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Chapter 25: Hell Is a Matter of Opinion

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, blood drinking, withdrawal/forced drug use (if you squint?), violence, fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (that is generally explicit)

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Astarion knits in and out of consciousness like a fragile thread, his movements unsteady, sometimes stumbling, sometimes crawling through the dark alleys. The damp ground beneath his hands feels cold and slick, the occasional puddle splashing as his boot or palm hits the dirt.

He desperately hopes he’s heading in the right direction.

The bloodroot coursing through his veins is a torment worse than any craving he’s ever known. He would rather devour a thousand of Cazador’s putrid rats than endure this agony, endure his former master’s worst techniques than exist in a body that feels like this.

Just give up. Let the sun take you once it rises…

Suddenly, a voice breaks through the haze, calling out to him. Hands descend upon him, rolling him onto his back. Astarion groans, his vision blurred and unfocused, unable to discern the identity of his rescuer.

“Over here!” The voice shouts, “Bloody hells Astarion, what did he do to you…”

Horns come into view, scarred skin, mismatched, friendly eyes hover above him.

Wyll.

Footsteps hit the ground in quick succession, echoing down the alleyway.

“Oh gods, is he...?”

Someone smooths his damp hair out from his face, a familiar scent of orange blossom and jasmine softly grazing his senses.

“Astarion,” Celeste’s voice whispers, and he can tell she’s choking back tears, “hey, you’re okay…” She cradles his head in her hands and his vision clears. Her hair is soaking wet, and he realizes it’s still raining.

How long has he been gone? If night has fallen again…did an entire day pass?

The hunger within him resurfaces as she pulls him close, his lips grazing her throat. But panic consumes him, and he pushes her away, scrambling backwards.

More figments of his imagination, conjured by the bloodroot, Artor’s trickery…

“Don’t touch me!” He snaps, his back meeting the cold, unforgiving brick wall as he rises to his feet, using it for support. “This isn’t real.” He looks between her and Wyll’s startled faces. “Get the hells away from me!”

Celeste and Wyll cast a glance at one another before Gale approaches from the other side of the alley, blocking his escape.

“Astarion, it’s us…” Celeste takes a cautious step towards him and he lashes out, grabbing her forearm and forcefully pinning her against the wall, his fingers tightening around her throat.

“The hells it is!” He snarls, bringing his mouth close to her ear with a predatory smile. “I’m not falling for another one of your tricks.”

Celeste struggles to breathe. Her neck strained and panicked eyes meeting Gale’s, silently begging for help as Astarion's fangs pierce her skin.

She doesn’t disappear, doesn’t fade away as her blood spills on his tongue, and Astarion realizes with horror what he’s done. But just like the hallucination, just like his waking nightmare, he can’t stop this time either…

The next moment, two hands grip the sides of his temples, and like a flickering candle extinguishing its flame, he crumples to the ground, unconscious.

———

Astarion awakens, a strange sensation for someone who rarely sleeps, his eyelids slowly parting to reveal a hazy vision tainted by the remnants of bloodroot.

Nausea grips him, accompanied by a pounding headache reminiscent of a hangover. His body aches, protesting against any movement as the room spins when he attempts to sit up. Struggling, he tries to raise a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, only to discover his wrists bound to the bedpost. He tugs at his restraints and looks around, a whimper of panic escaping his throat before he realizes he’s back at the Elfsong.

“It’s alright, they were just meant to hold you until the effects of the bloodroot subsided. Here.” Celeste comes into view, delicately slicing through the ropes with her dagger. Astarion’s attention shifts to the bandage adorning her neck, and she speaks, as if reading his thoughts, not looking up from where she’s cutting.

“You weren’t yourself. Stop feeling guilty.”

She tugs his wrist free and begins working on the other. Astarion clears his throat.

“You could have left those on, we could have had some fun…” Astarion teases, before he winces at a pain in his ribs and lets out a wheezing cough.

“Take it easy. There will be time for jokes later.” With his wrists freed, she retrieves a sponge from a basin on the nightstand, blotting his forehead with cool water that trickles down to his chest. Astarion reclines, closing his eyes, surrendering to her care. Exhaustion engulfs him, rendering him unable to resist her kindness. Each touch tightens his stomach, yet simultaneously provides a sense of solace.

“How long has it been?” Astarion asks, observing as she dips the sponge into the water again.

“Two nights since you left.” Her voice carries a trace of resentment he can’t blame her for. She plops the sponge back in the basin and guides him into a sitting position. Astarion buries his face in his hands as he perches on the edge of the mattress while she kneels in front of him. His stomach roils, and he’s not sure if he’s even capable of vomiting.

“Talk to me, Star.” Celeste whispers. “What happened?” He inhales slowly, gathering his thoughts.

“I went to Artor without you. I didn’t want you in danger.” He exhales, the memories flooding back. “The bastard made…forced me to consume bloodroot. It’s like... opium for vampires, but something…far worse. He treated me like some kind of sick experiment. He chained me to the same wall in Cazador’s basement where I was once...”

Celeste pulls his hands away from his face and holds them tenderly in her own.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly, her voice gentle yet firm, as her eyes lock with his. Astarion shakes his head, his gaze distant, as if words elude him.

“It was like... there was something inside me,” he murmurs, his voice trailing off into the void. “I became so angry, so consumed by insatiable hunger. I hallucinated, dreamt of killing you…draining your blood, and when I saw you in that alley I thought maybe I’d imagined him letting me go altogether. That it was another trick…”

Standing up, she moves behind him on the bed, her body gliding against his back, her hands drifting up and down his arms.

