Spawn Astarion - Tumblr Posts

Speaking of my personal feelings and preferences.

Lord Astarion is my food and cure when he says "hedonistic debauchery".

"What is food to one man may be fierce poison to others". -- An phrase attributed to Titus Lucretius Carus.

Someone, please, post instructions, how to be in the 10% of non-delusional Ascended Astarion fan, I want to see this and mb try it out. Or that innate thing…

And then talk about there how great it is for Astarion to be healthy and more psychologically mentally stable and control toxicity.

Damage real people by calling them names somehow, rationalizing it, "delusional" and other shit, devaluing all thoughts, experiences and personality -> talk about Astarion's psychology and how good be mental health it is. Profit 👏 It's so disgusting on so many levels.

Such people's words are dirt that they try to pass off as chocolate. You can't even make a vase out of this dirt, this dirt is not therapeutic, not cosmetic. Dirt from the road where cars have passed and birds have shit on it. It's an understandable phenomenon. Not chocolate, not material for a vase, useless dirt because it's mixed with shit on other people.

I'm sorry, (actually, no, I'm not) but if you sit there and say that a majority of AA fans only ascend him because they're horny and "don't understand ascension", I'm going to consider you an agitator as you have no interest in the truth. You're just following whatever you think the majority wants to hear and aren't thinking for yourself. If you were, you'd have an understanding why ANYONE wants to ascend Astarion and there are various reasons for it.

And the whole horny comment? Pot meet kettle much? It's ASTARION. If you sit there and say you aren't horny for him after trying your ass off to get his approval to start his romance, you're lying.

This comment is like saying Spawn fans only keep Astarion a spawn because they're horny for the Graveyard scene and want to keep him subservient and under their control. Boy, do they love keeping him on a leash and don't understand his want for power or to not need protection. Could be no other reason than that, right? JFC

Sounds incredibly insulting, doesn't it? Maybe because you don't say this kind of stuff without meaning offense. It's intentionally antagonistic and disingenuous.

And yeah, it goes both ways if you really want to play that game. Try listening to the people you don't understand first before regurgitating some ridiculous BS agenda someone had due to their personal hangups.

More thoughts about Ascended Astarion! (This is a long one, and I'm not trying to change anyones opinion, just highlighting the fact that the player is in complete control of the situation at all times. This game is about choices.) First off, I don't usually prefer to ascend him. But I love all versions of Astarion. His character is so well written and all of his arcs deserve praise and attention no matter what your personal opinion of them are. The devs did an incredible job. If any parts of his arc (ascended or spawn) make you unconfortable, then romancing him isn't for you. There are other companions with lovely character development that you can choose. When people go "ugh he's ruined I didn't want this" My dear, with all due respect. This is the dark fantasy romance option. Emphasis on the fantasy. It's not like he's the only option. You chose to romance the vampire. The game warns you of what exactly you're about to do multiple times. You willingly help him murder thousands of people for freedom. A vampire who was a literal slave for longer than he was even alive for just got a MASSIVE amount of power. Were you expecting he was gonna just be a good guy now? He has had NOTHING for so long. Yeah, he's gonna be a little weird and drunk off it for a while. AND YET the entire time afterwards, you are still completely in charge. Yes he gets a little dommy but you can walk away at literally any point. He asks you to kneel and obey to establish trust and a dynamic. Then, he gets right down on the floor with you. He's either gentle or rough based on your choice. If you don't like the vibe just break up with him at that point like he literally lets you do. Or, even just reload the damn save. But just remember. "That's what you want, isn't it?". When Astarion ascends, Neil says it best. His mask is off and he's allowed to be at his most terrible with no fear. He doesn't have to perform or be aloof as a distraction from the pain anymore. He was never good aligned. But now, he has the power and ability to give himself and his favourite person the life he thinks they wanted. Otherwise why would you ascend him? His love language becomes acts of service and gifts. He ADORES tav to almost obsession. He's always doting on them and calling them his. The ritual only amplifies that. "but what about what he says if you convince him not to go through with it" OF COURSE he's going to make you feel good about your choice!!! This is a video game where literally everyones life is soley based on your choices. And there is a bit of a bias towards being a "good character" at the current point. I think patch 7 will remedy that a bit with the new endings. "but what about karlach? He's a massive jackass to her when he ascends" ...Yes. He's not a good guy. Karlach is basically the goodest character in the game. It won't work. And if you do break up with him, he lashes out and says some extremely hurtful things. Because you just broke his heart. It's an extremely normal response to someone being completely blindsided. He thought you wanted this. He justifies things to himself that he will be ok and would have fucked it up somehow anyways so it's for the best. Not even to mention ascended Astarion does not make you just a regular spawn. You quite literally become his vampire spouse. He thanks you for putting your trust in him. Then eventually you become a true vampire with time. He says you will drink his blood. That makes you a true vampire. He wants to make sure tav doesn't lose their damn mind after being turned. If you wanna learn more about vampire spouses in DnD I highly reccomend doing some google searches. It's fascinating. Is ascending him the right thing to do? No, but it's not "wrong". The game doesn't work that way. Is keeping him a spawn the right thing to do? Maybe, if your character thinks it is. Either route has their sets of pros and cons. It's up to you which ones you think work for your playthrough.

I almost always convince him not to go through with the ritual. But ascended Astarion + durge is a power couple and the vibes are immaculate for evil runs. Just have fun with the game! The devs made all these character arcs for you to explore! Thanks for reading <3

“that you've trapped him in a new, 'nicer' but similarly insidious cycle of abuse with a "savior" figure that he isn't emotionally mature enough to recognize as controlling his life.” he sends 7k people to hell but sure it’s about “controlling his life” are you daft??? Like genuinely dumb.

Thank you for perfectly illustrating my point. There are so many different ways to understand and play this story, and if you feel strongly about one, you may not appreciate the others. This particular example brings up many questions that someone may answer differently while playing:

How much do I think Astarion is capable of and willing to change? How much do I think his vulnerability and occasional sweetness are acts to placate the player? How much do his intent, desires, or what's best for him vs the world/the player even matter to me?

How much does his situation reflect my own experiences? What would I have wanted in his position? What do I think would be best for him in his position? Do I think he would resent someone for making either choice, consciously or subconsciously?

Do I think power is corrupting or revealing of a person's true nature? Do I want to bring out that true nature, regardless of the answer?

Do I want to play a 'moral' game? Does something else feel more satisfying to me?

Is absolute autonomy or power for a person I love more important to me than whatever happens to other people? Is it more important to me than what happens to that person, too? Is personal catharsis my absolute goal?

Do I believe that those 7000 people were effectively doomed and/or monsters already? Do I believe that sending them to hell is significantly worse than what would happen to them otherwise? Do I think I could save them somehow as we have other doomed souls?

These are all valid things to answer differently in a piece of fiction. As is typical in DnD, his story constantly rides a dissonance between something very real (abuse, being controlled by fear, the desire to seek justice and have a brighter future, the fact that victims are not always pleasant people) and something that's very not (dooming thousands of souls, being abused for several human lifetimes, immortality, the curse of vampirism) which means people's emotional responses are going to vary wildly.

How you weigh those choices is up to you. There's going to be diversity in how we perceive a complex story, especially with weakly defined or easy-to-miss fantastical elements, which is the beauty of fandom. To this anonymous poster: if you don't personally think there's ever any justification for Ascension in any type of playthrough due to the cost of 7000 souls - cool, don't do it. My post was very clearly not directed at anyone who isn't excited by the idea of exploring all outcomes. If you can't find common ground with those who do enjoy it, kindly just leave them alone. Have fun with your game and celebrate what you love with those who love the same stuff. Those who prefer Ascended Astarion for any reason aren't hurting you or others by enjoying a game in a particular way, finding different things attractive than you, or placing their moral values differently than yours.

Spawn Astarion has always been against Tav\DU being absolute.

The Astarion and Ascended Astarion was in support.

There are several tags in the game that describe Astarion's paths.

ORI_Astarion_State_StayedVampireSpawn

(Spawn after qest)

ORI_Astarion_State_StayedVampireSpawn = False

(Spawn before qest and Lord)

ORI_Astarion_State_BecameVampireLord

(only Lord)

ORI_Astarion_State_BecameVampireLord = False

(Spawn before qest and after qest)

Spawn without completing the quest is the only chance to achieve the sun, remove some of the disadvantages of vampirism and take a power for revenge, self protection (and fun).

The Ascended Astarion has everything. He doesn't mind taking the Absolute. Why not? A weapon right in your pocket is a thing.

But he's totally chillin when Absolute gets defeated, because the it has its own complexities, and he's already free of all its vulnerabilities and the downside of vampirism.

Also in the case of relationships, Lord Astarion had already seen an example of the Tav's complete faith and trust when they helped him with the ritual and then became his spawn. So yeah, he trusted them completely and was fine for Tav\DU taking more power for themselves.

So yes the closest person to him betrayed him. His usual ‘trust no-one’ line, he trusted them and that's it.

So the moment people are talking about

There's a very simple reason for that: so you're allowed to take power, but I'm not? What the hell is this?

It's seen as deception, betrayal. First the heroes says ‘I want you to live a life you'll be proud of’ - not to take power in an immoral way. The way of redemption.

Then: well I'll take it for myself, let's go-o.

Astarion and his tormenting hunger, even if the tadpole stays.

-Hello?

Astarion: No... no, this can't be... I can't - you can't... no... 

ORI_Astarion_State_StayedVampireSpawn = False

Considering there's no Lord tag here, it's for all of Astarion except the spawn after the ritual.

