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Seducing others was like clockwork to Astarion.
He was a natural, after all; two hundred years perfecting his craft of allure had imposed a routine of sorts. Introduce himself, sprinkle a half-hearted compliment, feign interest, and always look hungry for them, speaking as if he was too preoccupied undressing them with his eyes. Hook, line, and sinker. Who could deny such a pretty face showering them with attention? Astarion had a gift for making someone feel like a deity all the while viewing them as if they were beneath him. It mattered not a person’s gender, background, etcetera. If Cazador wanted a pretty face…
Well? Astarion got it for him.
Lurking the streets of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion was actually in the middle of pursuing another of Cazador’s chosen the night he was captured. The night he was brought to a nautiloid ship. The night he had a damned tadpole fed to his eye. Within less than twenty-four hours his puppet-strings were momentarily cut free, and for the first time in two hundred years… he felt sunlight. Felt an ounce of freedom. A sliver of hope.
Basking in the warmth his body had all forgotten about, he felt a surge of newfound hope there on the crash site; to never again be subjected to the torture of his master. Never again would he allow himself to feel so small, so weak. Never again would he have to endure feeding off of rats and bugs to sustain his never-ending hunger...
However, his time of relishing in the sunlight was short lived as two figures approached the hill- and even from the distance he could hear them speaking amongst themselves of survival.
His ticket to somewhere safe.
Yet, as you and the dark-haired half-elf emerged, he recognized you- you were on the ship with him! However, in the chaos of it all, his mind could not convince him you were on his side just yet, and he would cling onto his sense of self-preservation for as long as it took.
So Astarion’s plan was crafted in seconds; feigning the need for help and pouncing when you turned your back, holding a dagger to your throat and demanding answers. Quickly foiled- he was not expecting to lose his grasp on you so quickly, hissing out as you fought your way out from beneath his grasp. Outnumbered, he lowered his dagger and brushed on his charlatan roots; introducing himself and grasping for any answers he could get.
Mindflayers, you told him. That the tadpole behind his eye would turn him into a mindflayer. It was almost fitting; his body becoming a vessel for something beyond his control. A means to an end. A pawn in the grander scheme. His body- his soul- reduced to meaninglessness.
Yet, you spoke of finding a healer.
And another plan quickly formed.
Enticing you should’ve been a walk in the park… and it was. All he had to do was flutter his lashes, dip his chin and speak in that sinfully sweet tone of his and your interest was snared, eagerly inviting him to join you and Shadowheart on their simple quest; find a healer and get this tadpole removed.
It was almost too easy.
As the quest began, Astarion was almost a little too eager to prove his worth to you; effortlessly lock-picking the door of an abandoned temple, disarming traps that would’ve been everyone’s demise, and a little bloodshed along the way stirred a sense of liberty in the vampire spawn’s heart that he hadn’t felt in… ever.
However, he certainly was not expecting more company along the way as their simple, linear quest became anything but. A druid’s grove and their feud with the Tieflings, a blighted village, paladins of Tyr, a hag’s lair… it was exhausting, but the people met along the way certainly weren’t. Gale was… eccentric. Lae’zel was delightfully violent, and Karlach was a fiery thing that certainly kept a smile on everyone’s face. Though Wyll’s following introduction to the group was rocky at first… he eventually found his place as well.
Astarion began to grow uneasy through it all, a gnawing doubt churning in his veins as he felt his usefulness dwindling. You on the other hand were… incredible. A level head, a snarkiness about you and an inquisitive nature kept the man- and everyone else in the party- on their toes, and every morning when they packed up camp, Astarion continued to hide his surprise when you’d ask him to accompany you. There were a handful of people that you could have easily chosen over him… but you didn’t. You always chose him, paired with a bright, warm smile as you said his name so sweetly, so naive of his true nature.
You made him feel… seen. And for once… he saw a living being as someone that wasn’t a stepping stone.
For once, he had met someone that Cazador could not take from him… and perhaps that was the most enthralling aspect of all.
As the days went on, Astarion found himself… distracted. Sating his hunger with the nearby wildlife- despite nearly being caught with the boar he foolishly left out in the open- was beginning to not cut it. He needed more, and it wasn’t until he caught himself in the middle of the night, staring at your sleeping face and memorizing the slope of your nose, the curve of your plush lips, every angle and rise and fall of your chest, hearing your pulse… he realized it was you that he was craving above all. He had to know how you tasted.
Had to claim you as his before anyone else.
The next night, as he watched you sleep so peacefully in your bedroll, the man took advantage of the small window of opportunity. Sneaking over to your roll-side, he could not help but salivate in anticipation, your heartbeat thrumming in your pretty throat, begging to be bitten…
Yet just as he was about to sink his teeth into you… you awoke.
Shit.
It was a miracle that he managed to talk you down from putting a stake through his chest, and as if the Gods guided his tongue, he performed another miracle that night; in the dim-light by the campfire, looking up at him through dark lashes… you agreed to let him drink from you.
Let him taste.
Gods, did it take everything in him to pull away.
How could he? Not when he felt your shivers of excitement, the flooding of warmth shared between the two of you as his pristine fangs sank into your throat. How your breath catched, how your hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and held him close. It was obscenely intimate, and the moment the saltiness of your skin and the sweetness of your blood hit his tongue?