“It should be out of your system now,” she reassures him. “Gale put you to sleep, and Shadowheart was able to expedite the withdrawal by bleeding you and giving you my blood to dilute what remained in your system. It was Minthara who recognized what was happening, the bloodroot. Apparently, it affects most of us as a poison, but for your kind... it’s something else entirely.”

He looks at her face resting on his shoulder and reaches for the bandage around her inner arm where they must have drawn her blood. “Celeste…I’ve taken so much from you…”

“Shh,” she soothes him, “I gave it willingly. You’re okay.”

“I-I…” he sighs, steadying himself, but she can hear a strange tremolo in his voice, as if he’s trying to keep himself from slipping, “I don’t want to become that…what I was back there.”

“You’re won’t,” she insists, her voice unwavering. “This was done to you. What he did...” Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. “You should have never gone alone, Astarion. We searched for you, we all did, spoke to him while you were locked away and he deceived us. He told us you’d left.”

“He lied,” Astarion’s hands clench into fists on his knees, jaw tight. “It was all a lie.” He whirls to look at her. “And the moonstone-”

“He told us about the moonstone. We don’t need his help.” She says through her teeth. “We’re never going back there unless it’s to fucking kill him and take that ring.”

“The ring...” Astarion’s voice is slow, laden with anguish. He reaches into his pocket and tosses the ring on the floor with a flick of his wrist. The metal hits the floorboards, rolling until it clatters onto its side.

“It’s a fake.” He says bitterly. “It grants dark vision, but doesn’t do a damn thing in the sun.” His shoulders slump, the weight of disappointment clear in his posture. “There is no daylight ring, Celeste. He wanted to torture me. To make a show of power to the spawn who got lucky against his former master.”

He trails off, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and sadness. The silence hangs heavily in the air for several long moments.

“He offered to make me a true vampire,” Astarion continues as he fidgets with the fabric of the sheets, the silken material slipping through his fingers. “To fully transform me. Who knows if he even has that kind of power, but I…I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it anymore.” Celeste senses his restlessness and shifts closer, gently pulling his face towards her.

“Whatever you want, Astarion,” Celeste consoles him. “We’ll do whatever you want.” He closes his eyes and leans into her touch, letting go of the bedsheets, taking a calming breath that he lets out with a shiver.

“You still want to be near me, after I hurt you?” he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty. He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting Celeste’s.

“I knew what you were when I met you. I’ve known this the entire time. I’m not disillusioned with thoughts that you’ll always be in control.” Her thumb traces his cheek.

Astarion stares at her blankly, catching her hand in his and squeezing it tightly. His face softens and the tense expression fades.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” he asks her with a weak grin.

“I know.” She smiles back at him, brushing his hair from his eyes. Astarion flops back onto the mattress, the softness of the bed enveloping him as he stares up at her.

“The man you know, this version of myself, has only existed since I escaped Cazador. What if, at my core, I can’t be what you see in me?” His red irises lock onto her face, searching for answers.

She laughs through her nose. “There are more terrifying things than you, Astarion Ancunín, and I’ve seen most of them.”

“I…” he blinks and can’t help the corners of his lips curling with a hint of cynicism. “I suppose that’s true.” A sudden wave of weakness washes over him, his limbs growing heavy.

Celeste watches his eyelids flutter before he falls asleep, honest to gods sleep, pure exhaustion on his features, before she quietly leaves the room to let him rest. Astarion rolls over onto his side, a contented sigh escaping him as he relaxes against the pillows. He’s tired…maybe for the first time in a long while that he’s felt truly tired. It’s an unfamiliar weariness that permeates his very being, as if he has tapped into a reservoir of energy he never knew existed.

And now, at last, drained it completely.

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

Full Story on AO3

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion #baldurs gate oc #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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selunesdreams · 3 days

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Chapter 24: Spawn

“Are you under the misapprehension that Cazador made a mistake?” Astarion sneers, “It was no mistake that the one he deemed most unworthy slew him in his own home.”

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+, blood, coerced substance abuse (if you squint), abuse/torture, trauma, vampire/spawn politics, criminally small amount of fluff this chapter (more next!) preexisting relationship, part of a series

Celeste lies on her side, emitting a soft groan as Astarion sidles up behind her, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck. As his knuckle drifts down the length of her waist, she shivers.

“You should rest, darling.” He purrs in her ear.

“You’re making it difficult,” she murmurs, surrendering to the sensation and closing her eyes.

He traces a path past her collarbone, looping underneath the pendant at the base of her throat, letting the necklace’s chain snake between his fingers, its golden hue glinting in the soft moonlight that filters through the window.

“Curious little thing,” he muses as he turns the moonstone over between his thumb and forefinger.

Celeste rolls over to face him. “Are you planning on stealing it?” she teases.

Astarion laughs through his nose. “Not a chance. I quite enjoy watching you incinerate our enemies,” he replies before lowering his eyes at the distant look his words elicit from her. He combs his fingers through her hair to distract her, mumbling an apology that she accepts with a contented sigh.

Unbeknownst to Celeste, he has no intention of trancing tonight or staying in bed with her as he eases her to sleep. Though she had implied she would accompany him to meet Artor tomorrow, he cannot bear the thought of her walking into that place again.

As her breathing gradually slows, her hair spilling across her face under the dim light, he takes one last look at her. A pang of longing tugs at his chest, and he carefully rises from the bed. In her sleep, Celeste whines softly, her hand extending over the mattress as if searching for his presence. He presses a gentle kiss against the back of it before quietly dressing and slipping out of the room.