Lord Astarion and Astarion before the ritual both trusted Tav and thought they would be together, ruling together too, drinking from golden goblets ans stuff, the two of them and no one advertising the path of ‘redemption’ and then taking power just for themselves.

two paths

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tensions rise before the unlikely travelers enter the monastery.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 19: Gods

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 5.5k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

I write this in haste as the githyanki attack. 

Our forces have been exhausted and we will all be dead by day’s light.

The lance has failed and so have our pleas.

Kind stranger, if you find this note, please know I have prayed for you. 

— Novice Monk, last words written on his inner forearm in ink

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Folklores have a knack for possibly foretelling a person’s future, molded with lessons in mind. Sketched orations implanted within the mind’s eye, traditionally passed down. 

But, what lessons—what excuses—were to be instilled after the atrocities the Crèche Y’llek githyanki inflicted on Rosymorn Monastery, especially when there were no survivors left to tell the tale?

Death had abounded and it claimed more than the previous worshiping inhabitants. It came for the wall mosaics whose chipped pigments had fallen into lifeless heaps upon skeletal laps following their demise. Its veil, hushed away lost voices that chanted as lamp wicks were lit. Even toppled over cups of wine, that soaked and stained neglected tables, were unable to escape the vagarious phantom’s euthanizing stroke.

“This place is deader than I am,” Astarion mused, kicking aside what appeared to be a femur bone with the tip of his boot. “Shame, I was looking forward to a livelier welcome.”

He found himself stalking around a statue dedicated to Lathander, situated in front of the old monastic building portico, wondering if this god had been one of the many that didn’t respond to his prayers while he was being psychologically marred and beaten endlessly. Nearly forgotten generations seemed to be lost to another version of himself as he disdainfully stared up at the stoned infant with a gold metal sun orbiting its body affixed in the dawn lord’s grasp, signifying renewed births. His eyes traveled lower, to the end of the god form’s flawless marble tunic folds, noticing a carved skull pressed heroically beneath its foot. He briefly turned his head away, scoffing at the absurdity of such a visual odium.

Even the undead must suffer your ruling that they are unworthy of saving, Astarion thought, frowning. It was pointless to beseech the mute supreme vessel, knowing not even a rebuttal would be granted to his rightful questions over the gods lack of mercy. 

Inferior soul, how do you cry out,

Knowing no one will hear you.

With blurred light and seeping dark, 

Hope dangling on words that do not reach. 

His attention turned to Lae’zel as she maneuvered her body in front of an upright banner she discovered, tracing her sinewy fingers along symbols drawn into its hide. “Tir’su script. Kin is close,” she noted ,”Perhaps further inside this insipid place.”

Shadowheart cast a subdued yellowish light—enough to read the script—on top of the hanging animal skin. “Your language. What does it say?”

“Vlaakith’ka sivim hrath krash’ht. Only in Vlaakith may we find light,” Lae’zel responded with pride, letting her fingers loiter above the scrawlings.

Astarion abandoned his quest cursing the Morninglord, approaching the two women in a sly stride. “So, the gith replaced those doing works for one god, with their own. I suppose our civilizations aren’t totally incomparable in that regard. We all do have a tendency to make everyone acknowledge that in which we worship, don’t we?” he wise cracked.

“Githyanki do not worship any gods nor follow religion. We venerate Vlaakith and to forsake her means we become the blood and meat for which she sates her dragons,” Lae’zel corrected. “The people here didn’t survive because they were weak. Weak minded and weak of brawn. Not because my people meant to ideologize them to our credence.”

His arms folded against his chest, deviously rising a thick brow. “Oh dearest Lae’zel, you don’t have to belong to a religion to be religious. Whatever that you hold in highest faith is your god.”

The gith fighter growled as she fiercely advanced towards Astarion, her cinnamon hair vibrant in the sun’s path. She pointed a single elongated nail at him. “Argh! You know nothing of what you speak anymore than you know about my queen! And you are wasting time by casting your ideas about this world’s ideologies into our conversation!”

Up close, her slitted irises seemed to open wider, like a crack in the earth beckoning him into a citrine mine. It was oddly riveting to the spawn how naïve the githyanki were about the material plane despite them using it to cultivate their crèches. Prematurely in their journey, Lae’zel informed the crew this was because they chose to disengage entirely from other ethnicities due to them possibly “tainting” their society. Everything to the gith became a means to an end, including their propensity to be certifiably evil by most standards.

But for all the destruction the slender astral plane-dwellers committed on the living plane, they proved to be the only race capable of continually decimating illithids, halting their grand design. 

However, a part of him could not—albeit infelicitous—wholly begrudge them for their attitude involving strangers. The gith had only known the claws of enslavement to the mind flayers for generations until their subjugated chains were broken, a situation all too familiar to him. He understood how trust can turn into an abstraction under those conditions, eavesdropping like a floating dandelion seed on its conceptual edge. 

“I think that’s quite enough,” Shadowheart intervened with ambivalence laced in her tone. A dispelled cantrip, that was assuredly prepared for them if they persisted in their bickering, fizzled out in her palm. “In case you’ve both forgotten, we are being hunted by the same people that may also have a cure for these cursed worms in our heads. Time is not on our side, so either we shut up and work together or we might as well do ourselves a favor and kill each other off now.”

He viewed the cleric from his peripherals, scarlet irises aglow in jouissance. “As you wish. Thinking outside the box isn’t for everyone anyways,” he mumbled in a gibe.

Shadowheart disregarded the vampire, refocusing their conversation onto more productive measures. “Lae’zel, what can we expect once inside this crèche?”

Lae’zel herded her concentration sluggishly away from Astarion. “They will be on high alert, probably seeking information about the artifact weapon. Your presence alone is going to cause skepticism, so do not expect them to have mercy if you get out of line.”

The healer nodded, patting the purse containing the icosahedron prism fastened onto her hip. “And how exactly are we to safely enter without them attacking on sight?” 

“They will receive me with no issue, but you three will have to roleplay as my servants if we are to peruse their compound,” Lae’zel decisively advised, gesticulating between Shadowheart, him, and the bard that was in the near distance behind him. 

Now that Astarion pondered it, Tav had remained eerily quiet since they reached the derelict building. His ears perked back, listening for any signs of movement from her.

Ah. There. 

The songtress’s lissome boot soles reverently landed, crunching over the littered ground, likely scrounging about on one of her many humanitarian crusades examining the obvious holy edifice’s monstrosities. Really, he had come to distinguish all his traveling allies' footsteps apart, but he would only find himself drollingly smirking particularly at Tav’s beats. While she held tightly onto her deepest inner thoughts like a hyper judgemental woman clutching her pearls, her mood was always evident through her footfalls. A heavy scuff typically meant she was angered. Soft quick pitterings were often created during her busiest chores in camp. Or, the most curious of them all: the choreo-esque silken soar of her feet as she played the lute. Curious because she rejected the idea of dancing, but it was so prevalent in the way she moved—the way she fought. 

Tav’s familiar heartbeat meandered closer to them, out in that stygian sea upon the unpleasant waters of her thoughts. Those numerous abnormal pulses that led nowhere, on the outskirts from where he was positioned. Sounds that made his mouth a watering delinquent portal to which he almost lacked the discipline to stop himself from placing the flat of his ravening tongue against her chirring arteries.

“Servants?! I am certainly not agog over that,” the vamp spluttered out as he indignantly threw up his arms. 

“‘Star,” Tav greeted him quietly as pewter shaded buckles from her rapier scabbard faintly brushed against his side when she finally appeared.

He rotated his head, studying Tav’s profile carefully. Her skin, still somewhat wan from his earlier feeding, held onto fresh drizzly beads of sweat along her hairline. A sunken seam deepend horizontally on her forehead as her gaze epoxied itself to Lae’zel. Something was on her mind, cysts filled with fluidic profundities that began to gestate as they embarked into the monastery. 

Leftover wafting traces of coppery blackberries from his bite wound on Tav, rose from her flesh like an exorcism, injecting into his nostrils when he inhaled. There was a certain amount of pride he felt as a man, knowing his fang marks were seated into her delicate neck. A consensual hunter and prey dynamic that tickled his nightly creature’s base instincts imagining her running beautifully through a thick forest for him to capture, her sighing and sighing and sighing his name. Perhaps he would ask her one day to—gods, he must still be reeling off the potency from her stimulative blood.

“And where have you been, songbird? Leaving me all on my own to babysit these two bores, tsk,” he teased, inflecting his tone an octave higher.

“You can take it out of your blood tax later,” the bard suggested, struggling to exert a fleeting chuckle. She looked up at him. “Mind if I cut in?”

Grateful for the interruption, he nodded. “Then, how could I say no? By all means.” He held out his gloved hand, palm up, giving her the opportunity to purge her mentations.

Tav sucked in a breath, then gradually released it. “They’re all…dead. Every monk, every pilgrim—deceased. And this was all done for the sake of constructing a crèche?” she steadily broached, wasting no time in getting straight to what was disturbing her. “Lae’zel, what did the people here do to deserve such a sentence?” 

Discovering in person just what the githyanki were capable of, coupled with a drafty air that had coagulated with whistling gusts leading the imagination to believe it was the spirit's moaning screams yet wandering the monastery’s halls, would change the dialogue for anyone—especially Tav. Astarion realized how dangerously stupid it was for her meddlesome lectures to take precedence now when there wasn’t a godsdamned thing they could do about the age-old murderous scene. Repeatedly poking the wasp’s nest—Lae’zel included—meant that a remorseless horde of gith would be released upon them sooner rather than later. 

He leaned down, lips an inch away from the backside of Tav’s ear. “What are you doing?!” he breathed through gritted teeth.

