her cunt’s raw embrace, her cries filling the air utterly broke him, and he lost all control. Astarion let out a long, deep moan as he spilled inside her. He thrust into her with desperate fervor, riding the last waves of their shared ecstasy until he was utterly spent. The scent of sex, sweat, and her perfume leaving him heady. 

For a moment, he lay there, still buried deep within her, his body warm and heavy against hers. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced—an intoxicating blend of satisfaction, love, and relief. Astarion pressed his lips to her skin, but the warmth that lingered unnerved him. It wasn’t the heat of passion—it was something deeper, a softness that made him feel exposed. He told himself it would pass, but some part of him whispered that it wouldn’t.

Sima lay beside him, her body utterly relaxed, her wrists and ankles marked red from the ropes that had held her in place. The ache in her limbs was sweet, a reminder of how completely she had surrendered to him, how much she trusted him. She turned her head toward him, feeling the softness of his damp curls brush her cheek. Her breath was still uneven, but a contented sigh escaped her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Astarion’s arm snaked around her, pulling her close against his chest. He could hear the gentle beat of her heart, steady and soothing, her breathing soft as it lulled him into a rare sense of calm. It was a strange feeling—one he wasn’t accustomed to, but one he found himself craving more of. He closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in her wild curls as he held her close. In this moment, everything felt perfect, as if the rest of the world no longer mattered.

Sima’s voice broke the silence, a soft murmur still thick with the remnants of pleasure. "Astarion... I want to hold you..." She wriggled her wrists, trying to free herself from the ropes that still bound her.

Astarion didn’t respond with words, not immediately. Instead, he shifted his body, pulling her closer, his leg sliding between hers as he nuzzled into her neck. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, wasn’t ready to lose the feeling of her warmth against him. She was still bound, and a small part of him enjoyed that—knowing that she was his, even for just a little longer.

Sima sighed, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Silly thing... my wrists and ankles are going to go numb if you don’t untie me."

Astarion grinned against her skin, his voice a soft murmur filled with amusement. "I’ll untie you, my love. But not yet." He pressed his leg more firmly between hers, his body wrapped around her possessively, as if he couldn’t bear to let her slip away from him. Not after what they had just shared.

Sima laughed softly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Well, fine. I suppose you’re very cute right now."

Astarion chuckled, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone. His breath was warm against her skin, sending little shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed along her neck, his fingers resting lightly on her throat, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin in lazy circles. It was a gentle touch, one that belied the intensity they had just shared, but one that made her heart race all the same.

Sima moaned softly, her body relaxing into his embrace. His kisses were disarming, tender in a way she hadn’t expected, and she found herself sinking deeper into the sensation. She had always loved the way he kissed her neck, the way his lips pressed against her skin like a promise. And as he kissed lower, she let herself fall into the warmth of the moment.

Astarion could feel the way her body responded, the way she leaned into his touch, trusting him completely. It stirred something deep within him, something that felt far too close to love. He smiled against her skin, knowing exactly what she was feeling. His lips moved in gentle nibbles along her throat, his thumb still tracing circles on her neck, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath his fingers. The warmth of her blood called to him, and he knew he couldn’t resist it any longer.

His fangs descended slowly, a low growl escaping him before he sank them into her neck.

Sima gasped, the sharp pain quickly giving way to a rush of pleasure. She moaned softly, her body quivering in his embrace as his arms tightened around her. Bound and helpless as she was, she trusted him entirely, letting herself fall into the sensation as the warmth of his bite washed over her. She could feel his need, the hunger behind the bite, but more than that, she felt the tenderness in the way he held her.

Astarion drank slowly, savoring the taste of her blood. It had been so long since he had fed from her, and now, as her blood flowed into him, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection. She was more delicious than he remembered, her essence filling him with warmth and desire. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark oxblood pools of pure satisfaction. 

Sima lay still, her body flushed, and her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she recovered from the bite. She was still tied, but there was a softness in her expression, a contentment that made him smile. Gently, Astarion began to untie her wrists;  his movements careful to protect this precious thread of closeness between them. 

As her arms fell to the mattress, Sima sighed in relief, her body going slack. She pulled at the ties on her ankles, and when they finally came loose, she leaned her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes.

"Relax," Astarion whispered, his voice soft as he kissed her deeply, his hands cradling her face. "You’re safe with me." There was no rush, no urgency now—just the sweetness of the moment, the quiet intimacy that lingered between them. And for the first time in a long while, he tried to infuse those words with every part of himself.

Sima kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him at last, pulling him close. Her legs, still shaking slightly from the intensity of their passion, managed to wrap around his waist. She held him tightly, needing to feel every part of him, to reassure herself that this moment was real.

"Say those words again," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with need. Those words meant more to her than anything else, more even than the pleasure they had just shared.

Astarion smiled against her lips, his gaze softening as he held her. "You’re safe with me," he whispered again, his voice low, tender, and full of conviction. The words were meant to comfort her, but deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure they were true. He wanted them to be—gods, how he wanted them to be. But could he really promise her safety, when the darker parts of himself still whispered otherwise?

He could feel the weight of her trust, the significance of those words between them. She had given herself to him completely, body and soul, and now, perhaps for the first time, he realized that this was more than mere passion. This was something that bound them together in a way that even he hadn’t anticipated.

She allowed herself to melt into his kiss, a deliberate surrender of control. She wasn’t simply swept away—she was making a choice, to trust him again, to meet him halfway.  When their lips parted, she rested her forehead against his, gazing into his crimson eyes with a tenderness that only deepened. 

"I love you," she whispered, her fingers curling into his damp white curls as she held his face in her hands.

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as the gravity behind her words sank in. For a moment, the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t said them in centuries—hadn’t allowed himself to. But with her, it felt... right. Even if, deep down, part of him wondered if he could ever fully mean them in the way she deserved.

"I love you as well, Sima," he said softly, his eyes opening and gazing at her as if she was the entirety of his existence. He pressed another kiss to her lips, slow and gentle and his hand caressed her cheek as if she was more precious than any stone in Evereska. 

Sima’s heart thudded in her chest as she gazed into his eyes, her hands still caressing his face. Every part of her wanted to believe, to trust in this love they had discovered together. But it wasn’t without its risks, its uncertainties. She knew the chaos it might bring, the complications of their lives, but she also knew, deep in her soul, that she was ready.

With a steadying breath, Sima held his face more firmly as she made her silent decision. She leapt headfirst toward the unknown, driven by the faith she had in him, in them.

She swallowed, her breath trembling but her resolve firm as she whispered, "Yes... Astarion. Yes. I'll do it."

For the first time in his long, cursed life, Astarion’s smile wasn’t marred by seduction or arrogance. It was honest, vulnerable, and real. He cupped her face in his hands, her name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer, "Sima…"

But deep inside, beneath the warmth of her acceptance, a flicker of uncertainty remained. Could he really let go of the power he had always craved? Could he share it equally? He wanted to believe he could. He loved her, didn’t he? Yet, some darker corner of his mind whispered: You will always have the final say.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of eternity. His gaze, always so sharp, softened as his lips enveloped her as she chose him in this moment. The lingering kiss spoke of everything he couldn’t say aloud—his gratitude, his awe, his love. This was no fleeting moment of pleasure. This was forever.

Sima’s conviction solidified in the press of their lips. Her hands tightened in his white curls as if anchoring herself to this moment, to the man who had offered her the world and challenged her at every turn. There was no turning back now, and the thought of it didn’t scare her. It thrilled her. This time, it would be different, a quiet refrain in her mind. 

But as Astarion held her, the old instincts whispered again—control, dominance, power. Was he truly capable of this equality she demanded? Could she be his equal without threatening his carefully constructed rule?

When their lips parted, Astarion’s eyes glistened with a quiet intensity. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his voice soft yet resolute. "I swear to you, on everything I am, you will never fear me again. I will never hurt you, Sima, not ever. You will always be free." But even as he said the words, a subtle shadow flickered in his mind—Free... but mine. He pulled her closer, as if the force of his love could silence the doubts gnawing at him.

The words hit her with a force she hadn’t expected. Free—the word echoed in her mind. It meant more now, after all they had been through, after the trust she had placed in him. But that wasn't enough. Her decision to embrace this life, to stand at his side forever, meant they couldn’t just be lovers, or sire and bride. They had to be more. They had to be equals, bound by choice, not chains.

She pulled back slightly, her dark brown eyes blazing with a fierce clarity as she held his gaze. "Astarion," she whispered, her voice trembling with both love and hidden fears. "If I give you all of me, if I step into eternity with you… we do this together. We’re equals. Equal in every way. I won’t be your shadow, your possession. I want to be your partner, standing beside you, not beneath you." This is my line in the sand. I won’t cross it, she thought. If I let myself be anything less than his equal, I’d be betraying everything I’ve fought for, everything I am. I’ve come too far, survived too much. He has to understand that. If he doesn’t... 

Astarion blinked, the weight of her words settling over him like an iron blanket. In all the centuries he had lived, no one had ever spoken to him like this—no one had ever asked for equality. They had feared him, admired him, submitted to him. But this… this was different. This was power, real power, given willingly, not taken by force. And yet... could he let go of this gnawing, ravenous need for control?

He brushed his lips over hers again, this time slower, softer, as if sealing a pact between them. When he pulled away, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Equal and free, Sima. Always."  

But a small voice inside reminded him: Equal, yes—but still mine. Always mine, like a sick lullaby. Could he give her freedom and keep her bound to him? The thought twisted something deep inside him, but he pushed it aside for now. "Not my shadow, not my possession. My equal. My partner. My consort." 

Her heart swelled, and for a moment, she almost let herself believe it completely. But even still her traitorous heart questioned in the shadows: could Astarion really give her what she needed? Or was she asking too much of a man who had spent centuries in chains of his own making? 

She cupped his face again, her fingers curling against his sharp jaw as she whispered back, "Equal and free," she repeated, sealing it with a kiss of hope.  "And together, we’ll have everything. No one will stand in our way."

Astarion’s smile turned wicked, the glint of ambition sparking in his eyes, but now it was shared—it wasn’t just his hunger for power, but theirs. Together, they would be unstoppable. Together, but still in the palm of my hand...

"Everything, my love. I swear it."

They had forged their bond in blood and fire, and now they would burn the world down together, equal and free—at least, as far as he could allow. 

Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 116k

Warning: SMUTT, Heavy BDSM Play!

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 16: Oct 2 2024

Song of the Hour:

Red Room - Bryce Savage

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust

Astarion led Sima through the grand halls of his palace, the air thick with a quiet urgency. Vampires flitted about like shadows, their presence a mere whisper against the ancient stone. Their eyes flicked toward him in deference, but they lingered on Sima, drawn to her like lost souls hungering for the light. Curiosity simmered beneath their gazes, envy curling like smoke. And in some, something far darker stirred—a longing to possess what they dared not approach. Sima stood out, a jewel in their midst, glowing against the cold, pale hues of the vampire nobility.

Astarion, acutely aware of the eyes on them, moved with deliberate grace, as though the palace itself bent to his will. Every glance cast her way only strengthened his resolve. She was his now—part of this empire, whether she realized it yet or not. Each step was regal, his posture composed, betraying none of the urgency thrumming beneath his calm exterior. The palace was his stage, and he was its ruling actor, commanding every glance and whispered breath. His power was absolute, and yet, tonight, he sought something more. He wanted her to see it all, not just his dominion—he’d give her this world. But the final say would always be his

Through winding corridors and hidden passages, Astarion revealed the full extent of his reach. Beneath the city, his network of spies slithered through the Under City’s labyrinthine tunnels, gathering secrets only a vampire lord could possess. They passed vaults lined with glittering treasures—gold, jewels, artifacts from centuries past—proof of his wealth and influence over the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. He painted vivid portraits of their future with words laced in silk, of ruling together, their “benevolent” reign absolute. Yet, his crimson eyes sought hers often, the charm on his lips masking a deeper hope for approval.