He leaves the tavern, the scent of stale ale lingering in the air, past the tired barkeep, wiping down sticky counters after the evening’s patrons. The first hints of sunrise paint the sky, but if he makes good time, he can avoid daylight and navigate the sewers back once it’s light. Astarion walks at a steady pace to hide the urgency of his steps, moving like a shadow, his boots making no sound as he passes through the streets. He knows it won’t take long to reach Cazador’s old palace, but he hates being out in the open after recent events.

His mind drifts to thoughts of Celeste, her body against his, how they’d moved in the dark together, trying to distract himself from the thought of how he’d left her alone, and how she’ll feel when she wakes in an empty bed.

As he reaches the imposing gates, he cautiously scans the surroundings, the eerie silence broken only by the faint rustling of leaves. The decaying structure hints at the presence of lurking ghouls and other vile creatures. The last thing he needs is to be caught off guard.

Suddenly, a dull yet proper voice startles him from behind. He turns to find a compelled servant, their lifeless eyes fixed on him.

“Master Morlin will see you inside.”

With a nod, Astarion enters, a shiver running down his spine as he recalls the last time he crossed this threshold. The servant leads him through the palace’s corridors, each step echoing in the empty halls.

“Do you have a name?” Astarion asks, disinterested, but trying to cut through the silence.

“Master Morlin does not have use for sentimentality.”

“Typical.” He says under his breath.

They arrive at Cazador’s old office - a place Astarion was never welcome before, and he steps inside, assessing the vampire lord seated behind his former master’s desk. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, adding to Astarion’s unease.

“Astarion, you’re earlier than expected,” Artor’s voice breaks the silence, laced with intrigue.

“I heard my presence was requested,” Astarion says, devoid of emotion, his gestures exaggerated. “Here I am.” The palace brings back memories he would rather not revisit, and he does not waste time on pleasantries.

“Sit.” Artor commands as he gestures towards a chair across from him. Astarion obeys, crossing his legs and keeping his expression neutral. He knows what he wants, but he’s in no position to dictate terms.

“We’ll discuss killing Keresta in a moment,” Artor begins, his gaze piercing. “But first, I want to hear how you killed Cazador Szarr.

Astarion raises an eyebrow. “That’s your concern?” He lets a mocking grin pull at the edges of his mouth.

“It’s not every day a vampire lord is slain, let alone by one of his thralls.”

“You think it can’t happen again?” Astarion’s tone remains calm and even, amusement dancing in his eyes as the power shifts slightly away from Artor’s favor.

“I like to learn from others’ mistakes.” Artor flashes a dangerous smile.

“Are you under the misapprehension that Cazador made a mistake?” Astarion sneers, “It was no mistake that the one he deemed most unworthy slew him in his own home.”

Artor’s chair creaks as he shifts his weight. “Cazador was strong,” he finally says, “there’s no shame in admitting you were fortunate.”

“Cazador was arrogant,” Astarion counters, his words dripping with contempt. “He was so sure he would never be betrayed that he didn’t suspect a traitor in his own halls.”

“But you had a stroke of luck, didn’t you? The tadpole freed you,” Artor remarks.

Astarion’s response is filled with a mix of resignation and defiance. “Temporarily,” he admits, “It broke his hold over me long enough for me to resist. Long enough for me to kill him.”

“And yet, you rejected ascension. You could have become the most powerful vampire in Faerûn.” Artor’s voice carries a hint of fascination.

Astarion scoffs. “I had no desire to be like him. He thought his power made him invincible, but he was just as much his own prisoner as he thought I was.”

“Poetic.” Artor responds dryly. He rises from his desk, the creak of the chair accompanying his movements.

“A foolish decision,” he continues as he paces with his hands behind his back, “But I suppose I have little to fear from a spawn who would turn down the opportunity to take power for himself.” His words hang in the air, heavy with a sense of superiority. “So I’ll allow a temporary alliance to form between the two of us.”

“Very gracious of you,” Astarion grumbles, “and what do you require in return for this alliance?”

“A couple of things. But first,” Artor opens a box on his desk, the hinges squeaking softly, and produces a small gold ring. The metal glimmers in the light, casting a soft glow in the dim room. “I believe you wanted this? Consider it a gesture of good faith.” With a casual flick of his wrist, he tosses the ring to the rogue, who deftly catches it between two fingers, eyeing the ring a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

Skepticism lingers in Astarion’s features as he asks, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. That ring is no more than a child’s plaything. Not sure what you want with it.”

“You mean besides it allowing me to walk in the sun?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow.

Artor lets out a bark of laughter. “You were fooled then too, boy. The books are misleading.”

Confusion taints Astarion’s tone as he demands, “Then what is this?”

Artor’s response is matter-of-fact. “It allows you to see in the dark. Not walk in the sun. It illuminates, but does not protect. Perhaps it could serve as a thief’s tool, but I’m doubtful you’d need such an aid to begin with.”

Astarion feels hollow. The ring might as well have crumbled into ash in his hands, the same way he would under the sun. He’s been played, and the worst part is that deep down, he kind of knew it.

Regaining his composure, Astarion speaks again. “So this alliance then, what do you want from me?”

“To kill Keresta,” Artor responds, his voice carrying a hint of intensity.

“That was my plan, anyway.”

“Yes, but I want you to be successful. I have some information for you.”

Astarion’s wariness grows, his senses on high alert. “What kind of information?”

“She’s following Celeste for several reasons,” Artor sits back down, “But one, as I’m sure you’ve deduced, is that she wants that moonstone you took from Sorcerer’s Sundries.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his mind racing with the implications. “How do you know about that?”

“I have people everywhere,” Artor states confidently. “Do you even know what the stone does?”

Astarion shakes his head, a mix of curiosity and embarrassment washing over him.