Tav didn’t respond, but instead knocked her hip into his, pushing him aside. He scudded back a couple feet from the force, leaving him at a loss for words. If she is hellbent on being stubborn, then she can deal with her crippling demise on her own, he chided to himself.

Lae’zel’s sight narrowed at the elf. “It had nothing to do with what they deserved, but everything to do with being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let’s hope your next words are sharper than your mind,” she clucked loudly.

“Insulting me while I’m trying to understand what happened here isn’t going to deter me,” Tav replied, her reddening ears poking out from her messy updo in a curbed anger hidden to everyone except Astarion. “Travelers came here searching for answers to their prayers and the explanation they received was their lives snuffed out by a race that feels as superior as false gods.”

“Tav, you’re—“ Shadowheart cautiously began, stepping forward.

“I’m what?! Going too far?” Tav mocked, shifting her body weight onto another leg. 

Those leaden fissures Tav tried to keep knitted closed, had volleyed the bitter dark within her that had been progressively increasing for weeks. She never treated people this way—patience rarely thinned—and Astarion understood his judgment about the burdens she carried that changed the formulaic taste of her crimson, were correct. Her annoying kindness suited her more than this unseemly behavior. In the aery realm that housed her encumbrances, she paid for his and their companion’s indiscretions to demonic toll-houses without question. A regretful muscle twitched in his cheek, recognizing he played a part in her present suffering. Birds like Tavelle were meant to fly, but everyone took advantage of her tender mercy, devoid of thinking about how shattered her wings would become under their own roods. 

“I know you’re upset—and you should be—but Lae’zel had nothing to do with Y’llek’s aggressions. Your blame is misplaced,” Shadowheart tried again after removing a stray hair that had crept into her mouth. 

Tav turned her head, overcome with embarrassment that flushed the roundest parts of her cheeks. 

The gith puffed out a short breath, rolling her war torn eyes. “What would you have me say? Attaining somewhere on the material plane we deem to be safe for our young and unhatched to develop is completely normal in our culture.“

Dense air sourly blew through the bard’s nose. “But at the cost of our plane’s lives, right? What is normal to your kind is not normal to ours. Have you ever thought about that?” she contended more politely, refacing Lae’zel. “This is wrong to us! If only your people would try seeking help from ours, rather than raiding their homes and murdering innocents immediately, you may be surprised how many would be willing to offer their aid.“

“And should that mean something to me?” Lae’zel bit out emotionless. “Githyanki do what is necessary to survive.” She held a balled up fist tightly against her chest as she drew a path into Tav’s personal space. “When I was still but a welp in training, I had already felled three of my comrades. Was I praised or reprimanded for such feats? No. They died proud, honored to have served Vlaakith and the cause of her people. Can you say in good faith that most of Faerûn would do the same?”

All three companions regarded Lae’zel glumly. Her accusations against their continent’s residents was an uncomfortable realization that nobody in their sane mind could refute. How many other adventurer’s were actually out there at this very second willing to brave their own lives to end the corruption of The Absolute and mind flayers alike? How many would risk confronting that disquieting underbelly of fears that the gods they forfeited everything to, would never intervene, even as a holocaust roared throughout the lands? The hard truth was that most would rather go with the flow in their complacency than try to act out of real conviction.

That kolk whirling behind Tav’s blue-steel eyes from their boiling exchange, began to become little more than a single stir by a divine empress’s gilded spoon in a favorite cup of tea. By the way she sucked in her cheek, Astarion knew she had grabbed a chunk of wetted flesh to gnaw upon, calming herself from making a rash remark. Her mouth unlatched. “I will not disagree with your sentiments about how disunified Faerûn remains, but it’s still our choice to make. Ripping that away from us because the githyanki feel it’s okay, is no different from the control the illithid held over your race, it’s just executed differently.” 

Was she prepared for the aftermath if she kept pushing?

“Hey.” Shadowheart discreetly tapped on the spawn’s shoulder. He turned around, vaguely listening to Tav and Lae’zel resume their argument, mouthing an irritated “what” as voicelessly as he could muster.

“We are about to enter enemy territory and I have a stolen treasure from them in my bag,” the Sharran healer whispered. Her anxiety was evident in the way her glassy blown pupils stared back at him, nearly twitching with fright over what lay in store for them. “If you think for even a second they’re going to allow us to enter their crèche while tensions are high, then prepare to be beheaded for sport.”

He shrugged his shoulders, still mildly irked at Tav. “Then I guess we’ll have to wait until they both stow this fribblish nonsense or one of them incapacitates the other,” Astarion hushed in return. 

Shadowheart shook her head, her perfectly styled ponytail accessories moving in tandem with her movement. “Or you could be their mediator,” she suggested with a crafty smile.

“Have you gone and smacked your moody undersized head on a Selûne statue?!” he snapped louder than intended. A silver curl uncoiled in haste, matching his incredulity. “You saw how Tav reacted when we tried to reason with them.” He instinctually peeked beyond his arm, checking to see if the others overheard them. 

“For god’s sake, would you at least try?! I don’t care if you have to throw Tav over your shoulder like some neanderthal to drag her away, but they need to be separated so they can both cool down!” Shadowheart uncharacteristically begged while the other two women continued their squabble. Her lips pouted together. “And my head isn’t ‘undersized.’ I didn’t ask to be born as a half-elf you know,” she added, self-consciously touching her crown.

Astarion’s fingers rubbed at his temples. This was wholly Tav’s fault! In a moment of weakness, fantasizing about drinking her blood earlier, the cunning vixen snuck in and somehow persuaded him to accompany them to this devil-ridden location. And now, he’s expected to wave a wand like some magical fairy eldmother to make everything cheery bright rainbows again?!

No matter how inconvenient this was, he definitely wasn’t interested in perishing so early on into his attained freedom. He understood that Tav would be the easier of the two lionness’s pouncing on each other to lure away given her affinity towards him. She may be pissed at him afterwards, but it was the lesser risk between that and Lae’zel hanging his head as an ornament above her tent. “Ugh, do I have to do everything around here?” he flung out, feigning a yawn. 

He scratched at his jaw, trying to wrinkle the matter in his brain together from its usual smoothness. Which tactical options did he have? Flirtily suggesting a threesome while a plethora of vacant skeletal crania’s watched, seemed inappropriate for their dilemma. He could pull out a knife and threaten them to cease, but knowing Lae’zel’s temper, she would stake his ribs the moment she saw it. Blackmail? Hmm, no, that was out of the question too. Tav barely offered up anything about her private life and Lae’zel could escape to the astral world whenever she pleased. Fuck he hated details and sticky complicated plans. 

Alright, fine, he’d just go with ole reliable: winging it. 

“I’ll stand by in case things go…amiss,” Shadowheart said placidly. “Good luck.”

He briefly shut his eyes, hand sailing through his waves to refix the stray hair coil tarrying on his forehead, and readied himself as acting liaison to enter the mine field exploding behind him. 

Lae’zel stepped inward near Tav, armor clanking around her midsection. “It’s no wonder Astarion finally decided to leave your bed,” she maliciously taunted, ”With all your unceasing blathering, it leaves little room for warmth.” She slanted further in, speaking directly into her rival’s ear. “Tell me which is true: that you actually duped yourself into believing you gave him gratification or he faked it the entire time because he pitied your loneliness?”

Astarion instantly squinted at Lae’zel, revulsed at her upturned sneer. He despised her obtrusiveness, remembering how she made it clear she only desired his body at one time to satisfy herself. The back of his neck felt clammy imagining how her gropes would have branded his raw flesh like every other person he pressured himself into fucking. 

He dragged his vision to chance peering at Tav, dismissing the muffled constriction that surged through his chest at the sight of her. She stood utterly silent, vocal cords snipped from the seething woman’s comment. Without a tourniquet to halt Lae’zel’s gashes, her lips had heated to a bolder pinkish plum shade, doe eyes rapidly blinking aside a misty haze. Astarion heard her heart chambers clamp tightly, fractured by the usurped recollection of their flawed and failed relationship pricking into her like a pincushion. 

A pleased grin spread across Lae’zel’s mouth as she scanned the bard’s reaction. Her pitch coal grease paint, thumbed onto the scope of her face, appeared glossy from the sunlight beaming on her. “If this ishtik falls apart at the slightest mention of her inadequacies, then she is unfit to lead us,” she snarled.

Despite him refusing to divulge the specifics from his trauma, sex had become a sensitive subject for both him and Tav. Centuries long transgressions that damned him every waking second. They shared a vulnerability—an elegy to pleasurable touch—that connected them in an unexpected and broken manner initiated by different needs. 

Messy flashbacks of his sexual encounters with Tav that had already been fading—as they often did with his lovers—percolated throughout the vampire’s mind. As vehemently as he tried to bury it, one memory resisted against the gravitational pull from the black hole within his soul: her giggles as florets spilled like dove feathers from her hair while they were intimate against a tree. A rare innocent pause that counterbalanced his despair but for a few moments.

In his restless trances, those flowers would sometimes arrive, each hidden in inconspicuous locations within his dreams to find. They were often accompanied by Tav’s sweet laughter that he caused. It dawned on him how often he would chase after that sound until he woke, trying to relive that brief interim of genuine mirth he summoned from her throat. He ignored it until now, but he had never generated that kind of joy from a sole creature in his entire undeath. Regardless if that night in the woods had led to them sleeping together or not, she would have still had the same reaction if he made those trite blooms flounce out of her hair in any other way.

He suddenly found himself wanting to protect those epiphanies and the peculiar agreeable sensation within his life-deserted body that he was aghast to identify. When did his general antipathy towards Tav start to evolve into him not quite disliking her as much anymore?