As the evening darkened, Astarion’s touch lingered when he brushed Sima’s hair aside, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck, a deliberate tease. "The night wanes, my sweet," he purred, that velvet tone steeped in rich intent. "Shall I show you the rest of what belongs to me?"

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he led her toward his private chambers, away from prying eyes and the reach of judgment. This, above all, was his sanctuary. Here, behind these walls, he could indulge the desires he had kept locked away from the world. He wanted her to see everything—the things no one else had ever been allowed to witness.

Sima’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Another bedchamber? What makes this one worth the theatrics?”

Astarion’s smile widened, wicked and familiar, his pale lips curling with rakish charm. The same smile that had seduced countless others before her, though none had ever stirred him the way she did. “Nothing… save for what unfolds here.” He whispered in lustful and dulcet murmurs. 

He pushed open the door, revealing a room steeped in sin. Opulence cloaked in debauchery, indulgence disguising the darker truth—that every inch of it was designed to demand obedience. The crimson velvet bed gleamed under the dim light, framed by gold-threaded pillows. Black silk curtains wrapped the room in shadow, cutting them off from the world beyond. The walls, adorned with hedonistic murals, whispered of forbidden pleasures, and along the edges of the room hung the tools of indulgence—restraints, whips, and finely crafted toys, each piece as exquisite as it was dangerous.

Astarion’s gaze never left her as she took in the sight. The pride in his smile was unmistakable. He had always delighted in the dramatic, but this room—this sanctuary of decadence—was the purest manifestation of his desires. “I thought it was time I had a proper playroom,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of amusement, but beneath it lay something deeper, hungrier. “No more hiding in caves. This is my domain now, and nothing here is out of reach. Including you.”

Sima stepped into the room, her fingers trailing over the silk sheets, feeling the cool, luxurious fabric beneath her fingertips. She had seen many sides of him before, but this... this felt like stepping into the core of who Astarion truly was—a place where control, desire, and power fused into one. Even as she let him lead, there was a thrill in knowing she could still say no. She let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing against the silk restraints on the bedposts. “I see you’ve expanded your collection.”

Astarion’s smirk grew, his gaze flickering over her with palpable hunger. “I have,” he purred. “No more limits. No more hiding. Only indulgence.” His eyes lingered on the violet and gold fabric of her embroidered blouse, the way it hugged her figure, laying beautifully against her rich brown skin. “Nothing I will deny myself.”

She met his gaze, her dark ringlets cascading down her back as she leaned against the bedpost, fully aware of the effect her presence had on him. She could see it in the way his breath caught, how his crimson eyes roamed over her, momentarily lost in the sight. In this moment, she held a kind of power over him, one that made her burn with satisfaction. 

He moved behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine before pulling her flush against him. His breath, hot against her ear, made her shudder. "You're a vision… a masterpiece," he whispered, voice a low, dangerous growl. His crimson eyes gleamed with hunger. "The things I could do to you… they’re endless."

Sima locked eyes with him, her own gaze bold and teasing. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Astarion’s pulse quickened, a fierce, unrelenting desire surging through him. She awakened something in him, something that had lain dormant for centuries. The challenge in her eyes only stoked the fire inside him. His hands tightened on her waist as he leaned down, his lips grazing her neck. “Nothing… nothing but permission,” he whispered, his voice thick with unslaked lust.

Sima’s eyes fluttered shut, the tremor of his touch sending a pulse of heat through her, awakening something wild and untamed beneath the surface. His fingers traced the open back of her blouse, teasing her skin with each light touch. “Total permission? Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice breathless, knowing full well the answer.

Astarion’s lips hovered near her ear. 'Absolute and utter submission,' he whispered.

Astarion eased back just enough to catch her gaze, his smile darkening as a wolfish hunger flickered in his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’ve set free,” he whispered like a dangerous caress.

Sima’s confidence never wavered. She met his gaze, her voice a daring whisper. “Show me. You have my permission.”

Astarion surged forward, as his body crashed against her and devoured her lips. His hands curled possessively around the small of her back, pulling her flush against him as his other hand tangled in her hair. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and power, as his tongue sought hers, and together, they fell into the heat of their connection.

Sima moaned softly into his kiss, her body pressing against his, the heat of her desire burning through her. Her fingers raked across his chest, nails grazing his skin as she reveled in the feel of his taut muscles beneath her touch.

Astarion's breath hitched as he ripped the blouse away from her body, the fabric falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. He took his time undoing her slacks, savoring the moment, the anticipation building between them like a coiled spring ready to snap. She broke from his kiss, her lips trailing down his jawline, nipping playfully at his throat. Her own hands making quick work of his finery.

He growled softly, a low sound of approval, as his hands found the waistband of her pants. With one smooth motion, he slid them down her legs, his lips brushing against the curve of her hip as she arched into him, her body bending under his touch.

Astarion’s body burned and ached with a fever at her touch. Sima's hands moved across his back, her soft moans filling the air between them even as her hands found the ridges of his old scars. Her touch was fire, branding him, marking him as hers. He reveled in the feel of her beneath him, her body yielding to his as he pushed her back onto the bed.

Sima collapsed onto the silk sheets, her breath quickening in shallow bursts. Her gaze flicked to the restraints waiting for her, anticipation coiling in her gut. Red ropes, tied neatly to the four bedposts, awaited their turn. Her eyes locked with his as she lay there; her dark, mahogany skin gleaming in the dim light and her curves a delightful sight.

Her voice was a soft whisper, filled with challenge and desire, as she looked up at him. "Play with me?"

For the briefest of moments, Astarion’s crimson eyes flickered, though he quickly mastered his expression. The surge of excitement her words evoked threatened to surface, but he reined it in. This was a game, yes—but a dangerous one, and she had given herself so easily. His hand moved to trace the curve of her breasts, fingers lingering on the soft swell as he leaned down to breathe the next words out as a wanton hiss,

"Play, my darling? Oh, I intend to do far more than that tonight."

Sima moaned softly against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip as his hand latched around her breasts and his fingers expertly pinching her nipples. A mounting desire rose between them, her impatience growing as she ground her hips against his body. Would he tie her up? Blindfold her? Punish her? Her mind raced with anticipation, even as his kisses deepened, stoking the fire between them.

Astarion knew it was time to test her limits. He wanted to see just how far she’d let him push this. His hands moved with expert precision as he captured her wrists, binding them behind her back with the soft red ropes. She couldn’t escape now, her hands rendered completely useless. He stepped back, admiring his work with satisfaction before leaning in once more, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear.

"You're such a good girl, Sima. Such a beautiful, good girl, just the way I like you..."

Sima’s back arched, her dark ringlets spilling down her shoulders, framing her face as her body lay exposed—vulnerable, yet unyielding in its submission. The silk ropes around her wrists held firm, not too tight yet secure enough to remind her that escape was not an option. He fisted his hand into her hair, tugging her head back sharply, eliciting a gasp before he threw her back against the bed. Her legs were still unbound, and the only barrier between her and his lustful intent was the fragile black thong she wore.

Astarion didn’t hesitate. His hands explored her body with reverence, savoring every curve, every inch of her warm mahogany skin beneath his fingers. His lips grazed her ear, his breath a hot whisper. “You’re exquisite… I can barely imagine how divine you’ll be as a vampire. The deep brown of your skin, those perfect curls… utterly irresistible.”

The hunger in his voice was palpable, a deep, consuming desire that drove him to the edge of control. In one swift motion, he tore her thong away, leaving her utterly bare before him. Her legs were pulled back and tied to the bedposts, her wrists now secured above her head as he adjusted the ropes with deliberate care. Sima was spread open for him, a vision of raw, unrestrained desire. Astarion couldn’t help but smile, admiring the sight of her vulnerable and exposed.

There was nothing else but surrender left at this moment. She lay stretched across the bed, every stretch of soft flesh exposed in a way that made her heart race. Her wrists pulled against the ropes, testing their give. Even tied, she still had power in the way her hips arched into his touch, the way she forced him to wait. 

Sima’s gaze met his, as he hovered over her, his expression dark with hunger that went far beyond mere need. He loomed over her like an artist before his masterpiece, preparing to shape her as he saw fit. She gave herself so willingly—far too easily for it to be real submission, he thought.

Astarion’s grin widened as he took in the sight of her, helpless and at his mercy, bound and ready for his pleasure. Her body was his to mold, and he reveled in it. Leaning down, he began to work her breasts with expert hands, caressing, kneading, and pinching the sensitive flesh, coaxing soft moans and whimpers from her lips. His mouth followed, tongue tracing her skin down her body, teasing her until she squirmed beneath him, utterly his.

Sima gasped as his tongue flicked between her thighs, her body arching as his hands continued their teasing play with her breasts. She glanced down the length of her body, watching him, her hands tied and helpless to stop the teasing assault. The torment of it—the way he brought her so close, only to pull away—left her breathless with frustration and want.

Astarion watched her closely, delighting in her every reaction. He reveled in the control he had over her, to make her beg for him. To him, it was all a dark performance—one he had perfected over centuries. And now, he was playing it out with the woman he desired more than any other.

With each soft moan that escaped her lips, he kissed them away, his teeth grazing her skin as mouth grew more demanding. His hands returned to her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples with more intensity, watching with satisfaction as her body shuddered beneath him. She was so sensitive, so eager for him.

Astarion growled, low and seductive, the heat in his voice meant only for her. His hands moved lower, sliding up and down her thighs, teasing her with every pass, his fingers brushing ever so close to her clit before pulling away again. The evidence of her desire was clear on her slick skin, a testament to the power he held over her.

"Look at you..." he purred, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "My perfect little slut. Filthy, aren’t you? But only ever for me."

Sima’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed her tender core, her body trembling. Caught by surprise she gasped as he hoisted her legs higher in the ropes, leaving her even more exposed. Astarion’s hand came down with a sharp slap against her ass, the sting making her body jolt, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

"Yes..." she breathed, her voice shaky with anticipation. "I like being yours."

Astarion’s eyes darkened with pleasure at her words, and he slapped her again, harder this time, watching as she groaned and hissed, stifling a moan. Power surged through him—intoxicating, undeniable—but it was her willing submission that felt like the ultimate triumph. He leaned in close and deeply commanded her, as the breath on his lips caressed her skin.

"Like being mine? Say it and mean it Sima. ‘I love being yours.’"

Her mind swam as she felt the power of his compulsion wash over her, her eyes glowing violet under the influence of his command. Her voice was soft, sultry, as she repeated the words, her tone mimicking his.

"I love being yours..."

Astarion’s hesitated a moment, taking in the look of her pure surrender. Then, as he snapped back into himself, his fangs grazed her neck as he released her from the spell, allowing her will to return. He craved her true submission, her real consent—but the echo of his whispered command still lingered in her mind, making the drip between her legs poor even more.