“It’s called the Tear of Selûne. It enhances the power of all magic in its vicinity. Shar has sought it out for centuries in an attempt to gain an advantage over her sister. And your lover now has it in her possession. She even wears a piece of it around her neck - I could feel it when she was here earlier.”

Astarion sits in silence, digesting the information. It would make sense that Keresta would be after something so powerful. Memories of Celeste and the charm around her neck flood his thoughts, the object he had idly played with just an hour ago.

“This information is in exchange for what, exactly?” Astarion asks.

“We cannot allow Keresta to wield such power. That Sharran brat will not challenge me. If you eliminate her, I will assist you in becoming a true vampire. It may not be ascension, but you will be more than a wretched spawn.”

Astarion leans back in the chair, weighing his options. He hates being beholden to anyone, relying on them for power or otherwise. But becoming a proper vampire would remove vulnerabilities…

No. There’s always a catch.

“I’m not interested.” He firmly declares.

“It matters little to me,” Artor says, inspecting the back of his hand. “Nevertheless, before you depart, I will require something of you.” Artor snaps towards the door and a servant hurries in with a chalice of blood.

Astarion catches the scent before he sees the source, freezing in recognition. It is the same scent that lingered in the blood of Keresta’s thrall when they first met.

He stares at the chalice. “You want me to drink bloodroot? To prove what?”

“I keep a substantial supply on hand. It leads my enemies to believe I am addicted, too consumed to pose a threat. I don’t need you to prove anything, spawn. I simply wish to witness the true nature of your blood rage,” Artor explains.

“Absolutely not.” Astarion says.

“You misunderstand...if you refuse me, you will not leave this place alive.”

Astarion scowls. Artor wants to see his fury? Fine. So be it.

Without uttering another word, he raises the chalice to his lips and takes a measured sip.

The taste of Celeste’s blood had been remarkable, but this, this is different. This was an ecstasy like he’d never known. He drinks voraciously, feeling the burning sensation of the bloodroot as it slides down his throat, heavy on his tongue. He gulps the blood down and slams the chalice on the desk, seething.

“You must have been obedient for Master Cazador. What’s the phrase? Old habits die hard?” Artor mocks.

“Yes, yes, I was, damn it all,” Astarion growls, pressing against the desk, struggling to maintain control. He feels himself slipping away, his thoughts clouded by the drug.

“It’s alright to admit that you’re enjoying it,” Artor taunts, his smile widening. “It’s in your nature to do so.”

“Shut up!” Astarion snarls. “Don’t think I’m going to become some faithful thrall of yours.”

“I have no interest in that. But it will show me how vicious you can be.”

Artor snaps his fingers again and two sets of hands seize Astarion and pull him backwards out of his chair. Artor watches with a smug grin.

“Let go of me!” Astarion struggles against the other spawn, cursing and threatening them. He feels the bloodroot reducing him to nothing more than his base urges, guided by a few shreds of his consciousness. And the sight of Artor smiling sends him into a murderous rage.

He’s dragged down the hallway to a familiar door, a room full of chains and tools of torment.

Where Godey would flay him for days.

Where he spent a year in darkness.

Where Cazador carved those scars into his back…

Chains snap around his wrists, old familiar foes, and he thrashes against them. Shoes click against the stone floor as Artor appears in the doorway.

“Now what makes you so special…” Artor muses before he slices a line across Astarion’s sternum with a sharp fingernail. Blood trickles down his stomach, pooling underneath his shirt, and Astarion winces.

“It’s time you learn your place, spawn. You need to be humbled. Let the bloodroot in, let it teach you that you’re nothing more than an animal.”

“How long do you plan to keep me down here?” Astarion growls.

“It will wear off in a few hours,” Artor says, disinterested. “Make yourself…comfortable.” The door slams as the spawn exit behind him, leaving Astarion in darkness.

Alone.

Astarion snarls and slams himself against the chains, screaming at the world and himself in equal measure.

Time passes, he doesn’t know how much. Eventually, he slumps against the wall, his mind in turmoil and his body aching in a thousand different ways. His throat strings from thirst and screaming himself hoarse.

“Astarion!”

Celeste’s voice snaps him from the verge of unconsciousness as she slams open the dungeon door and rushes to him.

“What are you doing here?” He croaks, “Celeste, he’ll fucking kill you.”

“Gale and the others have him occupied. Come on.” She struggles with his restraints.

“I’m too weak to run, I’ll find you later…” he rasps. She looks him over, assessing his condition.

“You need blood. Here.” She offers him her wrist, holding herself against the lower half of his hanging body. Astarion hesitantly brings his mouth to her skin, holding her gaze, before biting down.

The bloodroot in his veins roars and he gulps down mouthful after mouthful. Celeste begins to turn white, the life draining from her face.

“Astarion, wait, you’re killing me…” she says weakly, but he can’t stop, he just watches her die.

All because of him. All because he can’t stop…

Until she just…vanishes.

The room comes back to him like a watercolor painting, his head pounding and body howling for blood, more intensely than ever before. Those familiar footsteps, that godsdamned familiar tapping, echo through the hall before the lock clicks and the door swings open, metal whining against its hinges.

“Hallucinating?” Artor asks as he saunters in. “I could hear you screaming from my office.” His tone is one of derision and disgust, the kind Cazador would reserve for slaves. Astarion growls and lunges against his restraints once more.

“Did Celeste tell you I was different from Cazador? That my intentions were pure? That I was on your side?” Artor’s stare is cold and calculating as he assesses Astarion like a cruel experiment. “We are allied because I need something from you. Remember that, boy. Don’t get in my way once it’s finished.”