Astarion pretended to cough into his fist, cutting through their quarrel. “I do believe you and I need to exchange a few unpleasantries,” he firmly stated with a guileful tug at his mouth. 

“Do we? Then speak,” Lae’zel growled in her usual raspy tone, spindly hands landing onto her hips. She squinted her left eye at him.

“I’ll make this quick.” The ground held unwavering paces as he sidled up to the astral soldier. He tilted his head to the side, rubbing his impeccable jawline with his thumb peeking out from his fingerless gauntlets. “Don’t you perhaps think you should be more concerned about why it was I who rejected you that day after our spar when you practically begged me to take you back to my bedroll for a romp?” he blatantly expressed, glaring at her through darkened eyes. “Pity Tav? Ha! No, darling. I pitied you and that’s why I let you down as politely as I did.”

The hammering from behind Shadowheart’s breast clogged his ears. An “ah, shit” drawled off her tongue, shocked and worried. 

Tav's hand covered a gasp as her enlarged eyes sharply turned to gaze at him, exerting no amusement at his smug jab. 

As for Lae’zel’s reaction, she gnashed her teeth so raucously together, she could have broken through a mollusk's shell. Astarion staggered back just as a flurry of words in her native language raced from her voice box, faltering but once to catch her breath. She pointed at the group: cursing, spitting, putting her hand onto the lengthy grip of her sword, removing it, until she angrily threw her arms up in defeat. “After we extract the tadpoles,” she heaved, “I never want to see any of you ever again. Be grateful I will allow you to live yet.” Neglecting to wait for their responses, she tilled her battle sandals into the ground, disappearing into an unventured area adjacent to the portico. 

Frowning, Shadowheart cleared her throat. “Tav, mind if I borrow Astarion for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Tav croaked out. She looked past the cleric at the nondescript foreboding entrance into the monastery, giving the doors a simple head flick to notify them where she planned on retreating. 

He clocked Tav as she weaved a route through scattered rubble, leaving their vicinity. “Who knew I had such natural chops as a peace—”

Shadowheart twisted to meet him, rabidly grabbing at the straps attached to his breastplate and pulled downwards. “You donkey!’

His hands flew up on either side of his head. “Whoa! What exactly is the problem? You should be thanking me. Per your request: they aren't fighting anymore.”

“I didn’t ask you to make it worse!” Shadowheart exclaimed, tightening her hold. “I don’t know if your meal ticket from earlier super infused your bluntness, but with the utmost generosity, would you kindly fuck off for a bit so I can think about how to resolve this? Go check on Tav.” She released the straps, propelling him backwards.

“How rude! You know, all this excitement has made me work up another appetite and I can’t feed on Tav again until she’s rested. What do you have to say for yourself?” Astarion taunted, letting his fangs poke out beneath his weasel’s smile.

“GO!” Shadowheart shouted, balling her fists.

The songstress was leaning against a cool stoned wall, embellished with grayish tiles, when he eventually made his way to her after refitting the crookedness in his chest piece. “The gall of that woman, honestly,” he complained, sending an accusatory glance over his shoulder at a pacing Shadowheart. “You do a favor for someone and when it’s not exactly how they would have done it, they blame you for the outcome.” 

Tav knocked her thumb knuckles together, nails clicking in unison. “Why did you stick up for me with Lae’zel?”

“I wanted to help?” 

“Don’t lie to me,” she said, raising her head to scrutinize him. 

Astarion cocked his hip out, resting his hand on it. He had no intentions disclosing to her what was stroking his dead heart, that palpable echo of flowers and laughter betraying him. “Can’t you just appreciate that I probably saved you from becoming a ‘minced bard pie’? I don’t see why you have to make this more complicated than it already was,” he groused.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning her neck. “I do appreciate what you did back there, it just wasn’t…expected, I suppose.”

“I can be generous,” he asserted, crossing his arms. 

Tav gave a snide chuckle. “News to me.”

“See, if you needed further proof that you need some time to release all those built up gremlins inside you, that was it,” he smirked, playfully tapping the tip of her shoe with his boot. 

A simper quivered at the corners of her lips, one she seemed like she was trying to hide by immediately squatting down near the doors next to them, hovering over two pairs of remains. She reached down to pick up an age-tarnished prayer book that was loosely crammed between one of the skeleton’s fingers. 

Tav stood back up, smile replaced with a distant melancholy. She patted the book’s front cover. “May I read something to you?” 

“Are you going to read a prayer for my salvation?” the pale elf mused, indenting his index into the middle of his chin. 

The book opened with her diligent fingers. Pages turned with crisp crackles, frictioning against old endpaper glue, as she read its contents to him. “Glory to you, Bringer of the Dawn! My wife and I have been trying to conceive for nearly two years now with no luck. We’ve long been followers of your blessed creed, and visit Rosymorn every tenday to worship at your altar.” 

She took a breath, then continued. “Please Lord, I know you’ve given us a lot already, but if you hear our prayer, grant us this one wish, and you will find us in your service tenfold. This is all that now stands between ourselves and everlasting joy. We have faith in you, Lathander, and are grateful for the many blessings of your light.”

Astarion hoisted his right eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t tell me that’s what rattled you? All that drama earlier because you read a flimsy supplication from some dust-covered bones?”

“It wasn’t my intention for things to get out of hand as they did with Lae’zel,” she lamented. Beneath every pronounced word, a shakiness started to emerge in her voice. “But the contents of this book had nothing to do with my disagreement with her.”

He padded closer to her. “Then, what was the purpose of reading that husband and wife’s prayer to me? They’re dead and it’s apparent that the gods couldn’t have cared less about granting that couple their wishes,” Astarion mentioned, glimpsing down at the deteriorating book. “I should know; I prayed to them all.”

“This isn’t about the damned gods!” Tav blurted out in frustration. She let the prayer book slip from her grasp, landing askew onto a bed of pebbles. “Years ago, I had to accept—“ she stalled. 

He inspected her, tilting his head curiously. The visage that took place on her face was similar to when she spoke to Mayrina shortly after they sent Auntie Ethel to the hells: an intense, almost withdrawn, stare. He recognized that expression, how rigid her whole person had become that day. How different she acted after seeing Mayrina’s belly round with child. “‘Had to accept’ what?” he asked.

Clenching her eyes shut, she shook her head. “Nobody knows what happened to me that day. I just want somebody to know,” she managed to whisper, contrite over her verbally collected thoughts.

“Darling, I have to admit, your whole mysterious lady act is going way over my head this time,” he said, perplexed. Respecting their terms to avoid touching each other as minimally as possible, he skimmed just the tips of his fingers along the outer edge of Tav’s shoulder, bidding her to look at him. 

Under his contact, she jerked ever so slightly as if finally noticing his proximity. “S-sorry. Gods, I must sound crazy,” she huffed nervously, lungs stammering as her breathing increased. “Astarion, I want to trust someone so badly that I ache, b-but I can’t. Even now, as I tried, everything still turned to ash on my tongue.”

Her admission stunned him, never being one to divulge the weaknesses she kept at bay. “Hold on. Take a few deep breaths.”

Lash after lash lifted, revealing Tav’s set of bleary dilated vesseling eyes that bore into his. Her sternum rose and fell, respiring their common air. “I wanted somebody—no, not somebody—I wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

Tav’s hand moved in a way like she wanted to grab his hand, but instead let it slink back. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever felt might understand,” she confessed.

Stricken with a salvelike buzz dawning through his consciousness, Astarion couldn’t resist tucking dark brown hair strands behind her ear. Red eyes traced a  circular outline of her freckles that mesmerized him so. His pitch lowered to a woolly undertone unnatural to him, balmy and wicking her ills. “You really are reckless, aren’t you?”

The upper bow of Tav’s lips parted from the bottom, a blush rushing northward into her cheekbones. He could feel her lukewarm breath exhale into the dip of his clavicle while she examined his face, provoking a tense quake descending his spine. “Is that your way of saying you’re concerned about me?” she crooned. 

“Stupid boy,” Cazador’s taunt resounded in his brain. 

Emotions careened through him as dead leaves being whisked aside by an autumn wind, reluctantly revealing a new growth until being blanketed in death once more. Astarion’s hand quickly retracted, realizing he made a vital mistake. “I—,” he began, flustered, unsuccessfully quelling the contortions in his stomach. Anxiety raged through him, tingling his skin in a domino effect. “Will you just go shove off somewhere for a bit?!” 

Tav backed away. Crestfallen. Betrayed. Shifting her eyes back and forth as her skin pinched between her brows. He dipped his chin, shunning himself for every time he felt a modicum of emotion towards her. 

Her back turned on him, beginning to trudge in the direction of a broken stained-glass pane. “Don’t follow me,” she insisted, tears filling the lower ridge of her eyelids as she pivoted halfway to observe him. “I mean it.” 

As she left, Astarion’s vision floated to the prayer book that lay deserted next to where Tav once stood, unable to shake the thought that whatever she lost, the gods must've forsaken her too.

What Am I Supposed to Do (But Sink My Teeth in You?)

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 6.7k tags/warnings: shameless smut, piv sex, fingering, pwp, sex pollen, established relationship, multiple orgasms, minor spoilers for Act 3 ──────── summary: It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dexterous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. ────────────────────────────── In the heat of battle, Ysera unknowingly casts an aphrodisiac spell on herself. With her resolve waning, Astarion is more than happy to let her whisk him away. AO3 ┊ masterlist

“You think that's the last of ‘em?”

Karlach lifts the heft of her greataxe over her head and rolls her shoulders. Gale is busy smoothing out his robes, and Astarion is wrenching his arrows out of several of the Bhaalist cultists he felled, tucking the good ones away for future use. 