Sima blinked, momentarily disoriented, but as she looked up at him, tied and bound, her lips curled into a smile. She bit her lip as she watched him, blood still staining his mouth, the deep red glow of the room framing the scene in a perfect tableau of their shared depravity. He turned away, walking toward the wall of toys, a display of his intent that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She smirked as she observed him, like a curator selecting his favorite piece* “Well look who's so utterly satisfied with himself…” Her bratty tone mixed with the thrill of her desire.

Astarion grinned as he glanced back at her, his fingers trailing over the various implements hanging on the wall. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he considered his options, finally selecting a medium-sized paddle. He turned back toward her, his voice thick with amusement.

"Tell me... do you have a preference?" he asked, his voice teasing. "You've always been so good with your toys and playmates. Let me know what you want to explore. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

Sima’s eyes followed him closely, her breath hitching as he traced his fingers over the floggers and paddles. Her gaze lingered on the paddle in his hand, her body tensing with anticipation. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to ask for it.

"Please," she breathed, her voice dripping with both defiance and mocking submission. "I've been bad... I need to be spanked."

Astarion’s eyes lit up with delight at her challenge, savoring the bratty spark in her gaze. He could never resist that rebellious streak in her. With a wicked grin, he raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp crack across her rear.

Sima’s body jerked in response, a cry escaping her lips as the pain seared through her, mingling with the intense pleasure that coursed through her veins. The sting left her trembling, her body arching toward him as her desire grew with every passing moment.

Astarion took his time, relishing each reaction, watching her with the intensity of a wolf cornering a fawn. Again and again, the paddle came down, each strike landing on fresh skin, painting her rear in a deep maroon hue, darker than the red of the ropes that bound her.

She groaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands tightened around the ropes. Her body arched with each strike, the mixture of pain and pleasure building into an unbearable tension. Every time the paddle connected with her skin, a new wave of sensation washed over her, each one more intense than the last. Her dark brown eyes fluttered shut as the dampness between her thighs grew. The sensation of his marks, left behind on Sima began an addicting ache.  

Astarion was relentless, his strikes precise, his pace measured. He alternated the force and location of each hit, aiming deliberately toward the most sensitive spots—just above her clit, along her inner thighs—drawing out sharp yelps of rapture from Sima. Her body writhed beneath him, unable to escape the onslaught, her need palpable as the tension coiled tighter within her.

Her breath hitched as his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers brushing over her slick folds, teasing her mercilessly. The soft sounds of her soaked skin filled the room, a testament to the control he held over her. Every inch of her was his, and she couldn’t deny how much she craved this.

"You're such a filthy little thing," he murmured, completely wanton. "You love it when I make you beg, don't you?"

Sima whimpered, her body trembling as his fingers danced across her swollen bud, her hips bucking involuntarily toward his touch. She was so close now, the tension building into something almost unbearable, her need for release overwhelming every other thought in her mind. The torrent of feeling across her skin, left her only able to frantically nod. 

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her confession, his fingers sliding inside her now, curling just right to hit that hidden spot within her. He watched with dark delight as her body responded to him, her moans growing louder, her thighs quivering with every movement. His voice dropped to a growl as he spoke again, his breath hot against her ear.

"Come for me, Sima… Prove just how much you crave being mine."

Sima’s body tensed at his command, the words pushing her over the edge. Her back arched off the bed, her breath catching as her orgasm crashed over her in a wave of heat and ecstasy. She cried out his name, her body shaking as she came hard, her core tightening around his fingers, pulling him deeper into her.

Astarion watched her with wanton craving, savoring the sight of her falling apart beneath him. His own desire surged as he felt her body convulse with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the last waves of her climax. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting her juices with a wicked grin.

"You taste delicious," he murmured, a mix of potent lust and longing. "But don’t think we’re done, my love. The night is still young, and I’m far from satisfied."

Sima lay sprawled across the bed, her body slack in the ropes, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants. Her skin was flushed, glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. But as she looked up at him, the gleam in her eyes hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

"Don’t waste another minute then" she whispered, her voice still tinged with defiance despite the exhaustion in her limbs. "Show me."

As Sima squirmed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, Astarion leaned over, his lips pressing softly against her neck. He trailed kisses and licks along her flushed skin, savoring the heat she exuded. His fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, the wetness greeting him with a surge of desire. He smirked against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body under his touch.

Her cries grew louder as his fingers found her aching bud, relentlessly teasing her as she gasped his name. Sima was oversensitive and he knew it. Her deep brown eyes locked with his crimson gaze, full of unspoken pleas. Every brush of his fingers coaxed her closer to the edge, the pressure within her building, her body trembling with the promise of release.

Sima’s hips bucked desperately against his hand, her need palpable as she sought more—harder, deeper. She was so close now, her body tightening with every stroke, her voice breaking with frustration and desire. Astarion watched her with a hunter’s focus, his own desire barely contained as he relished in her vulnerability, in the power he held over her pleasure.

"Tell me what you want, darling," he whispered, his voice a low growl, laced with dark intent. His breath was hot against her ear as his fingers continued their relentless teasing, drawing her closer to that sweet oblivion. "Let me hear it, and I’ll give you everything."

Her voice broke into a desperate whimper, her body shaking with need as she bucked harder against his fingers. "Harder..." she gasped, defiance edging her voice. "And tell me those dirty things I love."

Astarion chuckled softly, amused and aroused by her defiance. His fingers moved faster, the pressure growing more insistent as he leaned closer, his breath sending electric shocks through her. His whispers turned filthy, each word dripping with condescension and desire, feeding the fire that burned within her. He reveled in her submission, the way she squirmed beneath him, her body completely at his mercy.

"Such a good little whore," he whispered darkly, his voice thick with lust. "You love it, don’t you? Being mine... utterly helpless."

Sima groaned in response, arching off the bed as his degrading words washed over her. Her ringlets spilled over her face as she bucked harder, grinding against his hand, desperate for more. His fingers matched the frantic rhythm of her hips, bringing her closer to the edge with every stroke, keeping her teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

Astarion watched her closely, his crimson eyes gleaming with pride and hunger as her body trembled beneath him. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them expertly to hit that hidden spot that made her gasp. His whispers continued, taunting her with promises of more until she couldn’t take it anymore.

"Is that it?" he murmured, his voice a tantalizing tease. "Is that the kind of filth you crave? I can make you feel so much more, Sima... just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll show you everything."

Her body shook with need, her frustration evident as she begged for more. "Yes... please..." she gasped, her voice trembling. "Keep calling me names..."

Astarion smirked, loving the way she begged, the way she writhed beneath his control. His voice was a dark whisper in her ear as he continued his filthy endearments.

"Such a good little slut," he purred. "You’re mine, Sima... always mine."

The words pushed her over the edge. Her body tensed, her hips lifting off the bed as her core clenched around his fingers. Her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, her cries filling the room as her body shuddered with the force of her release. Her head fell back against the pillow, her body trembling as she surrendered to the tremors radiating through her.

Astarion drank in the sight of her with pride and wanton greed. The sound of her moans, the way her body moved beneath him, sent a surge of satisfaction through him. He pulled his fingers from her slowly, this time bringing them to her own lips to coat them in her slick. 

Sima lay slack in the ropes, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in soft pants. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body still pulsing with the remnants of pleasure. A soft whimper escaped her as his fingers made her taste her own spent desire.

For a fleeting moment, the familiar arrogance ebbed, replaced by something deeper—something tender. His smile lingered, though softer now, a trace of genuine pleasure in his eyes. His voice dropped to a near whisper, reverent in its softness.

"Such a good girl..."

The words barely left his lips before he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he savored the taste. The plush drag of their mouths full of heat and longing, as if neither of them could get enough of the other.

Sima pulled against the red ropes that ensnared her. Leaning forward with her body as she ached, to hold him, but the restraints kept her bound. She whined softly as he shifted on top of her, his stiff, unspent cock sliding against her folds languidly.

Astarion ran his fingers through her wild curls, his gaze never leaving hers. In that moment, something stirred deep within him—something more than lust, more than the thrill of conquest. It was a connection, a sense of completion that he hadn’t felt in centuries. It unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny it.

He leaned in closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, and a soft whimper escaped his darling’s lips as the restraints prevented her from wrapping her legs around him as she craved. Desperation edged her voice as she pressed her lips against his ear, her breath warm, thick with need.

“I want you… fill me.”

Astarion’s restraint shattered in an instant. Her words, dripping with raw longing and insatiable hunger, stripped away his usual poise. His ruby eyes blazed with an uncontainable need as he thrust into her with a single, powerful stroke. His lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss. Each flick of his tongue a promise that he would not stop until he had consumed her completely, until her pleasure had devoured them both.

Sima groaned deeply, the ropes biting into her skin as she pulled against them, her body desperate to move with him, to wrap herself around him and pull him even deeper. When he pushed all the way to the hilt, her inner walls fluttered and her throat caught before he began thrusting at a primal pace. Each collision of their bodies burned a fervor  under her skin that only grew with each stroke. Their mouths remained locked, her tongue flicking against his fangs until she tasted the sharp tang of blood on his lips. The blood only fueled the fire between them, heightening every sensation, every thrust, every kiss.

For Astarion, this was the pinnacle of everything he had ever wanted. She, who was always so strong, now lay utterly helpless, surrendered to him, completely at his mercy. His hands gripped the sheets, his jaw clenched as his lips moved feverishly from hers to her neck, down to her collarbone. Everywhere he touched her, he claimed her, his desire raw and unrelenting.

His usual cool demeanor had long since vanished, replaced by a frenzied, animalistic rhythm. He kissed her hungrily, savoring the taste of her blood mixed with the sweet scent of her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh as he drove into her harder, faster, losing himself completely in the heat of their connection. Every moan, every gasp, every roll of her hips sent him closer to the brink, her body a perfect vessel for his darkest desires.

Sima whimpered against his mouth, her body moving with his in perfect, desperate harmony. Each thrust filled her so completely, stretching her to the point where it felt like she might shatter. Her core tightened around him, her hips bucking wildly as she felt herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, consuming her with each passing second. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her body undulating with the frantic rhythm they had created. She bit down on his lip, hard, drawing more blood as her moans softened into breathless gasps, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

Astarion’s hand moved to her throat, gripping it just enough to hold her steady as he kissed her deeply. Her moans, her whimpers, the way her silken vise gripped him so tightly—it was all too much. The pleasure surged through him, driving him into a frenzied rhythm, his every thrust pushing them both closer to oblivion.

Sima’s soft, desperate voice broke through the haze, her moan vibrating against his lips. "With me? Gods... I’m close..."

Her words shattered the last vestiges of his control. Astarion’s breath hitched, his body moving faster, his thrusts harder, more frantic as he pushed even deeper into her, hitting that hidden trigger inside her with precision. 

"Yes... yes... yes..." he panted, his voice raw and desperate, each thrust sending them both hurtling toward their shared release.

Sima’s body arched off the bed as she cried out Astarion’s name as she broke against her own peak. Her core tightened around him, milking him with each tight flutter and her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his. Each wave of pleasure left her gasping for breath. For a moment, it felt like she was suspended in free fall, her mind blissfully empty, consumed entirely by the pleasure he had coaxed from her. Her eyes locked onto him as he chased her over the edge.

Astarion couldn't hold back any longer. Her cunt’s raw embrace, her cries filling the air utterly broke him, and he lost all control. Astarion let out a long, deep moan as he spilled inside her. He thrust into her with desperate fervor, riding the last waves of their shared ecstasy until he was utterly spent. The scent of sex, sweat, and her perfume leaving him heady. 