“I know...what you are,” Astarion hisses, his voice laced with defiance. The taste of blood fills his mouth, the acrid taste of bitterness lingering on his tongue, and he spits, staining the floor at Artor’s feet. “Do you have information for me about Keresta, or should I just run from here and hunt her blindly?”

Artor’s laughter fills the room, a cruel sound that reverberates against the walls.

“Straight to the point. I like that about you.” Artor takes a step closer. “Keresta went back to Waterdeep. She’s planning an attack on one of Lathander’s temples before she launches another on the Temple of the Moon in a fortnight. That should give you time.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. “You should run while I handle Keresta. Once she’s dead, I’m coming to tear your head from your shoulders.”

Artor smirks. “I’d love to see you try.” He seizes Astarion by the throat, speaking through gritted teeth. “This may have been your home once, but you’ll never walk through those doors again and live to tell the tale. Get out of my sight.” Artor thrusts Astarion’s head back and waves his hand dismissively, a sharp gesture that commands the entrance of the servants.

“Gladly,” Astarion looks Artor square in the face with bloodstained teeth. “This was never a home to me.”

The servants unchain him, cold metal biting into his skin as he falls to the floor. His body trembles with the effort to stand.

Astarion stumbles past Artor, down the dimly lit hall, anger coursing through his veins, fueling his every step. He barely makes it out the gates before careening into the side of a nearby building, dizzy and exhausted.

“Godsdamnit.” he mutters to himself.

Rough brick scratches against his palms as he slides to the ground, and then everything goes black.

a/n: thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

Full story on AO3

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate oc #spawn astarion #baldurs gate astarion #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment #bg3

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selunesdreams · 5 days

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Chapter 23: Desire

Smut chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!!, smut, piv, oral, blood drinking, dirty talk, cumplay, slight fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (but readable without context)

A/n: a very specific part/scene was inspired by this post from @looneylolita and they deserve credit!

—

“You know, darling, I could do this all night, but it would be more fun if you were paying attention while I did it.”

Astarion rises from his position between her legs, where he’s been watching her stare and sigh at the ceiling as he’s worked his mouth against her for the past twenty minutes.

Celeste snaps to attention and blushes. “Sorry.” She squeaks.

His tongue gives a few final lazy strokes against her cunt before he wipes his mouth, glistening with her arousal, against the back of his wrist. The vampire kisses his way up her torso until he’s hovering over her, hands bracketing her on the bed.

“I know that look. I invented it. You’re a million dimensions away.” He cocks his head. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

Celeste turns her gaze towards the balcony. “My thoughts are so demanding,” she exhales slowly. “I want to be here. I’m trying…I just can’t find a moment of quiet in my head.”

“Only you could overthink yourself into oblivion far enough to only casually enjoy my talents.” His words are mocking, but there’s a gentleness to his demeanor as he speaks to her. “If you’d like me to stop, darling, you only need to ask.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, frustrated tears brimming her eyes, “It’s just…everything is so horrible and I can’t focus, can’t relax,” she lets out a sound of agitation, “I can’t come.” She says and flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, little love,” he says, kissing her jaw, “I’m acquainted with that feeling better than anyone. Just let yourself enjoy something for once. That pesky guilt of yours is getting in the way,” He reaches down for his trousers and unlaces them with one hand, pumping himself against her thigh. “And getting on my nerves.” He adds with a growl. She whines as the tip of his erection weeps precum against her skin.

Astarion sits up on his knees, baring every inch of his chiseled torso to her as he continues stroking himself. “Are you sure about this?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

She nods and he removes the rest of his clothes, returning to his former position over her, catching her lips with his own.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say a word.” He whispers against her upper lip, releasing it from between his teeth. Her throat feels dry and all she can do is whimper in response, eliciting a smirk from Astarion.

He teases the tip of himself against her entrance. “But I will need you to look at me so I know you won’t wander off again.” He purrs the words into her ear and grips her face, the tips of his fingers pulling at her skin as he enters her. A gasp of surprise escapes Celeste and Astarion offers her a roguish smile.

“Is this what you wanted?” He feigns a pout as he works in agonizingly slow, yet powerful movements that rattle her with every push, eyes locked on hers with a dominating intensity. She arches her back in response and rakes her nails down his shoulder blades, causing him to tense.

“That’s my wicked girl.” He says with a snarl that turns into a kiss, bringing his mouth against hers as he thrusts.

Astarion had fucked hundreds of people before her, but it was kissing that had always left him hesitant, not the sex. The vulnerability of baring yourself in that way to someone. He could flip a lover over, turn away to escape as he did nothing more than service them, but the meeting of lips, the exploring of tongues in mouths and hands tugging and pulling and grasping…it was hard to fake that kind of intimacy. Not impossible, especially for him, but it took more out of him. More care, more energy. With her, it made his chest ache, his throat tighten with want. Need.

Astarion’s hands squeeze her upper thighs apart as he drives himself into her, while his thumbs trace circles and lines, feather light, before they roughly dig into her skin. Her moans become sobs of pleasure against his shoulder, hands desperately grasping at his scarred back as she draws herself closer, as if she could merge with him, dissolve into his very being.

“Celeste?” He asks apprehensively, a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as her cries become more and more tortured. He pulls away, tilting her chin towards him so he can search her face for signs of genuine distress. Her breath comes in pants as her lips crash into his, answering with a demanding buck of her hips.

Astarion wraps her legs around his waist and pulls her closer by the small of her back. He lifts her with him as he leans back on his ankles, situating her in his lap between his knees. She takes over his rhythm, riding him as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. Her fingers weave through his curls as she straddles him, lowering herself so he’s buried deeper within her.