It feels wrong to leave the bodies out in the open, but there's nowhere here to hide them. The commotion had driven the would-be onlookers away, but now it's only a matter of time before Gortash’s Steel Watch descends upon them. It's better to avoid any potential conflict if they can, even if they have declared one another temporary allies.

“Probably not,” Ysera groans, turning her eyes away from the carnage. Her magic had taken its toll on their assailants, ripping and tearing and burning through them with a ferocity that had surprised even her. 

The last week has been… a lot, if she's honest. Between the revelation of the Emperor's true identity to the quakes that have shaken the city – not to mention the small army of bloodthirsty minions Orin has sent to slaughter them – it's more than any of them bargained for. A thousand smaller fires popping up everywhere and running them ragged.

It would have been difficult enough if those were the extent of their troubles. Ever since they reached the city, Ysera's magic has been increasingly erratic and unpredictable, and the incinerated corpses at her feet are only a single instance of the destruction she has unleashed. 

Her blood always runs hot with adrenaline after a battle, but now… she feels even more strange than normal, a wave of delicious heat snaking its way through her body and curling low in her belly. She bites her lip and glances among her companions, grateful none of them seem to have heard the quiet moan that has just slipped past her lips.

Instead, they're looking at Astarion, who has already taken a stance with his arms crossed over his broad chest, expression twisted into a grimace.

“Honestly,” he gripes, scoffing. “You leave the city for five minutes and everything goes straight to shit. What’s next? Ghosts? Hoards of the undead?”

Gale's saying something now, finger in the air as he nods sagely, but Ysera hears none of it. When Astarion glances in her direction, the way his eyes widen before narrowing in silent acknowledgement sends another intense wave of pleasure through her, and her heartbeat quickens under his scrutiny.

Has he always been this handsome? Her gaze sweeps over his face, admiring the way his ivory skin almost seems to glow as the sun makes its descent below the horizon and the deep, shifting reds of his eyes that draw her in like a moth to a flame. His muscles flex beneath his armor as he steps forward, and she sucks in a breath when his scent reaches her. The heat has moved to her face, but it's more than embarrassment that's coloring her cheeks.

“ – okay?”

“Huh?” Ysera reluctantly looks from Astarion to Gale, whose brow is furrowed in concern.

“I asked if you were okay. Forgive me, but you appear to me to be quite feverish. I have just the remedy for that back at the Elfsong,” he says, flashing her a broad smile. “A delicious herbal tea that’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time flat.”

“I – I'm fine,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “It's probably just the heat.” Ysera catches a glimpse of Astarion's face on the edge of her periphery, his expression anything but convinced. She's certain he can already scent her growing arousal, despite the way she's got her legs pressed tightly together beneath her robes.

Even if she doesn't know exactly what's causing her current predicament, she does know one thing: she needs to be alone, or at least somewhere else with no one but Astarion. Already her mind is becoming hazy, her only dominant thoughts of Astarion and Astarion alone.

Bare-chested. Hair unkempt as it falls over his eyes. The way his fangs gleam in the light before he pulls her close and pierces her eager flesh. The way only she has seen him.

Her mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as she swallows thickly.

“You two should go on ahead,” she suggests, the inflection of her voice surprisingly steady. “There's something else I want to show Astarion before we head back.” If she avoids Astarion's discerning gaze, she can almost pretend it's nothing but an innocent request.

Karlach seems suspicious and lifts an inquisitive brow, but she shrugs and says nothing. Ysera silently thanks her for her compliance.

“If you're certain,” Gale says. His eyes flit to Astarion, who nods despite the worry clearly etched across the wizard's face. “I'll steep a kettle for you just in case.”

“Don't be late for supper,” Karlach says over her shoulder as she and Gale turn to leave, “Or I'm eating your portion again!”

“It was one time,” Ysera whines, heaving a heavy sigh.

The moment they're out of sight, she grabs Astarion by the wrist. He sputters in surprise at her sudden urgency but lets himself be pulled down a series of narrow side streets, before they slip into the first alleyway they find. Thankfully, they're alone, attracting only the occasional glance from people passing by.

“Are you going to tell me what the hells this is all about?” Astarion demands as Ysera slumps against the wall. She runs a hand over her face. Gale was right; she's feverish and unsteady on her own two feet, relying on the wall to keep her upright. The stones feel cool against her back, a momentary but welcome distraction.

“I don't know,” she says piteously, biting back a whimper as the friction of pressing her thighs together becomes suddenly unbearable. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Like what?” Astarion presses. Instinctively, he stands between Ysera and the mouth of the alleyway, keeping her hidden from view. She looks a mess, hair falling out of the ribbon she usually ties it back with, eyes half-lidded and mouth open slightly as she stares at him with what he can only describe as desperation in her eyes.

“Like if you don't touch me, I'll go mad.”

Perhaps she already has.

Astarion tentatively reaches out towards her, intending to take her face in his hands, but Ysera recoils from him instantly. Hurt flickers in his eyes, masked quickly by confusion.

“I don't understand,” Astarion says. “Did you not just tell me that you wanted me to touch you?”

“I know,” Ysera replies, fixing him with an apologetic look. “But it's not fair to burden you with this. It's my problem to solve. If I could just find somewhere quiet, I could take care of this myself, I could just –”

Her rambling thoughts come to a screeching halt when Astarion lays his hand firmly on her shoulder. She instinctively leans into the touch, sighing softly. The roaring inferno inside her body is contained, but not completely extinguished. Already she can feel her renewed desire for him pushing away every other insignificant thought that flits even briefly through her mind.

“Don't be stupid,” he mutters, though not unkindly. “If it's your problem, it automatically becomes my problem. That's how this whole relationship thing is supposed to work, right? Do you honestly expect me to just stand by while you suffer right in front of me?”

His concern makes her heart ache for him all the more, his inexperience and uncertainty writ plainly across his face nothing short of endearing.

“I'm not asking you to,” she clarifies, mouth pressed into a firm line. She takes a deep, bracing breath, wringing her hands in her lap as she sits on a discarded wooden crate. “I just don't want you to feel obligated to do this, even for my sake. We don't even know what this is, or that anything you could do would help.”

Astarion's gaze softens. Of course she would put him first, even now. He looks at her with nothing but affection playing across his features, glad she isn't watching when he smiles despite himself. If it was anyone else, he knows he would be far less forgiving.

But he will always make an exception for her.

“Ysera, look at me.”  She shudders when his fingers slip beneath her chin, beckoning her to lift her gaze. The sound of her name sounds so lovely on his tongue, saccharine and sweet as honey, and with grim determination, she obeys.

Shadows have long since flooded the alley as the moon begins to rise overhead, but from this distance Ysera can easily make out every detail of his face. He looks resolute as he finally gathers her face in his palms, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“I'm not offering to do anything I don't already want to do. You have my word.”

His tone brokers no room for rebuttal.

Ysera pushes herself to her feet, her restraint waning. “Good,” she says, “because I don't know how much longer I’m going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

Astarion huffs a laugh, threading their fingers together. He knows that just the contact of his bare skin is enough to overstimulate her, but neither of them trusts her feet to lead her without guidance. Ysera holds his hand tightly, following him out of the alley and into the winding back streets of the Lower City. She keeps her head down, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other.

Desire ripples through her every time Astarion tightens his grip to pull her around another corner, and she finds it nearly impossible to contain the moans and whimpers that make it past her lips.

Astarion finds what he's looking for before long, a small flat tucked away on a dimly lit street. The windows are boarded, and the door is secured behind an impressive looking lock – in short, the exact kind of place where no one will disturb them.

When the coast is clear, he releases Ysera's hand, retrieving the set of lockpicks he always keeps stowed away in his pocket. It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dextrous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. When he takes her by the hand and pulls her inside the tiny space, the renewed sensation of his cool, marble skin against her own searing heat drags a guttural moan from somewhere deep in her chest. She laughs breathlessly, drunk on her own arousal, and follows him inside.

A cursory glance confirms what Astarion already knew: the place is unoccupied. It's a good thing too, because she'd likely tell him to take her in the nearby alley otherwise, and he's not convinced Ysera has enough forethought to be quiet enough for that anymore.

Normally, he wouldn't care about the impropriety – he's guilty of far worse, after all – but this situation is far from normal. She is his – the first person he could truly call his own – and he will share neither her nor her pleasure with anyone.

Ysera's back hits the door as Astarion advances on her. He wastes no time before burying his face into the crook of her neck, featherlight kisses pressed into the smooth scars there as he inhales the scent of her hair. Ysera moans again and arches her back. Her hands fly into his hair, caressing the sensitive points of his ears.

A shuddering groan rumbles in his throat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. She repeats the motion, and his hips buck against her, a flash of white-hot arousal setting his nerves alight. 

Oh, she is dangerous when she wants to be.

With their bodies flush against one another, he can feel the way her body trembles at even the slightest touch, the symphony of the Weave in her veins. Her magic roars into a crescendo, threatening to overtake them both, but Astarion slips his hands into hers again, entwining their fingers at either side of her head.

His tadpole reaches out, connecting them together. The link comes so easy now, so effortless in the way that everything has become with her.

I am not afraid, he tells her. I'm right here with you. My heart, my love.

Pride surges within him as he feels the tension in Ysera's body ebb away beneath his tender affirmations. She finds his eyes when he lifts his head to look at her, the softness of his gaze a testimony to his devotion. She rests her forehead against his brow, his scent more calming now that she's beneath him, but no less alluring.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Brandy.

The scent of home, the truest one she's ever known.

I love you, she tells him.