For a moment, he lay there, still buried deep within her, his body warm and heavy against hers. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced—an intoxicating blend of satisfaction, love, and relief. Astarion pressed his lips to her skin, but the warmth that lingered unnerved him. It wasn’t the heat of passion—it was something deeper, a softness that made him feel exposed. He told himself it would pass, but some part of him whispered that it wouldn’t.

Sima lay beside him, her body utterly relaxed, her wrists and ankles marked red from the ropes that had held her in place. The ache in her limbs was sweet, a reminder of how completely she had surrendered to him, how much she trusted him. She turned her head toward him, feeling the softness of his damp curls brush her cheek. Her breath was still uneven, but a contented sigh escaped her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.

Astarion’s arm snaked around her, pulling her close against his chest. He could hear the gentle beat of her heart, steady and soothing, her breathing soft as it lulled him into a rare sense of calm. It was a strange feeling—one he wasn’t accustomed to, but one he found himself craving more of. He closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in her wild curls as he held her close. In this moment, everything felt perfect, as if the rest of the world no longer mattered.

Sima’s voice broke the silence, a soft murmur still thick with the remnants of pleasure. "Astarion... I want to hold you..." She wriggled her wrists, trying to free herself from the ropes that still bound her.

Astarion didn’t respond with words, not immediately. Instead, he shifted his body, pulling her closer, his leg sliding between hers as he nuzzled into her neck. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, wasn’t ready to lose the feeling of her warmth against him. She was still bound, and a small part of him enjoyed that—knowing that she was his, even for just a little longer.

Sima sighed, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Silly thing... my wrists and ankles are going to go numb if you don’t untie me."

Astarion grinned against her skin, his voice a soft murmur filled with amusement. "I’ll untie you, my love. But not yet." He pressed his leg more firmly between hers, his body wrapped around her possessively, as if he couldn’t bear to let her slip away from him. Not after what they had just shared.

Sima laughed softly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Well, fine. I suppose you’re very cute right now."

Astarion chuckled, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone. His breath was warm against her skin, sending little shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed along her neck, his fingers resting lightly on her throat, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin in lazy circles. It was a gentle touch, one that belied the intensity they had just shared, but one that made her heart race all the same.

Sima moaned softly, her body relaxing into his embrace. His kisses were disarming, tender in a way she hadn’t expected, and she found herself sinking deeper into the sensation. She had always loved the way he kissed her neck, the way his lips pressed against her skin like a promise. And as he kissed lower, she let herself fall into the warmth of the moment.

Astarion could feel the way her body responded, the way she leaned into his touch, trusting him completely. It stirred something deep within him, something that felt far too close to love. He smiled against her skin, knowing exactly what she was feeling. His lips moved in gentle nibbles along her throat, his thumb still tracing circles on her neck, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath his fingers. The warmth of her blood called to him, and he knew he couldn’t resist it any longer.

His fangs descended slowly, a low growl escaping him before he sank them into her neck.

Sima gasped, the sharp pain quickly giving way to a rush of pleasure. She moaned softly, her body quivering in his embrace as his arms tightened around her. Bound and helpless as she was, she trusted him entirely, letting herself fall into the sensation as the warmth of his bite washed over her. She could feel his need, the hunger behind the bite, but more than that, she felt the tenderness in the way he held her.

Astarion drank slowly, savoring the taste of her blood. It had been so long since he had fed from her, and now, as her blood flowed into him, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection. She was more delicious than he remembered, her essence filling him with warmth and desire. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark oxblood pools of pure satisfaction. 

Sima lay still, her body flushed, and her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she recovered from the bite. She was still tied, but there was a softness in her expression, a contentment that made him smile. Gently, Astarion began to untie her wrists;  his movements careful to protect this precious thread of closeness between them. 

As her arms fell to the mattress, Sima sighed in relief, her body going slack. She pulled at the ties on her ankles, and when they finally came loose, she leaned her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes.

"Relax," Astarion whispered, his voice soft as he kissed her deeply, his hands cradling her face. "You’re safe with me." There was no rush, no urgency now—just the sweetness of the moment, the quiet intimacy that lingered between them. And for the first time in a long while, he tried to infuse those words with every part of himself.

Sima kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him at last, pulling him close. Her legs, still shaking slightly from the intensity of their passion, managed to wrap around his waist. She held him tightly, needing to feel every part of him, to reassure herself that this moment was real.

"Say those words again," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with need. Those words meant more to her than anything else, more even than the pleasure they had just shared.

Astarion smiled against her lips, his gaze softening as he held her. "You’re safe with me," he whispered again, his voice low, tender, and full of conviction. The words were meant to comfort her, but deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure they were true. He wanted them to be—gods, how he wanted them to be. But could he really promise her safety, when the darker parts of himself still whispered otherwise?

He could feel the weight of her trust, the significance of those words between them. She had given herself to him completely, body and soul, and now, perhaps for the first time, he realized that this was more than mere passion. This was something that bound them together in a way that even he hadn’t anticipated.

She allowed herself to melt into his kiss, a deliberate surrender of control. She wasn’t simply swept away—she was making a choice, to trust him again, to meet him halfway.  When their lips parted, she rested her forehead against his, gazing into his crimson eyes with a tenderness that only deepened. 

"I love you," she whispered, her fingers curling into his damp white curls as she held his face in her hands.

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as the gravity behind her words sank in. For a moment, the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t said them in centuries—hadn’t allowed himself to. But with her, it felt... right. Even if, deep down, part of him wondered if he could ever fully mean them in the way she deserved.

"I love you as well, Sima," he said softly, his eyes opening and gazing at her as if she was the entirety of his existence. He pressed another kiss to her lips, slow and gentle and his hand caressed her cheek as if she was more precious than any stone in Evereska. 

Sima’s heart thudded in her chest as she gazed into his eyes, her hands still caressing his face. Every part of her wanted to believe, to trust in this love they had discovered together. But it wasn’t without its risks, its uncertainties. She knew the chaos it might bring, the complications of their lives, but she also knew, deep in her soul, that she was ready.

With a steadying breath, Sima held his face more firmly as she made her silent decision. She leapt headfirst toward the unknown, driven by the faith she had in him, in them.

She swallowed, her breath trembling but her resolve firm as she whispered, "Yes... Astarion. Yes. I'll do it."

For the first time in his long, cursed life, Astarion’s smile wasn’t marred by seduction or arrogance. It was honest, vulnerable, and real. He cupped her face in his hands, her name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer, "Sima…"

But deep inside, beneath the warmth of her acceptance, a flicker of uncertainty remained. Could he really let go of the power he had always craved? Could he share it equally? He wanted to believe he could. He loved her, didn’t he? Yet, some darker corner of his mind whispered: You will always have the final say.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of eternity. His gaze, always so sharp, softened as his lips enveloped her as she chose him in this moment. The lingering kiss spoke of everything he couldn’t say aloud—his gratitude, his awe, his love. This was no fleeting moment of pleasure. This was forever.

Sima’s conviction solidified in the press of their lips. Her hands tightened in his white curls as if anchoring herself to this moment, to the man who had offered her the world and challenged her at every turn. There was no turning back now, and the thought of it didn’t scare her. It thrilled her. This time, it would be different, a quiet refrain in her mind. 

But as Astarion held her, the old instincts whispered again—control, dominance, power. Was he truly capable of this equality she demanded? Could she be his equal without threatening his carefully constructed rule?

When their lips parted, Astarion’s eyes glistened with a quiet intensity. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his voice soft yet resolute. "I swear to you, on everything I am, you will never fear me again. I will never hurt you, Sima, not ever. You will always be free." But even as he said the words, a subtle shadow flickered in his mind—Free... but mine. He pulled her closer, as if the force of his love could silence the doubts gnawing at him.

The words hit her with a force she hadn’t expected. Free—the word echoed in her mind. It meant more now, after all they had been through, after the trust she had placed in him. But that wasn't enough. Her decision to embrace this life, to stand at his side forever, meant they couldn’t just be lovers, or sire and bride. They had to be more. They had to be equals, bound by choice, not chains.

She pulled back slightly, her dark brown eyes blazing with a fierce clarity as she held his gaze. "Astarion," she whispered, her voice trembling with both love and hidden fears. "If I give you all of me, if I step into eternity with you… we do this together. We’re equals. Equal in every way. I won’t be your shadow, your possession. I want to be your partner, standing beside you, not beneath you." This is my line in the sand. I won’t cross it, she thought. If I let myself be anything less than his equal, I’d be betraying everything I’ve fought for, everything I am. I’ve come too far, survived too much. He has to understand that. If he doesn’t... 

Astarion blinked, the weight of her words settling over him like an iron blanket. In all the centuries he had lived, no one had ever spoken to him like this—no one had ever asked for equality. They had feared him, admired him, submitted to him. But this… this was different. This was power, real power, given willingly, not taken by force. And yet... could he let go of this gnawing, ravenous need for control?

He brushed his lips over hers again, this time slower, softer, as if sealing a pact between them. When he pulled away, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Equal and free, Sima. Always."  

But a small voice inside reminded him: Equal, yes—but still mine. Always mine, like a sick lullaby. Could he give her freedom and keep her bound to him? The thought twisted something deep inside him, but he pushed it aside for now. "Not my shadow, not my possession. My equal. My partner. My consort." 

Her heart swelled, and for a moment, she almost let herself believe it completely. But even still her traitorous heart questioned in the shadows: could Astarion really give her what she needed? Or was she asking too much of a man who had spent centuries in chains of his own making? 

She cupped his face again, her fingers curling against his sharp jaw as she whispered back, "Equal and free," she repeated, sealing it with a kiss of hope.  "And together, we’ll have everything. No one will stand in our way."

Astarion’s smile turned wicked, the glint of ambition sparking in his eyes, but now it was shared—it wasn’t just his hunger for power, but theirs. Together, they would be unstoppable. Together, but still in the palm of my hand...

"Everything, my love. I swear it."

They had forged their bond in blood and fire, and now they would burn the world down together, equal and free—at least, as far as he could allow. 

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 117k

Warning:

Hey everyone, just a quick note before this chapter. Chapter 16 explores intense themes of power dynamics, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. Astarion and Sima’s relationship has always explored complex territory, but this chapter marks a darker shift, and it may be triggering for some readers. I understand this content can be difficult, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourselves as you read. This scene highlights the struggles and flaws in their dynamic, but I recognize it may not be for everyone. Thank you, as always, for your continued support of this story. If you need to step away or talk about anything after reading, don’t hesitate to reach out. Your well-being is always the priority. ❤️

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 11 2024

Song of the Hour:

Lovely: Billie Ellish and Khalid

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Astarion sat back in one of the plush leather chairs in his study, his posture almost regal, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal wine glass filled with dark blood resting lazily in his hand. The deep crimson liquid shimmered in the soft candlelight, casting reflections on the polished wood of his desk. He took a slow sip, savoring the metallic tang on his tongue as his thoughts circled, ever returning to Sima. She was inescapable—her presence a constant undertow that tugged at the edges of his carefully laid plans.

A sigh escaped his lips, low and filled with a quiet, almost reluctant regret. 

She’s stalling, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How predictable.

Her insistence on “time to sort her affairs” was a transparent delay. Astarion had seen through it from the beginning—had relented, yes, but only because he’d known that, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Time was an illusion; she was already his, whether she admitted it or not.

But she's still clinging to that mortal life of hers, he mused, his lips curling into a slight sneer. How quaint.

Time or no time, she was his, and he would never let her go. The idea of losing her was intolerable.