He lets out a groan as she grinds into him with her entire body, controlling her own pleasure, tightening around him every time he bottoms out inside of her. Celeste pulls away, hands grasping his shoulders as she watches him. Astarion meets her stare reverently, as if worshiping her from the mattress. He finds one of her breasts and sucks at its peak, languidly flicking his tongue against her nipple, looking at her underneath lowered eyelids.

She melts in his arms as she feels a warmth at her core, her cunt clenching and dripping more of her own desire onto the base of his cock. Astarion releases his mouth from her skin and closes his eyes, appreciating the sensation. His deft fingers crawl down her stomach, a thumb finding her slickened clit and tracing delicate, then firm circles. She bites down on his shoulder, muffling a guttural scream.

“Now, now, darling, if you get to bite, then I do too.” He teases as he kisses the base of her throat. She bends to nip at his ear.

“Do it.” She rasps, and he throws her onto the pillows without warning, realigning himself and rutting into her with rugged precision. His fangs brush her neck, waiting for permission.

“Are you sure?” He breathes, fingers twisting themselves her hair, tugging her attention towards him as he searches her face for hesitation. She bites her lip and nods. Astarion shakes his head and pulls back and looks at her. “I need your words, Celeste.”

“Yes.” She squeezes her thighs against his hips as he drives into her.

Astarion hums in approval and leaves one hand knotted in her hair while the other returns to her center, teasing at her while he fucks her.

“I think you’re close, Celeste. Let’s help each other.” Astarion grins before his fangs find her again, piercing her skin without warning. Her breath hitches and her chest buckles as he sups at her neck. The mounting pleasure nearly sends him over the edge and he tries to keep from spilling himself as her walls tighten around his erection. When she clenches again, he knows she’s doing it on purpose.

“Fucking hells, Celeste,” he murmurs between pulls at her vein. Blood trickles past his bottom lip and his tongue drags a sloppy line up her neck to catch it. “That’s going to make me come, and I’d rather not do it alone,” he grumbles as he reaches her ear.

She cries out and he licks away the rest of the blood as he pounds into her. Her throat bobs, as if stifling a scream, and his lips cover hers to capture it before it escapes.

“What was that earlier about you not being able to come?” He pants. The vampire listens to the racing of her heart and the blood furiously rushing through her veins, sensing her orgasm approaching. She squirms underneath him, a whimpering mess as her climax finds her. Astarion finally allows himself release, groaning her name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to her shoulder as she mewls in his ear. They stay intertwined for several long moments before he pulls back to assess her.

Her cheeks are flushed as she gazes back at him. A smattering of blood on her neck where she’d bled more while he’d been fucking her catches his attention and he sucks his teeth and smiles.

“Oh dear, I’ve gotten sloppy.”

Her brow furrows, and her fingers fly to the wound. She stares as they come away slick with blood, glancing at him with concern. Astarion takes her fingers in his mouth and cleans the blood from them before rolling her on top of him, his hands eagerly gripping her waist as he draws the flat of his tongue over her neck, moaning at the taste of her. She grasps his curls with both hands and presses herself to him, her breasts flattening against his torso. Astarion’s hand ventures over her ass and back between her legs, encountering the wetness of his own spend seeping from her cunt. He slides his middle finger inside, teasing more cum from her as he laps at her throat.

Satisfied, he eases her back onto the mattress, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Are you still with me?”

“Mmm,” she sighs contentedly. There’s a tug at his heart as he takes her in. She’s stunning, all mussed hair and flushed skin, like a painting against the white sheets.

“I love you, Celeste,” he croaks, the words catching in his throat. His chest tightens with icy dread as he anticipates her response. They’d been skirting around those three words for days, repeatedly prompting arguments and slammed doors.

Her fingers reach up, wrapping themselves around his throat, exerting a slight pressure as she pulls him down until his lips hover above hers. Astarion swallows nervously, surprised by the shift in control. What’s left of his erection pulses against her thigh and he hopes she doesn’t notice his revived arousal.

“Getting sentimental on me?” she teases, a sinful smirk gracing her lips as she kisses him passionately. Sensing his trepidation, she breaks away, holding his gaze as she whispers back, a mix of understanding and desire in her voice.

“I love you too.”

—

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

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selunesdreams · 7 days

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Chapter 22: Moonstone

Astarion closes his eyes slowly, his tone perilously calm.

“Tell me you didn’t go to him alone. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with a vampire lord.”

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selunesdreams · 9 days

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AA Priest animation

Work in progress :)

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selunesdreams · 9 days

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friendly wizardly reminder. he is a wizard of exceptional accomplishment after all.

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selunesdreams · 10 days

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Chapter 21: Who’d You Kill Now?

Astarion pants, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as he musters the strength to hold the stake back.

“I have to say,” he grunts, his voice strained. “I’m impressed. The last time I saw you, you were pissing yourself and begging for your life like a dog.”

The ex-Harper lets out a scream of rage and pulls the stake back, ready to strike again.

“Don’t worry, spawn, she’ll be well cared for once I end you.”

“Touch her and lose your hand.” Astarion snarls.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldurs gate oc #baldur’s gate fanfiction #astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #protective Astarion #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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selunesdreams · 10 days

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Home is where the weirdos are ⛺️

POV: your cute little vampire boyfriend just took care of the “family drama” and needs a hug.

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selunesdreams · 11 days

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Chapter 20: Bad Blood

“I can handle vampires just fine.”

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selunesdreams · 12 days

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Chapter 19: Not Tonight

Astarion’s in a bad mood and he doesn’t like Rolan. Surprise, surprise.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate oc #Astarion being a prick #baldurs gate astarion #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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selunesdreams · 14 days

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Chapter 18: Born Under a Bad Sign

“Even the gods watch the stars.” She murmurs. Her father had once said the words to her, no doubt something he picked up in one of his books. He’d point to the Swan and the Spear, her birth signs, and she’d try to memorize them so she could find them in the sky every Eleint.