She gives his hands a squeeze and releases a breath. Her mind conveys the words her mouth can't seem to form.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

When the racing of her heart has grown less frantic, Astarion dips his head low again and deliberately drags his fangs across the column of her neck and the soft curves of her jaw, and she whimpers with need before he captures her mouth in a bruising kiss. It drives him mad, how eager she is to taste him, lips parting as their tongues meet between panting breaths. 

All it takes is a light press of his palms against the backs of her thighs for her to know what he wants, letting him hoist her up so she can latch her legs around the small of his back. With her arms thrown over his shoulders for extra support, Astarion spins her around without breaking the kiss, carrying her partway across the room.

In a stunning moment of clarity, Ysera's eyes fly open, and she reluctantly tears her mouth away from his fevered kisses.

“Wait. We shouldn't – this is someone's home, isn't it? We can't just…”

She's panting now, fighting every instinct in her body that calls out to him. He can see it in her eyes, pupils blown wide, hair spilling in loose, disheveled waves over her shoulders. Her grip on him tightens, and Astarion watches with rapt attention the moment she feels the ridge of his hardening cock brush against her backside.

Even when her mind is so addled with lust she can barely think straight, she still has the presence of mind to worry about the morality of what they're doing. It's so very like her that he can't help but laugh.

“Relax, my love,” he reassures her, pressing a series of indulgent kisses across her face. But instead of leashing her desire for him, it merely fans the conflagration blazing inside her.

“Take a look around; whoever lives here clearly hasn't been home in quite some time. They won't even know we were here.”

He's right, of course. Aside from the neglected furniture, the most abundant thing in the room is the thick coat of dust that covers every surface within view. 

When he sees she's satisfied, Astarion carries Ysera the rest of the way across the tiny living space, depositing her on the oak writing desk in the corner of the room. He nestles himself between her spread legs, and the slow drag of his cock against her clothed core makes her tremble so much she accidentally knocks an old inkpot off the desk, where it shatters on the stone floor.

She pouts at him disapprovingly.

“They will if you keep doing that.”

“Want me to stop?” he asks, already leaning in to lavish more attention on her neck while his hands slip beneath her robes, searching for the swell of her breasts.

Ysera's breath hitches when his hands touch her bare skin, and she throws her head back with a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

A wolfish grin finds its way to Astarion's lips.

“I didn't think so.”

With her robes pushed open, the fabric falls down over her shoulders, exposing her collarbones and the tops of her breasts beneath her brassiere. Astarion palms at them beneath the cotton fabric, lips pressed against her throat as Ysera arches her back into his touch. He loses his resolve the moment he feels her nipples stiffen beneath his fingers, nearly tearing the garment off of her in his haste to enjoy her properly.

Ysera's breasts settle warm and heavy in Astarion's hands, and when he sweeps across her nipples and pinches the taut buds between his thumbs and forefingers, she cries out and rolls her hips against him. Her legs shake on either side of him, an indication that she's already close to coming undone for him. He had intended to take his time with her, but it seems as if whatever has taken hold of her has other plans in mind.

“Not just yet, my sweet,” he drawls, drinking in the delicious little noises she makes for him as he kisses her deeply. “We've only just begun.”

Ysera whines in protest when Astarion pulls away from her kiss-swollen lips, leaving her breathless and panting. But when Astarion sinks to his knees on the stone before her, she sucks in a breath, enraptured by the sight of him between her thighs. She's already kicked off her boots by the time Astarion slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants, and as she lifts her hips off the desk, one good tug pulls them down past her knees along with her underwear.

With the rest of her clothing quickly discarded, Astarion pushes Ysera's legs apart, greedily taking in the sight of her naked body. Her sun-kissed skin looks absolutely stunning, her slick core quivering as she stares down at him through her lashes.

Ysera leans back against the smooth wood grain, propping herself up on her elbows. The conflagration within her is all-consuming, her need for him encompassing every fiber of her being.

“Astarion…”

“Yes, my dear?” Astarion runs his tongue over the tips of his fangs, balancing her legs over his shoulders as he presses a series of slow, teasing kisses along the expanse of her thighs. Ysera whimpers and squirms beneath him, her arousal pooling onto the oak desk beneath her. She grasps blindly at the shelves behind her, gripping them so tightly the wood nearly splinters.

“What is it?”

“Please,” she begs, holding her breath as Astarion moves ever closer to the place she needs him most. “Make me come.”

A low, gravely chuckle rumbles in Astarion's throat.

“With pleasure.”

He's surprised she doesn't unravel the moment he presses his nose against her clit and drags his tongue through her slick folds, even as the feel of his mouth on her punches a long, languid moan from her. Ysera's entire body tenses as she squeezes her eyes shut, only for them to open moments later when his lips wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. He sucks gently and alternates the pressure of his lips, employing decades of practice and the intimate knowledge he has of her body to make her instantly delirious.

The oak desk groans as Ysera fights against her body, hips undulating as she struggles not to write too much beneath Astarion's mouth. His hands glide over her waist, holding her in place as he feasts on her, groaning when her cunt clenches around nothing. He'd normally have a sly remark prepared for just such an occasion, but the taste of her is too intoxicating, and he's loathe to stop pleasuring her for even the short moment it would take to tell her how much he's enjoying the way she murmurs and whines and begs for more.

He revels in bringing her this uncontested pleasure, safe in the knowledge that no one has ever made her feel so whole, so complete. His eyes rise to meet her own, so dark with lust that the rich gold of her irises has become like molten honey. She watches him with rapt attention, committing the moment to memory as best she can.

With several quick flicks of his tongue, Astarion brings Ysera to the very precipice of her climax, fingers curling into the soft flesh around her hip bones as his name tumbles from her mouth like a mantra. But before she can find her release, he purposely pulls away, much to her dismay. She knows what he intends to do, to draw out and intensify her pleasure, but tonight she lacks the patience required to be teased so cruelly.

Ysera locks her ankles around his shoulders and coaxes him back against her, groaning in relief when Astarion resumes his exploration. Nose pressed firmly against her clit, he slips his tongue inside her, a slow, torturous drag that leaves her gasping around her broken cries of pleasure.

“Please,” she begs again, head thrown back as an intense wave of ecstasy builds within her. “It's so good, you're so good, Astarion, Astarion –”

She's so close now, babbling incoherently as every swipe of his tongue unravels the final threads holding her together. She grinds her hips against Astarion’s face, losing herself in the feel of him against her flushed and oversensitive core.

“That's right, love,” he growls against her, “let go. I've got you.” He thrusts his tongue deep inside her, pressing into the spot that drives her past the point of no return.

With a ragged cry, Ysera comes undone, back bowing off the desk as she rides the cresting wave that crashes over her with such ferocity that she almost loses complete control over her body. The wood beneath her hands collapses, the desk ruined beyond repair as Astarion guides her through her climax with gentle but persistent licks of his tongue. She tastes divine, and his cock strains itself against his laces, eager to be inside her.

When Ysera finally comes down from her high, Astarion rises to his feet, face still slick with her arousal. Her chest heaves with each gasping breath she takes, vision hazy as his face floats into her field of view.

“It seems you don't know your own strength, darling,” he teases her, a lopsided grin plastered across his features as he surveys what's left of the old desk.

“‘S… your fault…” she mutters between breaths, absolving herself of whatever meager guilt she feels about it. Truth be told, she stopped caring the moment his mouth dipped between her thighs.

Astarion fixes her with an affectionate look, gathering her into his arms and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. “You're still burning up, darling,” he murmurs, nestling his face again in the crook of her neck. The coolness of his skin is less intense than before, but the heat simmering in her core hasn't abated entirely. She clings to him, fingers carding through his soft curls as he kisses her flushed skin, chasing the thrum of her pulse through her veins.

“It's not that bad,” she assures him. “Not like before. But I still…”

“Hmm?” he prompts, dragging his nose along her neck and nipping gently at her earlobe. “Tell me what you need.” Palms splayed across her back, he caresses the curve of her spine, tracing idle patterns over her sweat-slicked skin.

Her voice is hoarse, raw from overuse, and she swallows thickly. “I want…” Ysera hesitates before correcting herself, “need – need you. Inside.”

“Oh, love.” Astarion's lips are impossibly gentle as he kisses her, soft and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue. The sweetness of her arousal mingles with the salt of her sweat, a heady ambrosia that stokes the sleeping embers within her back to life.

“Let me make it better, sweet girl.”

Astarion lifts her back into his arms and carries her the short distance to the bed, laying her gently on the duvet. The mattress is surprisingly soft, and Ysera sinks into the sheets. Astarion peels his armor off, discarding it in a heap at his feet. Ysera watches him with bated breath, and he pauses halfway through undoing the laces of his trousers to huff a quiet laugh at the way her reverent eyes watch his every move.

He might as well put on a little show for her while he has her undivided attention. 

Astarion slides a hand over the sculpted muscles along his lower abdomen, fingers dripping just beneath the waistband of his pants. His eyes narrow, trained on Ysera's face as he takes his time undressing.

“Do you see,” he groans, hissing as the waistband of his pants and underwear brush over the weeping tip of his cock, “what you do to me? How badly I ache for you?” A fat bead of precome glides down the length of him, inciting her growing hunger. Saliva pools on her tongue, and she bites back a whimper as another wave of pleasure surges through her.

“Show me,” she says softly, a quiet, desperate plea. “Come and take your pleasure.”

She doesn't need to tell him twice. Astarion steps forward, catching the single beam of milky moonlight that spills in through the old planks nailed over the front windows. And just for a moment, Ysera almost forgets to breathe.

“How do you want me?” he asks, kneeling on the mattress at her feet. Ysera twists around, tucking a pillow below her stomach as she arches her back and spreads her legs wide. From this angle, Astarion can clearly see how eager she is to take him, thighs wet with the slick that drips obscenely from her waiting cunt.