His thoughts wandered back to the night they shared—the intensity of their passion, the way she had writhed beneath him, surrendering to her deepest desires. He had tied her up, not just physically but emotionally, binding them both to a truth neither could deny. That night, they had confronted something raw, something primal. It was a moment where lust, control, and something far deeper had intertwined. She had finally agreed to be his, and that victory played over and over in his mind like a sweet, seductive refrain.

He rose, pacing toward the large window overlooking Baldur’s Gate, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living, breathing creature. Every flicker of light, every shadow, every whisper in the alleys—it was all his. He had built this domain, spun his web of influence, and bent nobles and spawn alike to his will.

But Sima…

She’s different.

That thought simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior, an unwelcome irritation. She was intelligent, beautiful, and powerful, but more than that—she was dangerous. Not because she opposed him outright, but because she resisted him subtly, with her ideals and her stubborn sense of morality. 

He paced the length of his study, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls. The room was a reflection of his mind—controlled, calculated, and filled with power. The star chart that dominated one wall was a map of his ambitions, each constellation representing a piece of his carefully constructed future. And in that future, Sima would be at his side. She would be his vampire bride, powerful and eternal. Together, they would rule not only Baldur's Gate but the world beyond.

The thought of her transformation filled him with a mix of elation and dread. She would be his equal, yes—but what kind of equal? Once she became a vampire, she would never be the same. Her human vulnerabilities, the softness he sometimes glimpsed in her, would be stripped away. What would remain? Would she resent him for it? Would she still desire him the way she did now? Or would her new power create a distance between them?

What an amusing little dilemma, he mused. She will resist, of course. But resist too much? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever came, it didn’t matter. She would be his, and together, they would be unstoppable. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. With Sima at his side, they would be the most feared and powerful couple in Faerûn. The nobles of Baldur's Gate would kneel at their feet, and soon, the world would fall under their rule. She would be the crown jewel of his reign.

But then, as if summoned by the very conflict within him, the door to his study creaked open, breaking the silence. A vampire spawn entered, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor. His entire body trembled as he knelt before his master.

“My lord… there is unrest in the dormitories.”

Astarion turned, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold, detached interest. “What kind of unrest?”

The spawn swallowed, eyes glued to the floor. “The spawn… they’re speaking of ideas. Ideas of freedom.”

Astarion’s grip on his glass tightened, and he could feel the cold fury blooming within him. Freedom? The word slithered through his mind, jagged and unsettling.

“And why, pray tell, would they be speaking of such things?” His voice was a soft hiss, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“Lady Sima…” the spawn stammered. “She has been speaking with them. She… she speaks of choice, my lord. Of things… changing when she becomes a vampire lord.”

For a moment, Astarion remained still, his gaze fixed on the trembling figure at his feet. Inside, his anger coiled tighter, cold and seething beneath the surface.

So, it’s come to this.

“She’s… speaking with the others?” His tone was flat, controlled. But inside, a storm raged.

“Yes, my lord. She speaks to them even now.”

His gaze darkened, fury bubbling to the surface as the reality of her actions hit him. Sima—his Sima—was undermining him, planting dangerous ideas of autonomy in his spawn.

“Show me.”

The spawn led Astarion through the palace corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As they neared the dormitories, Sima’s voice drifted through the air, soft yet confident, mingling with the occasional laughter of the spawn. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to burst into the room growing with every step.

"...You must see it for yourselves," Sima was saying as Astarion approached, her voice warm, almost motherly. "Your Master has given you stability, yes, but there’s more that you can be. More than just tools for power."

Astarion’s jaw tightened. She’s at it again—filling their heads with ideas she barely understands herself. His steps quickened, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp glint in his eyes as he neared the threshold.

They reached the dormitory, and Astarion stood in the shadows, watching her with barely contained fury. Sima sat by the fire, her posture relaxed, as though she were the one in control. Several young spawn leaned in, listening eagerly as she spoke.

"When I become a vampire lord," she continued, "I want you to be strong and effective, yes... but also to have the choice. To think for yourselves."

Astarion’s grip on the doorframe tightened. Choice. The word made his blood boil. She spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it weren’t a threat to everything he had built.

Silly, naive girl, he thought, his gaze narrowing. She has no idea what she’s inviting.

Sima’s voice carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing behind her. "You’ve all served faithfully, but it’s time you had a voice in the matters of your own existence. That’s what I hope to bring—"

Enough. Astarion’s patience snapped, his fury rising with each word that passed her lips. She had crossed the line. The spawn—his spawn—would not be infected with her idealistic nonsense. It was time to put an end to this charade.

"Sima, my love," Astarion called, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes blazed with controlled anger. He stepped into the dim light, his posture regal but tense. "I didn’t realize you were already so... involved with the spawn."

As Astarion’s voice cut through the air, Sima’s head lifted, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his smooth, deceptively calm tone. For a moment, relief washed over her—he always had that effect, even when she knew better.

But there was something off tonight. Something darker.

She looked up at him, greeted him warmly, but as she took in his posture, his eyes, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly by his sides, a flicker of doubt crept in.

He’s angry, she realized, her stomach tightening.

She could see it in the tension of his movements, the way his lips curled into a too-calm smile. 

Sima’s head lifted, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Beloved" She greeted him warmly but still somewhat subdued. "I was just getting acquainted with them. Considering I’ll be a vampire lord soon, I thought it wise to build rapport. You agree, don’t you?"

She thinks this is innocent, doesn’t she? How charmingly misguided. Astarion’s smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened, a predatory gleam surfacing beneath the calm exterior. He approached slowly, each step measured, deliberate. "Indeed," he replied, extending his hand. "But we should discuss these... ideas... in private. There’s much we need to talk about."

Sima hesitated, the warmth in her smile faltering as she sensed the growing shift in him, a crack in the calm facade. But she nodded, taking his hand, trusting that whatever was troubling him would be resolved in time. "Of course," she said, her voice still light, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes.

Good, Astarion thought. Uncertainty suits you better than defiance. His grip tightened slightly as he led her from the room, the tension between them thickening with every step.

As they ascended the stairs toward their private chambers, the tension between them grew palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with each step. Sima glanced back at the spawn, who watched silently as they left, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. She had wanted to make things better for them—to give them something more than the hollow existence they endured under Astarion’s rule. But now, as she walked beside him, she wondered if she had overstepped.

The moment the door to their chambers closed behind them, Astarion’s mask of calm shattered. With a violent shove, he thrust Sima into the room, his hand clamping down on her arm with bruising force.

"Do not presume to speak to me with anything but respect," he hissed, his voice low and threatening, his lips curling into a snarl. "There is an order to things, and you—you—are answerable to me. You will listen when I command you to listen."

Sima stumbled, barely catching herself before colliding with the wall. She looked at him in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. His sudden aggression took her breath away, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. She straightened, squaring her shoulders as she glared at him. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his fury rising like a storm. He stalked toward her, his movements predatory, his voice a dangerous whisper. "What’s wrong with me?" he growled, his breath hot against her face as he towered over her. "You undermine me in front of the spawn—my spawn. You fill their heads with notions of freedom, of choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re asking me to do?"

Sima’s breath quickened, but she refused to back down. She stood her ground, defiant, her chin raised as she met his gaze. "I did nothing wrong," she spat, her voice fierce, unwavering. "I spoke to them with compassion—something you seem to have forgotten. What? Are you angry because you can’t stand the idea of someone thinking for themselves? Is that what this is really about?"

Astarion’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist with an iron grip and yanking her roughly against his chest. “You think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, eyes narrowed as his other hand slid up her skirt, fingers digging into her thigh with punishing force. His touch was anything but tender—harsh, commanding, filled with anger that he was barely keeping at bay.

Sima gasped, the shock of his aggression slamming into her body. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back, but even as she tried to push him away, his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. Her back collided with the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her, trapping her between the stone and his unforgiving hold.

"What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling, not just with anger but with a faint, unspoken arousal that she loathed. She hated how her body responded to him—how, no matter how furious she was, there was always a part of her that craved the control he exerted over her.

Astarion’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, dark satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. “I’m teaching you a lesson,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the dangerous edge to his voice making it clear this was no idle threat. “You need to understand your place, my love.”

Sima gritted her teeth, her nails biting into his arms as she struggled to break free of his hold, the fire of defiance burning in her chest. “I’m not one of your spawn,” she spat, her voice sharp and cutting despite the heat building inside her. “I don’t belong to you.”

Astarion’s smirk only widened, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, but you do,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, his hand moving with deliberate, insistent pressure. He could feel her body react to his touch, the heat between them undeniable. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

He pressed her harder against the wall, his movements rough, calculated—designed to strip away her resistance, to punish her for daring to defy him. Sima gasped, her body trembling involuntarily under his touch. She hated the way he made her feel—the way her body betrayed her, craving the harshness of his control even as her mind rebelled. She hated that some part of her wanted this, wanted him, even now.

"You want this," Astarion whispered darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the twisted pleasure he took from her conflict. "You want me to control you, to own you. Admit it."

Sima growled in defiance, her nails digging into his chest, desperate to push him away, to assert her own will. “Fuck you!” she spat, her voice thick with both rage and the undeniable heat simmering inside her. “You don’t get my submission today. Brat or not, I did nothing wrong.”

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. “Oh, I’ve dealt with brats before, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “And trust me, I always win.”

With a swift, sharp movement, he forced her legs apart with his knee, spreading her open to his touch. Her body quivered beneath him, every muscle tensing as he pushed against her. She wanted to fight him, to cling to her defiance, but her body had already started to betray her—responding to his dominance even as she willed it not to.

Sima glared at him, her voice a low, harsh whisper. “You can try all you want,” she said, her breath hot against his face. “But I am not yours to control.”

Astarion chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing the slick heat between her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent. “Oh, but we both know that’s not true, darling,” he whispered, his voice taunting, full of cruel satisfaction. “I own you, whether you admit it or not.”

Sima’s breath hitched, her body betraying her, even as her mind screamed defiance. The pressure of his fingers, the rough precision of his touch—it was maddening, pushing her toward the edge despite every ounce of resolve she clung to. She bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stifle the moan rising in her throat, her fists clenched as she fought to maintain control.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling, thick with a mixture of fury and unwanted arousal.

Astarion’s grin spread, slow and wicked, as he felt her body begin to yield, even if her mind resisted. His fingers never faltered, moving in an infuriating rhythm, coaxing responses from her that she couldn’t suppress. “Oh, come now, darling," he purred, his tone laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just too proud to admit how much you want it.”

Her defiance only spurred him on. He pressed harder, his movements rougher, more deliberate—calculated to strip away the last of her resistance. Sima’s legs began to tremble, betraying her completely as waves of pleasure built inside her, tightening in her core like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop, but the way he touched her—the way he knew her body so intimately—made it impossible.

With a snarl of frustration, Sima glared at him, her eyes burning with fury. “You want me to give up? To tell you that you’ve won?” She leaned in, her teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands tangling in his curls as she yanked his head back, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue.

Astarion growled through the pain, but instead of recoiling, his grin only widened, blood staining his lips as he licked them clean. “Oh, my sweet Sima,” he whispered, his voice a low, wicked rasp. “You’re only making this more delightful for me.” His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust harder, a cruel gleam of satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes. “But you and I both know how this ends. It always ends the same.”

His pace quickened, each movement precise and unrelenting, driving her closer to that edge she desperately fought to avoid. The dominance, the rawness of his touch, the power he held over her—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. Sima hated how easily he could push her, how her body responded to him no matter how much she resisted.