Astarion turns, an arm resting under his head. “The gods know nothing of appreciating beauty. It all means nothing if it’s not finite.”

Celeste rolls towards him in response, fluffing a pillow underneath her. “Then what could the stars’ beauty mean to a vampire?”

Astarion grunts, holding back a bitter laugh. “I’ve never known immortal creatures more preoccupied with a fear of dying than the undead.” He cranes his head back towards the sky, still facing her. “The stars are my namesake, just like the moon is yours. I suppose there’s some beauty in that.” Those amber eyes return to her, gleaming as they assess hers and her throat feels unbearably hollow.”

Full Chapter on AO3

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selunesdreams · 14 days

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Forms of Imprisonment: Godless

“There’s no mandatory waiting period between suffering and enjoying yourself.”

Smut excerpt from Ch. 17 of Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC (post-tadpole)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral, religious shame?, sacrilege kink (if you squint), rough-ish, dirty talk, cumplay, Astarion keeps his clothes (mostly) on during sex, slight fluff?/preexisting relationship stuff, brief mentions of violence, part of a series (but readable without context)

Astarion reaches for her, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “Are you alright?”

She averts her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“The question was a courtesy. You’re obviously not.” He says. “You’ve been betrayed by someone you once cared for…” he pauses. “And I think you would have enjoyed watching me rip him to shreds. Does that scare you? Are you ashamed of yourself?”

“I said I wanted to go-”

Astarion draws her face closer and she can see his jaw tense, his stare unwavering. “Because you shouldn’t be.”

She glances around them through her peripheral, his touch still lingering under her chin. People pass them on the road, but no one seems to notice. Down the street, the lights of Sharess’ Caress illuminate the area in a faint yellow glow.

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there are no rewards for good behavior, my dear.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and cups her cheek with his hand. “Don’t be ashamed of the darkest parts of you. You owe no penance here. Not with me.”

She pulls back, appraising him. “How do you do it? You’re not tormented by the pains of virtue.”

He holds her face in his hands. “Even if that were true, I would never want that for you. Your damned virtue, annoying as it may be, is what makes someone like me have a sliver of hope they could ever trust another soul.”

“I don’t want to be good. I didn’t ask for any of this - to be Selûne’s granddaughter, to lose my family, a religion I didn’t choose. My identity will never be my own.” Tears brim along her waterline and Astarion frowns, moving to stroke her cheek. She swallows hard and forces herself to regain composure. “I’m tired.” She croaks.

He casts her a rare, sympathetic look and entwines his fingers in hers. “I know, my dear. I know.”

Wordlessly, they weave through the streets of Rivington back to the Elfsong. Celeste is relieved their friends haven’t caught up - she doesn’t want to explain herself to anyone right now. They fall into step near Wyrm’s Rock before Astarion speaks again.

“You’re not all innocence and purity, you know.” Astarion says. Her hand drops from his and she wraps her arms around herself. “You told me of your little Sharran assassinations and I saw all the carrion you left at the cloister. If it’s a dangerous reputation you’re after, you’re doing alright.” Astarion notices her shiver and shrugs off his cloak, wrapping it around her as they walk. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

Celeste draws the cloak around herself tightly. “What you saw at the House of Grief was sheer luck. I didn’t do that on my own.” She absentmindedly toys with her necklace.

Astarion’s attention follows her movement and lingers at the base of her throat, the pulse of her neck beating visibly. His throat burns with want and he clears it to displace his thirst. “Lucky we found that family heirloom, then.”

Celeste snorts bitterly and lets the pendant fall from her fingers. “You have no idea.”

Astarion cocks his head. “Well, regardless of where the credit is due, I was quite taken with your work.”

“Now is hardly the time, Astarion.”

“Because you’re not in the mood, or because you’d feel bad about it? There’s no mandatory waiting period between suffering and enjoying yourself.” His tone is empathetic, but there’s a seductive edge to it.

Celeste makes a small hum of appreciation. “Not the worst advice you’ve given.”

Astarion leans down to whisper in her ear. “Didn’t you just say you don’t want to be good anymore?”

She considers his words as they step inside the Elfsong. The tavern is lively tonight, a bard’s lute ringing across the room as patrons dance and drink and stumble into corners, pressed against temporary lovers. Astarion appreciates the debauchery for a moment before offering his hand. “Come, darling.” She places her fingers into his palm and he leads her up the stairs. The music from the tavern pounds rhythmically into the wooden floors. It reverberates through her, a satisfying thud echoing each beat of her heart.

Their rooms are empty, though Astarion isn’t sure how much distance is between them and their friends. “Not here.” He guides her to the private room down the hall. A single candle burns on the bedside table, the balcony is wide open, curtains catching in the breeze. “Surely it’s our turn in the rotation.” He shuts the door behind him and pins her to the wall, looking down at her as if he were hunting prey.

“I’ll be the devil, if that suits you, darling...” He murmurs into her neck. “Let me show you what it is to be godless.”

His lips catch hers hungrily. She presses her hips against him in response and a whine betrays his controlled demeanor. He tugs at the straps of her clothes, bringing the entirety of her leather one-piece to the floor. Astarion leads her across the room and shoves her on the bed, removing her undergarments in a fluid, impatient motion.

Bracing himself, he stares at her naked form appreciatively before sliding two fingers into her wet cunt, curling them upwards and bending down to let his tongue explore her in a languid stroke, never taking his eyes from her. She arches her back in surprise, grinding herself against him as he begins to lap at her and fuck her with his fingers.