“Hard,” she groans through gritted teeth. Her tail winds itself around his thigh, spaded tip twitching in anticipation. “Hard and deep.”

The husky growl in her voice sends a bolt of arousal straight through him, and Astarion's cock twitches with renewed interest. He strokes himself several times, stretching the soft foreskin over the swollen tip, a breathy, “A-ahh” slipping past his lips as the cool evening air caresses the arousal gathered there.

With one hand braced on the ample curve of her ass, Astarion guides himself forward, the blunt head of his cock barely slipping inside her before she moans and whines and rolls her hips against him. He pushes deeper, sheathing himself within her velvet heat, and although her body accommodates him with little resistance, she is still so fucking tight.

A low, satisfied groan builds in her throat, face pressed into the mattress as she adjusts to the fullness of him inside her. No matter how many times they've done this, each time feels like their first all over again, the delicious stretch of him as he fills her sending ripples of the sweetest pleasure coursing through her body.

“Fuck, Ysera,” Astarion groans, testing the feel of her with a few slow, shallow thrusts. Her walls pulse around him, encouraging him to fuck her harder, faster, just the way she wants.

And so he does.

Astarion snaps his hips forward, driving into her soaking cunt with every thrust, bottoming out each time he collides with the backs of her thighs. Ysera claws at the sheets, a string of oaths falling from her lips before she all but screams his name.

“That's my good girl,” Astarion praises her. “You're taking me so well, aren't you? Is this what you needed?”

Ysera fights to keep herself upright, her legs nearly buckling as he fucks into her hard and fast. He feels so good, so good, he's fucking her so good and she's already so close –

The hands anchored on her hips slowly slide up her back, fanning out over her shoulders before Astarion sinks them into the rosy pink waves of her hair. She lets out a choked sob when he wraps his hands around the base of her horns, holding her head aloft as he uses the extra leverage to find the sensitive spot deep inside her that makes her vision go white.

“Oh gods,” Ysera whines, her movements sluggish and clumsy as she shoves a hand between her legs and searches desperately for her clit. Astarion feels her fingers as they brush against the underside of his cock, and when she finally finds what she's looking for, it's only a matter of time before he makes her shatter.

“Come on my cock, Ysera,” he growls, primal and low. “Show me how good it feels. You can do that for me, can't you?”

“Yes,” she sobs, fingers rolling uncoordinated circles around her aching clit. “Yes, Astarion, yes…”

The pressure in her core is immense, a coiled spring waiting to snap, and when it finally becomes too much to bear, she loses herself completely, coming hard around him even as he refuses to slow his brutal pace. Astarion fucks her through her second climax, rolling his hips to push himself as deep as he can while her toes curl and she collapses, boneless, beneath him.

It's a miracle he doesn't tumble over the edge after her, her slick walls pulsing rhythmically with her racing heartbeat. His body fights him every step of the way, but he withdraws from her completely, and she whimpers in protest at the loss of him.

“Shhh,” he soothes, helping Ysera onto her back when she no longer has the strength to do so herself. “It's all right, love.”

Ysera's eyes are half-hooded and drowsy, and she struggles to look at him. The gnawing hunger she's felt for him ever since the battle seems to finally have been sated, and even though her body is utterly exhausted, it's her mind that has regained some sense of clarity.

“Astarion,” she calls out to him, reaching for his hands in the darkness. Astarion takes hers in his own, bringing her fingers to his mouth to press a series of tender kisses against the soft skin between her knuckles. 

“Yes, darling?”

“What about you?”

He purposely hadn't finished, preoccupied with making certain she was satisfied before chasing his own pleasure, despite what she had instructed him to do earlier. Ysera frowns when he shakes his head, turning her face away when he bends down to kiss her.

“You deserve to feel good too,” she murmurs, and although she's quiet Astarion can hear the stubborn insistence in her voice. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” she clarifies. The intensity of her gaze would have brought a flush to his cheeks were such a thing possible, and he lets out a resigned laugh.

“If you're certain.”

Ysera scrunches her nose and rolls her eyes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. Astarion's mouth falls open when her tongue runs across the seam of his mouth, and he lets her kiss him for as long as she wants, savoring the way he sighs contentedly against her.

“You're still worried about me,” she realizes, gazing up into the rich, wine-dark reds of his eyes. His expression softens with something like guilt, concern clearly visible across his features.

“Can you blame me?” Astarion asks, cupping her jaw with one hand as he bends down to kiss her again. “You didn't see yourself the way I did.”

“Whatever it was, it's gone,” she reassures him. “I'm fine, I promise. But that doesn't mean you have to stop… not if you don't want to.”

When Astarion sits up, his eyes travel down the length of his body. His cock has grown soft already, even though he still feels a lingering urge to bury himself inside her once more.

“Ah…” he says sheepishly, “about that.”

Ysera's gaze follows the same path, and she flashes him a wicked grin.

“Let me take care of that for you, darling.”

She takes his soft cock in her hand, working him back to full hardness as she strokes the full length of him. Astarion's cock swells beneath her eager fingers, filling her palm, and he tips his head back and releases a languid moan when Ysera's thumb brushes over his tip. 

“Better?” she asks, already knowing the answer. But she wants to hear it from him anyway.

“Yes,” Astarion groans, pushing her legs apart with his knee and settling between them. He flashes her a sly grin of his own. “You're absolutely insatiable, you know.”

“What can I say?” Ysera laughs, giddy and still a bit fuck-drunk. “I'm a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, lifting her leg beneath the knee and spreading her open. His cock is fully hard by the time he slides it through Ysera's still-slick folds, teasing but not breaching her entrance. “And what, pray tell, is that exactly?”

“You,” she says without hesitation, pulling him down for another passionate, breathless kiss. “Always you. Only you. For as long as you'll have me, I'm yours.”

Astarion groans in satisfaction as he slips back inside her warm, waiting cunt, dragging his cock against her walls as he fucks into her slow and deep, savoring the feel of her around him.

“Forever,” he promises, rolling his hips into her and drinking in her soft, breathy moans. “Forever. You have brought me more happiness than I deserve, more than I even thought possible.” He keeps his pace steady, stoking the heat that roars to life within him, taking his time as he slowly builds himself up to his inevitable end. He wants to stay like this forever, enveloped in her warmth, her scent, her touch.

“No,” Ysera protests, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, shallow breath she draws in. “You deserve everything and more, do you hear me? I love you, Astarion. I love you.”

Their eyes meet briefly before Astarion dips his head and murmurs something incoherent against the shell of her ear. The pace of his thrusts quickens, and before she can question him, Ysera hears his voice in her mind, connected through their tadpoles. She sees her face reflected in her mind’s eye, writhing beautifully beneath him, the full force of his emotions flooding into her.

I love you too. My darling. My dearest. 

Gathering her hands in his, Astarion lifts Ysera's arms over her head, splaying her body beneath him and pinning her to the mattress. She whimpers his name and arches her back, unable to hold back her cries of pleasure when he angles his hips to brush repeatedly against her sweet spot.

“Is it good?” she asks, the question tapering into another whimper. That familiar pressure is already building, and she knows she'll tumble over the edge with him when the moment comes.

“Always,” is his swift reply. “I'm almost there… gonna come for you, feels so good…”

Ysera throws her legs around the small of his back, holding him closer. Astarion follows her lead, burying himself deep inside her with rapid, erratic thrusts that quickly begin losing their rhythm.

He won't last much longer, helpless to do anything but follow that tug that pulls him towards the precipice of oblivion.

“Just a little further,” Ysera encourages him, the words muffled against his lips as she leans up to kiss him. “Wanna feel you come…”

Astarion finally lets go, coming with a deep, shuddering groan. He buries himself to the hilt with one last thrust as he empties himself inside her, filling her with his spend as she cries out and swiftly reaches her own peak yet again. Her walls flutter and clench around him, prompting a few last thrusts before he pulls out of her completely once she stills beneath him.

Ysera feels weightless and blissfully numb as Astarion collapses behind her on the bed, sticky with sweat and equally spent. The air inside the flat is warm and damp as she inhales deeply, the scent of roses and bergamot and sex permeating every breath she takes. 

They lay there for a moment as an easy silence falls over them, listening to the quiet sounds of the city outside. After a while, Ysera glances over her shoulder at Astarion, who's only just rolled over onto his side towards her.

“Do you think Karlach will be mad we didn't make it back on time?” she asks with an awkward little laugh.

Astarion's face breaks into a sly grin.

“Hardly. I'm sure she'll be absolutely delighted to help herself to your share of supper again.”

Ysera's head falls heavily onto her pillow, and she hums thoughtfully. “Hmm… you know what?” she concludes. “I think you're right. We're practically doing her a favor by being so late.”

Astarion's arm wraps around Ysera's stomach and he presses his lips against the curve of her spine as he chuckles in agreement. “Exactly, darling. Now come here. I'm not quite ready to let you go just yet.”

He pulls her flush against his body, their legs tangling together over the sheets. Her warmth makes him feel alive in ways he never thought he could again, and the way she scoots back against him and lays her hand over his is only one of half a dozen constant reminders of how lucky he is to have her.

Ysera's eyes feel impossibly heavy. She's in no mood to return to the Elfsong just yet, and Astarion has no intentions of spoiling the moment. Together they drift off, content to enjoy their time together for as long as fate will let them. 

────────────────

Ysera's not certain what wakes her first: the muffled voices outside the flat as the city springs to life, or the singular sunbeam that slowly sweeps across her sleeping face. She squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her face, rolling over to escape the bright light. When her hand reaches out and connects with something solid, her eyes fly open, and she finds herself face to face with Astarion, still deep in his trance.