Astarion leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “You can lie to yourself all you want, love," he murmured darkly, "but we both know you love this—being disciplined, being put in your place. Admit it.”

Sima’s body tensed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside her, growing unbearable. She wanted to deny him, to shove him away, but her body betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every involuntary reaction to his touch. “Fuck… you…” she growled, her voice breaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back the pleasure that surged through her.

Astarion chuckled, his grin widening in satisfaction. “Not quite yet, my dear,” he whispered, his tone laced with dark promise. He could feel her nearing the brink, but he wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet. Drawing out her torment was half the pleasure. He wanted her to break—utterly and completely.

“I could make this so much worse for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers slowing just enough to keep her on edge, the tension mounting in her body. “Or you could just let go... Give in. You know you want to.”

Sima’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as the pressure inside her built to a fever pitch. The line between pleasure and pain blurred with every thrust of his fingers, every taunting word that slipped from his lips. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body betraying her mind as it craved release, despite her fierce determination to hold on.

Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body trembled beneath him. “You think you can break me, Astarion? You think you can make me submit?” Her voice was thick with venom, but beneath it was a tremor of something more—a desire she couldn’t fully deny.

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his grin never faltering. “Break you?” He chuckled softly, his voice a seductive purr. “Oh, my love, I already have.” His hand moved with brutal precision, deeper, harder, forcing her hips to buck against him. “Your body tells me everything I need to know. You’ve been mine from the start.”

Sima gasped, her body betraying her completely as waves of unwanted pleasure surged through her, overwhelming every last shred of resistance she had. She could feel her core tightening, her muscles clenching uncontrollably as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable intensity. She hated him for it—for knowing her body so well, for controlling her so effortlessly—but it was already too late.

Astarion’s free hand pinned her wrists above her head as he pressed her harder against the wall, his breath ragged in her ear. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just give in, Sima. Let go.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a peak, so close it was agonizing. Every movement of his fingers, every thrust, sent her spiraling further into that unbearable tension, each wave of sensation tearing down her resistance. Her knees buckled beneath her, her mind screaming at her to hold on, to resist—but her body had already lost.

“Say it.” Astarion’s voice was a low growl now, almost a purr as his fingers moved relentlessly against her. “Tell me you belong to me. Admit it—you want this. You need it.”

Sima’s entire body quivered, the pleasure ravaging her, robbing her of control. Every nerve felt alight, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as she fought against the overwhelming tide building inside her. She hated him for this—for how easily he could strip her of reason—but her body had already surrendered, trembling beneath the onslaught of his touch.

“Fuck… you,” she spat, the words slipping through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage and the weight of her impending climax. Defiant to the end, even as her body betrayed her.

Astarion chuckled darkly, his grin widening as his breath ghosted hot against her ear. “You already did last night, darling,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, with merciless precision. “I’ve already broken you—you just haven’t accepted it yet.”

His other hand pinned her harder against the wall, his movements calculated and punishing, drawing her closer to the edge. “Go on then,” he whispered, his tone a blend of cruelty and seduction. “Fight me all you want, but we both know you’ll fall apart in my hands. You always do.”

Sima’s body trembled violently, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight, every thrust of his fingers pulling her closer to that precipice she desperately tried to resist. But it was useless—her muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and despite every effort to hold on, she was already slipping.

“You’re mine,” Astarion hissed, his voice thick with satisfaction, his fingers rougher now, pushing her to the breaking point. “Now be a good girl and show me how much.”

With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her tumbling over the edge into oblivion.

Sima’s body convulsed violently as her climax hit her like a wave, slamming into her with enough force to take her breath away. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenching tightly as her core tightened painfully around his fingers. She gasped, her head thrown back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through her, each one more powerful than the last.

Her body writhed against him, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she rode out the overwhelming sensations. Her mind screamed at her to resist, but it was too late—her body had already surrendered completely to him.

Astarion watched her fall apart, his eyes dark with satisfaction as she shuddered under his touch. His fingers were slick with her arousal, her hips moving against him in the aftermath of her climax, as if seeking more even though she had nothing left to give. She was his now—whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Yet as he stared down at her, something inside him shifted, a cold hollow sensation replacing the rush of power. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at her trembling form, her chest heaving as she slumped against the wall. He should have felt triumphant, but instead, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side as he took a step back.

Something snapped inside him, a thread pulled too tight and finally breaking. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Astarion stared at her, the weight of what he had done settling on him like a shroud. The bruises forming on her hips, dark and unmistakable on her bronzed skin, stood as a testament to the force he had exerted, the control he had lost. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended, not tonight. He had pushed too far. His fingers twitched at his side, a momentary urge to reach for her again. But the sight of those bruises—his bruises—froze him in place.

Gods, he thought, what am I doing?

"You’re hurt..." His voice, low and thick with something he rarely allowed himself to feel—guilt—sounded foreign even to his own ears.

Sima stiffened at his words. Her body trembled, still raw from the intensity of what had just passed between them, her mind reeling from both pleasure and fury. As she straightened, a sharp pain flared between her legs, causing her to wince again. She tugged her skirt down with wavering hands, the bruises on her hips throbbing as a cold, unfamiliar dread seeped into her chest.Yes, I’m hurt, she thought bitterly, though if it was a wound to her heart or more to her body, she could not tell. Her skin still burned with the remnants of their violent encounter, but it was the cold reality that truly stung.

"Yes," she spat, her voice sharp and trembling, though not with fear. "It would appear so, wouldn’t it?" Her eyes flashed with anger, her body tense, holding onto her defiance. The bruises on her hips throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anger flaring inside her. She had always known their relationship danced on a precarious edge, but tonight, he had crossed a line.

Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat. The dynamic they shared had always thrilled him—the push, the pull, the intoxicating balance of power. But now, the control he so cherished felt like a tightening noose. He had gone too far.

As she bent to pull on the rest of her clothes, he couldn’t look away. He saw the tension in her every move—the hesitation, the pain she tried to hide. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper. Something broken between them.

He reached out, softer this time, his hand brushing against her arm as if to offer solace, to regain a thread of the connection they had so violently severed. "Sima..." His voice was softer, pleading. "You must understand... as your sire, it’s my duty to—"

"To what?" Sima jerked away from his touch as though his hand had burned her. Her eyes, fiery and defiant, locked onto his. "To keep me in line?" Her voice was sharp, filled with an unyielding coldness. "You are not my sire," she spat, each word a blade cutting through whatever thread of intimacy had been left between them. "Let me remind you of that."

The weight of her words fell between them like a stone, the finality of them echoing in the silence.

Astarion blinked, her rejection hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. He had always envisioned himself as her inevitable sire—the one who would complete her, bind her to him for eternity. But now, she had thrown that back in his face, reminding him of his failure, of the incompleteness of their bond.

"I—" The words died in his throat. He had her, hadn’t he? She had always returned to him, bent to his will, even in defiance. But this time… this time felt different.

The chasm between them seemed to grow wider with each breath she took, an invisible distance that was impossible to close. She stood tall, despite the tremor in her body, her defiance burning brighter than ever. I am not one of your spawn, she thought, her earlier words echoing in her mind like a mantra. She refused to break before him, refused to be reduced to something he could control.

"You’ve done enough today, Astarion," she said, her voice steady despite the uneven rhythm of her breath. She refused to meet his gaze now, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. "Let me go."

His hand fell limply to his side, the space between them an unbreachable void. He didn’t move to stop her as she dressed in silence, each of her movements sharp, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that made his chest tighten. Let her go, his rational mind whispered. Fix this later.

But the other part of him—the part that demanded her submission, that craved her surrender—raged at the thought of her leaving, of her walking away from him.

Just before she reached the door, Sima paused, her voice trembling with barely contained fury as she turned back to him. "I don’t know what tonight was," she said, her chest rising and falling as though she could barely keep herself together. "But I can tell you one thing for certain. Nothing about what happened was acceptable."

Astarion stood frozen, her words cutting through him like a blade of ice. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had no retort, no quick, biting remark to wield as a shield. Only the sharp, bitter taste of guilt lingered, hanging in the air as he watched her storm out and slam the door behind her.

The sound echoed through the silence that followed, leaving him alone with the weight of his actions.

How dare she reject me? The thought surged through him, bitter and defensive. After everything he had given her, after everything he had shared with her—how dare she walk away? His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides as the familiar tide of anger rose within him. But beneath it, something darker gnawed at him, something he didn’t want to face.

The bruises. Her bruises. His marks.

They haunted him, flashing through his mind as unwelcome reminders of the boundary he had crossed. The control he had so valued had slipped, leaving behind a mess of tangled emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront.

This was supposed to be a game, he reminded himself, pacing the room, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the suffocating quiet. A lesson. We’ve always played this way... But tonight, tonight had been different, hadn’t it? He had felt it—the shift, the dangerous line that he had crossed without realizing it until it was too late.

You are not my sire. Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again. She had spoken them with such finality, as though to remind him of what he wasn’t. What he might never be.

His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of realization. I’ve broken her trust, he thought, the truth of it settling deep into his bones. I’ve pushed her away. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could bring her back.

But he would try. He had to.

There was still time—there had to be time—to fix this, to make her see that this had been a mistake, a momentary lapse. He couldn’t lose her, not when she was so close to being his—his equal, his bride, his partner in the eternity he had long envisioned.

Sima may have resisted him today, but in the end, she would be his. She had no other choice.

And neither did he.

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 117k

Warning:

Hey everyone, just a quick note before this chapter. Chapter 16 explores intense themes of power dynamics, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. Astarion and Sima’s relationship has always explored complex territory, but this chapter marks a darker shift, and it may be triggering for some readers. I understand this content can be difficult, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourselves as you read. This scene highlights the struggles and flaws in their dynamic, but I recognize it may not be for everyone. Thank you, as always, for your continued support of this story. If you need to step away or talk about anything after reading, don’t hesitate to reach out. Your well-being is always the priority. ❤️

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 11 2024

Song of the Hour:

Lovely: Billie Ellish and Khalid

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Chapter 16: You Await My Command…

Astarion sat back in one of the plush leather chairs in his study, his posture almost regal, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal wine glass filled with dark blood resting lazily in his hand. The deep crimson liquid shimmered in the soft candlelight, casting reflections on the polished wood of his desk. He took a slow sip, savoring the metallic tang on his tongue as his thoughts circled, ever returning to Sima. She was inescapable—her presence a constant undertow that tugged at the edges of his carefully laid plans.

A sigh escaped his lips, low and filled with a quiet, almost reluctant regret. 

She’s stalling, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How predictable.

Her insistence on “time to sort her affairs” was a transparent delay. Astarion had seen through it from the beginning—had relented, yes, but only because he’d known that, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Time was an illusion; she was already his, whether she admitted it or not.

But she's still clinging to that mortal life of hers, he mused, his lips curling into a slight sneer. How quaint.

Time or no time, she was his, and he would never let her go. The idea of losing her was intolerable.

His thoughts wandered back to the night they shared—the intensity of their passion, the way she had writhed beneath him, surrendering to her deepest desires. He had tied her up, not just physically but emotionally, binding them both to a truth neither could deny. That night, they had confronted something raw, something primal. It was a moment where lust, control, and something far deeper had intertwined. She had finally agreed to be his, and that victory played over and over in his mind like a sweet, seductive refrain.

He rose, pacing toward the large window overlooking Baldur’s Gate, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living, breathing creature. Every flicker of light, every shadow, every whisper in the alleys—it was all his. He had built this domain, spun his web of influence, and bent nobles and spawn alike to his will.