“Greedy.” He teases, before his mouth returns to her.

She rests her lips against her forearm, burying a cry of pleasure in her throat. Astarion tracks every movement with his red irises, letting a moan reverberate against her to coax a stronger reaction. His imposing, fully clothed figure arches towards her as he drops to his knees and throws one of her legs over his shoulder. Her breath catches and she looks down at him, the faint portrait of his satisfaction gently illuminated.

Celeste’s will crumbles in minutes and the borders of her vision begin to darken and pulsate as she climaxes. Astarion doesn’t stop until she whimpers, pushing against him as if trying to escape. He sucks on his fingers after removing them, still gazing at her from his knees before standing.

“We’re not finished. Not yet.” His fangs glimmer in the light as he smiles, his hands moving to his trousers. His gaze is locked with hers as he undoes the clasp. They fall to his thighs, letting her see all of his intent.

Her breath hitches in anticipation and he drags her closer by her hips, lining himself up with her. Celeste clings to the fabric of his shirt, burying her face in his neck as he drives himself to the hilt of her, teasing at first, then progressively becoming more rough. Astarion lets one hand wander to palm her breast, kissing her reverently.

“I think I might have been made to ruin you, Celeste.” He purrs as he thrusts in and out of her, fucking her roughly with eyes full of sinister devotion. Her stomach throbs with anticipation and she whines for him to keep going. An impatient knock at the door morphs Astarion’s groan of pleasure into one of frustration.

“There’s over a dozen other beds in the next room that will suit you just fine!” He snarls at the door before clamping a hand against Celeste’s mouth as he ruts into her, using his free hand to draw circles around her clit.

“Pardon the interruption.” He pants into her open mouth with a smirk, feeling the slick of her seep from his cock onto his fingers as he thrusts. “Gods, look at you. You don’t have to worry one bit about a good reputation with me, love.”

She tightens around him in response to his taunting, her muffled cries reverberating against his palm. Astarion’s speech becomes less and less coherent, replacing his hand on her mouth with a frenzied kiss, a deep growl escaping his throat.

Celeste whimpers, clawing at his shirt as he sends her over the edge. Astarion grits his teeth, sucking in air before releasing a hum of pleasure against her lips as he spills himself in her. He continues working in slow strokes long past their orgasms until neither of them can bear it. She goes still on the sheets and he finally halts, shuddering against her.

“Hells.” He braces himself against the mattress, panting against her shoulder as he pulls himself out of her. His fingers drift to where his spill mixes with her own arousal, teasing the mess he’s made until she whimpers a surrender. “I don’t think anyone else will want the bed tonight.” He devours a look of feigned disapproval from her face with a long, rough kiss before pushing off of her and readjusting himself inside of his trousers.

Astarion walks towards the balcony overlooking the street. He leans over the railing on his forearms, hands clasped together loosely. One ankle crosses over the other behind him, a delicate balance, his form like a painting. His features are neutral, contemplative. To anyone else, he might seem at ease, but Celeste can almost see him turning over something in his mind. She gives him a moment before tentatively reaching for his cloak near her pile of discarded clothes, drawing it around her naked body and padding across the room to join him.

Sensing her approach, the corners of his mouth twitch upwards and he whirls and brings her close, a thumb brushing against her cheek. He presses his forehead against hers and releases a slow exhale before he meets her gaze under lowered eyelids.

“Now who’s overthinking?” She asks. In response, his lips crush against her in a lingering kiss, smiling against her mouth when he pulls away, assessing with amusement.

Astarion hums a bit and his lip twitches. “Well, aren’t you cheeky?” He opens his arms invitingly, and she lays her head on his chest, looking off in the distance.

“You’re very important to me, Astarion.”

“I do like it when you say things like that.” He wraps his arms possessively around her waist as he speaks.

“Careful, or you might give me the impression you’re in love.”

“Would that be so terrible?” He releases her, but doesn’t move away.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t think-”

“What did you think?” His tone is suddenly cold, almost challenging. “What went through that pretty head of yours when you said that?”

“Astarion, not tonight.” She pleads.

“When is a more convenient time for you, Celeste? Would it really come as a shock if I were in love with you? Because I am…” He searches her eyes, hesitant. “…in love. With you.”

Celeste takes a step back, the emotions swirling within her.

“What, did you think I was just using you for sex?” He asks bitterly.

“So much has happened, I just thought...” She trails off, filled with a mix of regret and confusion.

“Thought I was just using you,” he finishes, his voice going quiet again.

“What of the night on the boat? When you said we were two people enjoying one another’s company? What was I supposed to take away from that?”

“And we did, enjoy it. That’s... the truth, but...” he sighs, and takes her hand, letting his fingers trail against her thumb. “Maybe that was just me trying to convince myself that’s all it was. But…things have changed. This is more than that now…for me.”

“Astarion… I just need a moment to process…”

“Take all the time you need,” Astarion replies, dropping her hand. “Keep the room for the night. I’ll see myself out.”

“Astarion - wait, please,” Celeste pleads, as he stumbles out of the room. The door slams shut, leaving her stunned and alone. The events of the evening overwhelming her thoughts, Celeste curls into a ball on top of the sheets with his cloak draped over her, a single sob escaping her before she forbids herself to cry another second about any of it. The candle on the nightstand fizzles out, leaving her with nothing but darkness.

Leaning with his back against the other side of the door, Astarion runs a hand through his hair. “Damnit,” he mutters under his breath.

Hope you enjoyed! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/whatever if you did? Full chapter/story on AO3!

#astarion smut #Astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate oc #smut #baldurs gate astarion #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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