He looks to be resting peacefully, his face placid in a way she's so rarely seen before. A slight smile graces the corners of his lips; whatever he's seeing, it must be something pleasurable.

And then it hits her. Morning. It's morning. 

Oops.

Ysera is hesitant to disturb Astarion, but they really shouldn't stay, and not only because they're trespassing. She indulges in the planes of his face for just a while longer, unable to hold back her smile. The serenity suits him in a way none of his sly smirks and devilish grins ever could.

His body is soft and cool as she snuggles against him, tucking her head against his chest.

“Astarion,” she says softly. “Astarion, wake up. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long.”

Astarion's eyes flutter open, and he drapes an arm around her, pulling her close. “You're welcome, darling,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep.

She grumbles in protest but lets him pull her up for a kiss all the same, his lips satin-soft against her own.

“At this rate, Karlach's going to eat my breakfast too,” she groans, fixing him with a look of distress.

“How unfortunate,” Astarion drawls, dragging his lips over Ysera's jaw, where he presses them against the thrumming vein on her neck. He finds the familiar spot he prefers when feeding, the smoothed-over scars that adorn the soft skin there. “Luckily for me, mine seems to have been delivered directly to me.”

“Oh no you don't,” Ysera huffs, palms flat against his chest as she pushes him away. “Keep those fangs to yourself.”

She rolls to the edge of the bed, Astarion's arm chasing after her in vain. He whines something about her being cruel, how he'll surely starve now that she's denied him his meal.

“I'll be lucky to make it back, even with all my blood,” she says, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she slips back into her clothes. “If I don't get something to eat soon, I think I might actually die.”

Astarion joins her before long, arms encircling her waist from behind as he rests his chin atop the crown of her head between her horns. He sighs into her hair, chuckling softly.

“We can't very well have that, now, can we?”

Ysera slips her hand into his, pulling Astarion towards the door and into the morning light. He follows her happily, basking in the sun's rays as the pleasant warmth seeps into his skin.

“After you, darling.”

A Taste of the Divine

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 1.5k tags/warnings: soft Astarion, dirty talk, blowjobs, praise kink, breast fucking, no plot; all filth summary: Typically, Astarion is the one to lavish affection on you, but tonight you're in the mood for something a little different. After all, isn't devotion best done on your knees? AO3 ┊ masterlist

Astarion barely has time to mourn the loss of your lips when you sink to your knees before him. Whatever protest he's mustered dies in his throat the moment you press your mouth against his semi-hard cock through the fabric of his pants, signaling your intentions.

Typically, Astarion is the one to lavish affection on you, but tonight you're in the mood for something a little different.

“Let me,” you insist, pushing his hands away when he reaches to untie his laces. Astarion quirks a brow, the tip of one sharp fang gleaming behind his lips as he smirks down at you.

“Eager tonight, are we? I suppose it's been a while…”

“It's been two days,” you remind him, too busy with his laces to toss him the eyeroll he deserves.

“Like I said,” Astarion drawls smugly, helping you slip him out of his clothes. “You must have missed it quite badly if –”

The sensation of your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb pressed over the tip, short-circuits his brain, and Astarion stops halfway through removing his shirt to stare down at you. His cock swells to full hardness when he sees you lick your lips, breath fanning out across his sensitive skin as you sigh contentedly.

Yes, you were more than eager – you always are for him, it seems – but there's nothing quite so satisfying as rendering him completely speechless. You remove your hand from his cock, making yourself at home between his legs upon the bearskin rug splayed out at the foot of the exquisite chaise lounge you had been sitting on only moments ago, reading your book beside the crackling fireplace.

“What was that?” you say innocently, encouraged by the way Astarion hisses through his teeth the moment your tongue presses against the base of his cock.

You flutter your lashes coyly and meet his molten gaze, licking a slow, languid stripe along the prominent vein that spans the full length of him. Astarion's eyes are half-lidded now, simmering embers that watch your every move with reverence. His shallow panting is barely audible through his shirt, which he's shoved into his mouth rather than bother with the hassle of removing it completely.

The teasing swipe of your tongue against the sensitive head of his cock sends him spiraling, fangs biting down into the linen as a needy whimper catches in his throat. Precome spills onto your tongue, salty-sweet and heady.

“Pl…ease,” he whines, voice cracking around the single syllable. He stumbles back and barely catches himself on the mantle, knees buckling when you repeat the motion. 

“I can't hear you, love,” you murmur against him, pressing a trail of featherlight kisses towards the junction of his thighs. You can feel him tremble beneath you, taken apart by the softest touch of your mouth as you continue to worship him with lips and tongue and teeth. “You'll have to speak up.”

The shirt falls from his mouth and Astarion clumsily lifts it over his head; it disappears somewhere behind the chaise lounge when he tosses it aside.

“I don't –” he tries, voice wavering. “I can't… ahh…!”

Your blunted teeth nip lightly at the soft skin of his inner thigh, and Astarion bucks his hips into the hand you've wrapped around him to replace your mouth.

“It's all right,” you coo, pumping him in your hand as you wrap your lips around the swollen pink tip and begin to suck. Gently, at first, just to tease, before you press the flat of your tongue against the slit and moan. “You don't need to do anything but relax.”

Astarion lets out a keening noise, a delicious, needy little thing that makes your toes curl. Oh how you love him like this, whimpering, writhing, and completely at your mercy. 

The only thing that matters now is his pleasure.

“Let me take care of you tonight.”

Astarion nods – or tries to, but his body responds so slowly to his commands. Your mouth leaves him only for a moment, only enough time for you to guide him back onto the chaise lounge before you are on him once more, cock plunging into your mouth as you take him deep.

You work him with both your lips and your hand, alternating pressure as you hollow your cheeks and gently caress his balls. Lips stretched tightly around him, you watch as his face contorts as each wave of ecstasy washes over him, taking cues from the noises he makes to repeat the motions he seems to like best. Astarion seems particularly fond of the way your tongue glides over him on the downstroke, the vibration of your languid moans making him shudder as he balls his fist and pleads for more, more, more .

Bracing your hands on his thighs, you swallow him to the base, tears pricking in your eyes each time his swollen cockhead bumps the back of your throat. Wetness pools between your thighs, the sound of his undiluted pleasure the sweetest symphony. Your face is just as ruined, the slick sheen of saliva covering your lips and his cock equally obscene as the wanton little noises you make for him.

But eventually you must breathe, and Astarion makes a noise of protest as your mouth slides off him with a wet pop, a silvery strand of saliva still connecting you . Hia cock still stands at attention as it bobs two and fro with every one of his shallow, ragged breaths. An idea suddenly strikes you, and you smile sweetly at him, a hint of slyness in your eyes.

“I’d like to try something different tonight,” you tell him, reaching for the hem of your nightgown and pulling it over your head. Astarion's eyes immediately widen at the sight of your breasts, heavy and full as you press them together enticingly. You know how much he loves them, how he can't get enough of kneading them with his hands and taking the pert little peaks between his teeth.

Confusion colors his expression, but when you position yourself over his cock, he knows immediately what you mean to do.

“You wicked little thing,” he laughs breathlessly, cock twitching in anticipation. Another bead of precome gathers on the tip before spilling down the shaft, glistening in the firelight. “Yes.”

Astarion is more than eager to let you slip his cock between the pillows of your breasts, aided by your spittle and his own mounting arousal. You test the motion slowly at first, pressing yourself tightly around him as you glide back and forth along his length, hungry gaze trained on the way his tip peeks out between your breasts each time he thrusts his hips up into your inviting heat. 

“More,” he groans, teeth grit before another keening whine tears itself from his throat. “I need more.”

You gladly give him what he wants, increasing the pace of your thrusts and sighing softly when Astarion cards his fingers through your hair and anchors his grip for extra leverage. His own thrusts are shallow but eager, mouth falling slack as his eyes slip halfway closed again as if in a daze.

You feel him grow tense before long, thighs trembling as his climax builds like a taut string about to snap.

He's so, so close now. He doesn't need to tell you for you to know, but he tries all the same, voice thin and strained as he fumbles for the words.

“I'm so… fuck , darling, going to… ohh… Gods, that’s –”

“You're doing so good for me, Astarion,” you say, your eyes full of nothing but affection as they sweep gently over his face. “It's okay, you can come, come for me, love…”

“He throws his head back and tightens the hand in your hair, roaring as he tumbles headfirst into a blinding, blissful climax. Thick ropes of his spend paint your throat and your breasts in milky white, and you poke your tongue out over your lips to catch a few errant drops.

When Astarion pieces his brain back together well enough to make at least a single coherent thought, you catch him staring up at you with a strange look in his eye, caught somewhere between reverence and amusement.

“Gods,” he groans. He means to sound snarky, but he can't hide his smile. “You're going to kill me, darling.”

“Oh, hush.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “You liked it.”

Astarion helps you wipe yourself clean, distracting you both with chaste little kisses across your face along the way, but no more than five seconds after the thing is done he pulls you giggling and squirming into bed. He gathers you tightly into his arms, sighing contentedly as you make yourself comfortable against him. He presses another series of soft kisses along the nape of your neck and up to the shell of your ear.

“You spoil me, my love. And I can't wait to return the favor.”

i like to imagine that since vampires can't generate their own body heat that they can still feel the cold so they end up like those hairless cats that love cuddles bc they're always cold so i can't stop thinking about astarion constantly pulling tav in for cuddles because he's cold and tav is very warm

me internally whenever astarion talks about the rite of profane ascension, knowing full well that i won't help him do it in the end:

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What about some seductive Astarion?

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