But Sima…

She’s different.

That thought simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior, an unwelcome irritation. She was intelligent, beautiful, and powerful, but more than that—she was dangerous. Not because she opposed him outright, but because she resisted him subtly, with her ideals and her stubborn sense of morality. 

He paced the length of his study, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls. The room was a reflection of his mind—controlled, calculated, and filled with power. The star chart that dominated one wall was a map of his ambitions, each constellation representing a piece of his carefully constructed future. And in that future, Sima would be at his side. She would be his vampire bride, powerful and eternal. Together, they would rule not only Baldur's Gate but the world beyond.

The thought of her transformation filled him with a mix of elation and dread. She would be his equal, yes—but what kind of equal? Once she became a vampire, she would never be the same. Her human vulnerabilities, the softness he sometimes glimpsed in her, would be stripped away. What would remain? Would she resent him for it? Would she still desire him the way she did now? Or would her new power create a distance between them?

What an amusing little dilemma, he mused. She will resist, of course. But resist too much? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever came, it didn’t matter. She would be his, and together, they would be unstoppable. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. With Sima at his side, they would be the most feared and powerful couple in Faerûn. The nobles of Baldur's Gate would kneel at their feet, and soon, the world would fall under their rule. She would be the crown jewel of his reign.

But then, as if summoned by the very conflict within him, the door to his study creaked open, breaking the silence. A vampire spawn entered, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor. His entire body trembled as he knelt before his master.

“My lord… there is unrest in the dormitories.”

Astarion turned, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold, detached interest. “What kind of unrest?”

The spawn swallowed, eyes glued to the floor. “The spawn… they’re speaking of ideas. Ideas of freedom.”

Astarion’s grip on his glass tightened, and he could feel the cold fury blooming within him. Freedom? The word slithered through his mind, jagged and unsettling.

“And why, pray tell, would they be speaking of such things?” His voice was a soft hiss, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“Lady Sima…” the spawn stammered. “She has been speaking with them. She… she speaks of choice, my lord. Of things… changing when she becomes a vampire lord.”

For a moment, Astarion remained still, his gaze fixed on the trembling figure at his feet. Inside, his anger coiled tighter, cold and seething beneath the surface.

So, it’s come to this.

“She’s… speaking with the others?” His tone was flat, controlled. But inside, a storm raged.

“Yes, my lord. She speaks to them even now.”

His gaze darkened, fury bubbling to the surface as the reality of her actions hit him. Sima—his Sima—was undermining him, planting dangerous ideas of autonomy in his spawn.

“Show me.”

The spawn led Astarion through the palace corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As they neared the dormitories, Sima’s voice drifted through the air, soft yet confident, mingling with the occasional laughter of the spawn. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to burst into the room growing with every step.

"...You must see it for yourselves," Sima was saying as Astarion approached, her voice warm, almost motherly. "Your Master has given you stability, yes, but there’s more that you can be. More than just tools for power."

Astarion’s jaw tightened. She’s at it again—filling their heads with ideas she barely understands herself. His steps quickened, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp glint in his eyes as he neared the threshold.

They reached the dormitory, and Astarion stood in the shadows, watching her with barely contained fury. Sima sat by the fire, her posture relaxed, as though she were the one in control. Several young spawn leaned in, listening eagerly as she spoke.

"When I become a vampire lord," she continued, "I want you to be strong and effective, yes... but also to have the choice. To think for yourselves."

Astarion’s grip on the doorframe tightened. Choice. The word made his blood boil. She spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it weren’t a threat to everything he had built.

Silly, naive girl, he thought, his gaze narrowing. She has no idea what she’s inviting.

Sima’s voice carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing behind her. "You’ve all served faithfully, but it’s time you had a voice in the matters of your own existence. That’s what I hope to bring—"

Enough. Astarion’s patience snapped, his fury rising with each word that passed her lips. She had crossed the line. The spawn—his spawn—would not be infected with her idealistic nonsense. It was time to put an end to this charade.

"Sima, my love," Astarion called, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes blazed with controlled anger. He stepped into the dim light, his posture regal but tense. "I didn’t realize you were already so... involved with the spawn."

As Astarion’s voice cut through the air, Sima’s head lifted, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his smooth, deceptively calm tone. For a moment, relief washed over her—he always had that effect, even when she knew better.

But there was something off tonight. Something darker.

She looked up at him, greeted him warmly, but as she took in his posture, his eyes, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly by his sides, a flicker of doubt crept in.

He’s angry, she realized, her stomach tightening.

She could see it in the tension of his movements, the way his lips curled into a too-calm smile. 

Sima’s head lifted, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Beloved" She greeted him warmly but still somewhat subdued. "I was just getting acquainted with them. Considering I’ll be a vampire lord soon, I thought it wise to build rapport. You agree, don’t you?"

She thinks this is innocent, doesn’t she? How charmingly misguided. Astarion’s smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened, a predatory gleam surfacing beneath the calm exterior. He approached slowly, each step measured, deliberate. "Indeed," he replied, extending his hand. "But we should discuss these... ideas... in private. There’s much we need to talk about."

Sima hesitated, the warmth in her smile faltering as she sensed the growing shift in him, a crack in the calm facade. But she nodded, taking his hand, trusting that whatever was troubling him would be resolved in time. "Of course," she said, her voice still light, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes.

Good, Astarion thought. Uncertainty suits you better than defiance. His grip tightened slightly as he led her from the room, the tension between them thickening with every step.

As they ascended the stairs toward their private chambers, the tension between them grew palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with each step. Sima glanced back at the spawn, who watched silently as they left, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. She had wanted to make things better for them—to give them something more than the hollow existence they endured under Astarion’s rule. But now, as she walked beside him, she wondered if she had overstepped.

The moment the door to their chambers closed behind them, Astarion’s mask of calm shattered. With a violent shove, he thrust Sima into the room, his hand clamping down on her arm with bruising force.

"Do not presume to speak to me with anything but respect," he hissed, his voice low and threatening, his lips curling into a snarl. "There is an order to things, and you—you—are answerable to me. You will listen when I command you to listen."

Sima stumbled, barely catching herself before colliding with the wall. She looked at him in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. His sudden aggression took her breath away, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. She straightened, squaring her shoulders as she glared at him. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his fury rising like a storm. He stalked toward her, his movements predatory, his voice a dangerous whisper. "What’s wrong with me?" he growled, his breath hot against her face as he towered over her. "You undermine me in front of the spawn—my spawn. You fill their heads with notions of freedom, of choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re asking me to do?"

Sima’s breath quickened, but she refused to back down. She stood her ground, defiant, her chin raised as she met his gaze. "I did nothing wrong," she spat, her voice fierce, unwavering. "I spoke to them with compassion—something you seem to have forgotten. What? Are you angry because you can’t stand the idea of someone thinking for themselves? Is that what this is really about?"

Astarion’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist with an iron grip and yanking her roughly against his chest. “You think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, eyes narrowed as his other hand slid up her skirt, fingers digging into her thigh with punishing force. His touch was anything but tender—harsh, commanding, filled with anger that he was barely keeping at bay.

Sima gasped, the shock of his aggression slamming into her body. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back, but even as she tried to push him away, his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. Her back collided with the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her, trapping her between the stone and his unforgiving hold.

"What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling, not just with anger but with a faint, unspoken arousal that she loathed. She hated how her body responded to him—how, no matter how furious she was, there was always a part of her that craved the control he exerted over her.

Astarion’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, dark satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. “I’m teaching you a lesson,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the dangerous edge to his voice making it clear this was no idle threat. “You need to understand your place, my love.”

Sima gritted her teeth, her nails biting into his arms as she struggled to break free of his hold, the fire of defiance burning in her chest. “I’m not one of your spawn,” she spat, her voice sharp and cutting despite the heat building inside her. “I don’t belong to you.”

Astarion’s smirk only widened, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, but you do,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, his hand moving with deliberate, insistent pressure. He could feel her body react to his touch, the heat between them undeniable. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

He pressed her harder against the wall, his movements rough, calculated—designed to strip away her resistance, to punish her for daring to defy him. Sima gasped, her body trembling involuntarily under his touch. She hated the way he made her feel—the way her body betrayed her, craving the harshness of his control even as her mind rebelled. She hated that some part of her wanted this, wanted him, even now.

"You want this," Astarion whispered darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the twisted pleasure he took from her conflict. "You want me to control you, to own you. Admit it."

Sima growled in defiance, her nails digging into his chest, desperate to push him away, to assert her own will. “Fuck you!” she spat, her voice thick with both rage and the undeniable heat simmering inside her. “You don’t get my submission today. Brat or not, I did nothing wrong.”

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. “Oh, I’ve dealt with brats before, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “And trust me, I always win.”

With a swift, sharp movement, he forced her legs apart with his knee, spreading her open to his touch. Her body quivered beneath him, every muscle tensing as he pushed against her. She wanted to fight him, to cling to her defiance, but her body had already started to betray her—responding to his dominance even as she willed it not to.

Sima glared at him, her voice a low, harsh whisper. “You can try all you want,” she said, her breath hot against his face. “But I am not yours to control.”

Astarion chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing the slick heat between her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent. “Oh, but we both know that’s not true, darling,” he whispered, his voice taunting, full of cruel satisfaction. “I own you, whether you admit it or not.”

Sima’s breath hitched, her body betraying her, even as her mind screamed defiance. The pressure of his fingers, the rough precision of his touch—it was maddening, pushing her toward the edge despite every ounce of resolve she clung to. She bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stifle the moan rising in her throat, her fists clenched as she fought to maintain control.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling, thick with a mixture of fury and unwanted arousal.

Astarion’s grin spread, slow and wicked, as he felt her body begin to yield, even if her mind resisted. His fingers never faltered, moving in an infuriating rhythm, coaxing responses from her that she couldn’t suppress. “Oh, come now, darling," he purred, his tone laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just too proud to admit how much you want it.”

Her defiance only spurred him on. He pressed harder, his movements rougher, more deliberate—calculated to strip away the last of her resistance. Sima’s legs began to tremble, betraying her completely as waves of pleasure built inside her, tightening in her core like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop, but the way he touched her—the way he knew her body so intimately—made it impossible.

With a snarl of frustration, Sima glared at him, her eyes burning with fury. “You want me to give up? To tell you that you’ve won?” She leaned in, her teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands tangling in his curls as she yanked his head back, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue.

Astarion growled through the pain, but instead of recoiling, his grin only widened, blood staining his lips as he licked them clean. “Oh, my sweet Sima,” he whispered, his voice a low, wicked rasp. “You’re only making this more delightful for me.” His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust harder, a cruel gleam of satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes. “But you and I both know how this ends. It always ends the same.”

His pace quickened, each movement precise and unrelenting, driving her closer to that edge she desperately fought to avoid. The dominance, the rawness of his touch, the power he held over her—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. Sima hated how easily he could push her, how her body responded to him no matter how much she resisted.

Astarion leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “You can lie to yourself all you want, love," he murmured darkly, "but we both know you love this—being disciplined, being put in your place. Admit it.”

Sima’s body tensed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside her, growing unbearable. She wanted to deny him, to shove him away, but her body betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every involuntary reaction to his touch. “Fuck… you…” she growled, her voice breaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back the pleasure that surged through her.

Astarion chuckled, his grin widening in satisfaction. “Not quite yet, my dear,” he whispered, his tone laced with dark promise. He could feel her nearing the brink, but he wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet. Drawing out her torment was half the pleasure. He wanted her to break—utterly and completely.

“I could make this so much worse for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers slowing just enough to keep her on edge, the tension mounting in her body. “Or you could just let go... Give in. You know you want to.”

Sima’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as the pressure inside her built to a fever pitch. The line between pleasure and pain blurred with every thrust of his fingers, every taunting word that slipped from his lips. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body betraying her mind as it craved release, despite her fierce determination to hold on.

Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body trembled beneath him. “You think you can break me, Astarion? You think you can make me submit?” Her voice was thick with venom, but beneath it was a tremor of something more—a desire she couldn’t fully deny.

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his grin never faltering. “Break you?” He chuckled softly, his voice a seductive purr. “Oh, my love, I already have.” His hand moved with brutal precision, deeper, harder, forcing her hips to buck against him. “Your body tells me everything I need to know. You’ve been mine from the start.”

Sima gasped, her body betraying her completely as waves of unwanted pleasure surged through her, overwhelming every last shred of resistance she had. She could feel her core tightening, her muscles clenching uncontrollably as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable intensity. She hated him for it—for knowing her body so well, for controlling her so effortlessly—but it was already too late.

Astarion’s free hand pinned her wrists above her head as he pressed her harder against the wall, his breath ragged in her ear. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just give in, Sima. Let go.”

Her breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a peak, so close it was agonizing. Every movement of his fingers, every thrust, sent her spiraling further into that unbearable tension, each wave of sensation tearing down her resistance. Her knees buckled beneath her, her mind screaming at her to hold on, to resist—but her body had already lost.

“Say it.” Astarion’s voice was a low growl now, almost a purr as his fingers moved relentlessly against her. “Tell me you belong to me. Admit it—you want this. You need it.”

Sima’s entire body quivered, the pleasure ravaging her, robbing her of control. Every nerve felt alight, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as she fought against the overwhelming tide building inside her. She hated him for this—for how easily he could strip her of reason—but her body had already surrendered, trembling beneath the onslaught of his touch.

“Fuck… you,” she spat, the words slipping through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage and the weight of her impending climax. Defiant to the end, even as her body betrayed her.

Astarion chuckled darkly, his grin widening as his breath ghosted hot against her ear. “You already did last night, darling,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, with merciless precision. “I’ve already broken you—you just haven’t accepted it yet.”

His other hand pinned her harder against the wall, his movements calculated and punishing, drawing her closer to the edge. “Go on then,” he whispered, his tone a blend of cruelty and seduction. “Fight me all you want, but we both know you’ll fall apart in my hands. You always do.”

Sima’s body trembled violently, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight, every thrust of his fingers pulling her closer to that precipice she desperately tried to resist. But it was useless—her muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and despite every effort to hold on, she was already slipping.

“You’re mine,” Astarion hissed, his voice thick with satisfaction, his fingers rougher now, pushing her to the breaking point. “Now be a good girl and show me how much.”

With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her tumbling over the edge into oblivion.

Sima’s body convulsed violently as her climax hit her like a wave, slamming into her with enough force to take her breath away. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenching tightly as her core tightened painfully around his fingers. She gasped, her head thrown back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through her, each one more powerful than the last.

Her body writhed against him, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she rode out the overwhelming sensations. Her mind screamed at her to resist, but it was too late—her body had already surrendered completely to him.

Astarion watched her fall apart, his eyes dark with satisfaction as she shuddered under his touch. His fingers were slick with her arousal, her hips moving against him in the aftermath of her climax, as if seeking more even though she had nothing left to give. She was his now—whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Yet as he stared down at her, something inside him shifted, a cold hollow sensation replacing the rush of power. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at her trembling form, her chest heaving as she slumped against the wall. He should have felt triumphant, but instead, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side as he took a step back.

Something snapped inside him, a thread pulled too tight and finally breaking. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Astarion stared at her, the weight of what he had done settling on him like a shroud. The bruises forming on her hips, dark and unmistakable on her bronzed skin, stood as a testament to the force he had exerted, the control he had lost. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended, not tonight. He had pushed too far. His fingers twitched at his side, a momentary urge to reach for her again. But the sight of those bruises—his bruises—froze him in place.

Gods, he thought, what am I doing?

"You’re hurt..." His voice, low and thick with something he rarely allowed himself to feel—guilt—sounded foreign even to his own ears.

Sima stiffened at his words. Her body trembled, still raw from the intensity of what had just passed between them, her mind reeling from both pleasure and fury. As she straightened, a sharp pain flared between her legs, causing her to wince again. She tugged her skirt down with wavering hands, the bruises on her hips throbbing as a cold, unfamiliar dread seeped into her chest.Yes, I’m hurt, she thought bitterly, though if it was a wound to her heart or more to her body, she could not tell. Her skin still burned with the remnants of their violent encounter, but it was the cold reality that truly stung.

"Yes," she spat, her voice sharp and trembling, though not with fear. "It would appear so, wouldn’t it?" Her eyes flashed with anger, her body tense, holding onto her defiance. The bruises on her hips throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anger flaring inside her. She had always known their relationship danced on a precarious edge, but tonight, he had crossed a line.

Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat. The dynamic they shared had always thrilled him—the push, the pull, the intoxicating balance of power. But now, the control he so cherished felt like a tightening noose. He had gone too far.

As she bent to pull on the rest of her clothes, he couldn’t look away. He saw the tension in her every move—the hesitation, the pain she tried to hide. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper. Something broken between them.

He reached out, softer this time, his hand brushing against her arm as if to offer solace, to regain a thread of the connection they had so violently severed. "Sima..." His voice was softer, pleading. "You must understand... as your sire, it’s my duty to—"

"To what?" Sima jerked away from his touch as though his hand had burned her. Her eyes, fiery and defiant, locked onto his. "To keep me in line?" Her voice was sharp, filled with an unyielding coldness. "You are not my sire," she spat, each word a blade cutting through whatever thread of intimacy had been left between them. "Let me remind you of that."

The weight of her words fell between them like a stone, the finality of them echoing in the silence.

Astarion blinked, her rejection hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. He had always envisioned himself as her inevitable sire—the one who would complete her, bind her to him for eternity. But now, she had thrown that back in his face, reminding him of his failure, of the incompleteness of their bond.

"I—" The words died in his throat. He had her, hadn’t he? She had always returned to him, bent to his will, even in defiance. But this time… this time felt different.

The chasm between them seemed to grow wider with each breath she took, an invisible distance that was impossible to close. She stood tall, despite the tremor in her body, her defiance burning brighter than ever. I am not one of your spawn, she thought, her earlier words echoing in her mind like a mantra. She refused to break before him, refused to be reduced to something he could control.

"You’ve done enough today, Astarion," she said, her voice steady despite the uneven rhythm of her breath. She refused to meet his gaze now, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. "Let me go."

His hand fell limply to his side, the space between them an unbreachable void. He didn’t move to stop her as she dressed in silence, each of her movements sharp, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that made his chest tighten. Let her go, his rational mind whispered. Fix this later.

But the other part of him—the part that demanded her submission, that craved her surrender—raged at the thought of her leaving, of her walking away from him.

Just before she reached the door, Sima paused, her voice trembling with barely contained fury as she turned back to him. "I don’t know what tonight was," she said, her chest rising and falling as though she could barely keep herself together. "But I can tell you one thing for certain. Nothing about what happened was acceptable."

Astarion stood frozen, her words cutting through him like a blade of ice. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had no retort, no quick, biting remark to wield as a shield. Only the sharp, bitter taste of guilt lingered, hanging in the air as he watched her storm out and slam the door behind her.

The sound echoed through the silence that followed, leaving him alone with the weight of his actions.

How dare she reject me? The thought surged through him, bitter and defensive. After everything he had given her, after everything he had shared with her—how dare she walk away? His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides as the familiar tide of anger rose within him. But beneath it, something darker gnawed at him, something he didn’t want to face.

The bruises. Her bruises. His marks.

They haunted him, flashing through his mind as unwelcome reminders of the boundary he had crossed. The control he had so valued had slipped, leaving behind a mess of tangled emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront.

This was supposed to be a game, he reminded himself, pacing the room, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the suffocating quiet. A lesson. We’ve always played this way... But tonight, tonight had been different, hadn’t it? He had felt it—the shift, the dangerous line that he had crossed without realizing it until it was too late.

You are not my sire. Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again. She had spoken them with such finality, as though to remind him of what he wasn’t. What he might never be.

His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of realization. I’ve broken her trust, he thought, the truth of it settling deep into his bones. I’ve pushed her away. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could bring her back.

But he would try. He had to.

There was still time—there had to be time—to fix this, to make her see that this had been a mistake, a momentary lapse. He couldn’t lose her, not when she was so close to being his—his equal, his bride, his partner in the eternity he had long envisioned.

Sima may have resisted him today, but in the end, she would be his. She had no other choice.

And neither did he.

Bella's Master List

Thank you for visiting my blog! To check out all my fanfic works please see the below! Also follow me on X: https://x.com/BellasMumbles NEW COMMUNITY PROJECT:

🩸 Calling all Astarion fans! 🩸Looking for a place to explore (or enjoy) the steamy side of our favorite vampire in both his ascended and unascended forms? The Astarion’s Thirst collection on AO3 is live! 😈 Whether it’s sensual, dark, explicit, or anywhere in between, this collection is for those who can’t get enough of Astarion’s thirst for blood, passion, and more. 💋 Full Details: HERE AO3 Collection Link

In the aftermath of their victory over the Nether Brain, Astarion, now newly Ascended, and Sima’s love is tested by dark obsessions and a quest for independence. As they navigate perilous power struggles and inner demons, their bond teeters on the edge. Will it endure the encroaching darkness, or be consumed by it? Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue, 1 , 2 , 3 , Interlude, 4 , 5 , 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10 Interlude 2 , 11 , 12 13 14 15 16 Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist

Sima, a modern musician, is thrust into the magical world of Baldur’s Gate, captivating a certain vampire spawn: Astarion. Their passionate romance faces challenges of jealousy, societal prejudice, and personal traumas. Together, they navigate love, trust, and intimacy, standing as a team against the shadows of their pasts and the trials of a fantastical realm.

Tumblr posting Starts and Hiatus Will End: Aug 2024 Entire Story Link on AO3 (11 Chapters)

Songbird's Sanguine Sunset / Tumblr link inspired by Blood of the Songbird by @songbirdoftherogue Unfinished Work: Revenge and Blood on Silken Dunes

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Musing 1: Snippets Snippet Prompt 1

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Musing 3: Characterization Discussions (Spoilers!) Characterization for Astarion's Paths , Characterization for Sima (Tav)

Musing 4: Random Ramblings Ramblings 1

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Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 119k

Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024

Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.

She hadn't let him near her since.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.

Five days. Has it really been that long?

The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.

Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.

Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.

A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.

She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.

That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.

And she had let him.

The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.

She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.

But inside, she had felt nothing.

She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.

His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.

And then, he had looked at her.

He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.

He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.

When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.

That had been five days ago.

She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.

Five days.

Has it really only been five days?

She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.

But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.

Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.

That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.

You wanted this... didn't you?

The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.

Five days...

She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.

It was dominance. It was possession.

And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.

She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.

She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.

But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.

The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.

Five days.

Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.

A hollow version of herself.

But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.

The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.

You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.

And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.

Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.

She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.

Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.

The mask was in place.

Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.

She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.

And certainly not his to fix.