He was addicted.
A low rumbling in his chest was akin to a purr as he drank from you, your heartbeat like a symphony in his elven ears as his possessiveness expanded tenfold; he’d kill anyone that threatened to take this moment from him- you from him.
Weak hands and the panting of his name ripped him back into reality and he released you, your sweet blood swiped from his chin as he savored every last drop.
You looked so beautiful, cheeks flushed, sweat on your brow and the evidence of his bite on full display as you blinked up to him, swallowing heavily and nodding slowly as he thanked you for such a gift.
From that night on, you never left his mind.
Combat certainly held a new aura of intensity the following days; he stayed by your side, and on the rare occasions you ran off to find a vantage point, he always kept an eye out, shooting down anything and everything that even dared get close to his treasure.
He knew full well the dynamics of the party changed the next morning as well, and news of his true nature was met with an expected threat from Lae’zel, and lingering glances of uneasiness from the rest- especially Gale.
You however… stood up for him. Spoke of trusting him with your life… and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a slight pang of guilt. He knew his affect on you, knew it was a naive concoction of admiration and lust that had you offer in the first place. And thus a habit developed; returning to his tent almost every night and offering your throat. ‘For his benefit’ you tried to claim, yet he knew it was a thinly veiled lie. He knew you wanted to be touched. To be tasted time, and time again.
So he indulged you. Anything to keep you wrapped around his finger.
How sweetly you cried his name the first night he pinned you to his bedroll, the snapping of his hips and hilting himself within you over and over again burned into his mind as he took in the sight of you. You were filthy; covered in a sheen layer of sweat, blood and bitemarks, eyes glazed over and looking up at him as if he had casted a Charm spell.
He almost wished he had- his long-dead heart sputtering to life as you looked at him with such… devotion. You took the pain like you were born to be broken by him. Every bite, every scratch, every drop of blood he pulled and spilled from your body was like an offering to him, a sacrifice to the gods himself, and as Astarion left your sleeping body in his tent to watch the sun rise, he vowed to keep his favorite pet on a very short leash.
You were to be his. Forever.
Until Halsin came along and threatened everything.
Amidst the worg pens- because of course you had to save the bear- when a towering, scarred, and strapping druid transformed from that beast. He did think Halsin handsome at first, but when he looked to his side and saw the smallest semblance of blush across your features, his mood immediately darkened.
Possessiveness taken root. Hot and angry with fangs bared.
Despite vocalizing his disapproval, you were all too eager to have him join the group, much to Astarion’s dismay. Not to mention the fact that keeping him around meant hells-all to self-preservation, having to fight tooth and nail out of the goblin camp- the trio of leader’s assaination included.
It was… certainly a bloodbath.
Perhaps that was what saved Astarion from the foulest of moods, leaving him to brood over a cheap bottle of wine as the Tieflings and co celebrated the short-lived victory at camp. What they accomplished was for the greater good of course, but Astarion could hardly acknowledge the goodness in their deeds, not when you were on the other side of camp, drinking and standing so close to Halsin.
He hated it.
Hated how it made him feel, hated how quickly he could feel himself spiraling into an evening of self-loathing, how he wanted to march across the camp and remind you who you belonged to-
“Astarion?”
Your voice carried the slightest of slurs, swaying slightly as you blinked up to him with your impossibly dopey smile. “Why’re you here by your lonesome? Party’s over there-'' you jab a thumb half-hazardly over your shoulder, twinkling eyes looking at him with a hopeful gleam, and Astarion hated the way his dead heart fought to beat.
He covers up his foul mood like the flip of a coin. “Mmm perhaps, but the Tieflings are not nearly as exciting as I’d hoped they’d be- given the circumstances of a celebration like this.” He raises his bottle of cheap wine, wrinkling his nose at it in disdain. “You’d think they’d bring something more palatable.”
You laugh at this, and gods if it isn’t music to his ears as you take his bottle and take a swig- grimacing as you’re quick to agree with him- it is shit. You give the bottle back just as quick.
“Sorry you’re not having fun.” You frown, lips pursing a moment before looking up to him. “Anything I can do to help make it a little more bearable?”
You both know the answer.
“Let’s sneak away.” His answer is quick as he is stealthy. “Find ourselves somewhere quiet, hmm?” A cold hand reaches for your jaw and your skin is hot to the touch, melting against his hand as you flutter your lashes up to him.
“But the party, Halsin-“
“Nevermind Halsin.” Astarion is almost too quick to bite that name out of your thoughts, forcing his features to soften a touch as he steps in, his voice dropping into that pout you love so much.
“I’ve missed that pretty face, you know. All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.” His voice is a hushed, honeyed whisper, and you are all too easily ensnared, licking your lips and sinking your teeth into that plush, bottom lip. “You will join me tonight, won’t you?” He whispers, lips ghosting your forehead as crimson eyes flicker across the camp- directly at the druid.
Ensuring he’s watching.
“Yes-”
“Yes what?”
Astarion is quick to correct you, pulling his face back so he may look down at you,and as a brow lofted as he waits for you to correct yourself, his hand on your jaw shifts slightly, thumb hooking under the other side of your jaw and squeezing lightly, demanding your undivided attention.
Even in your tipsy state you sober right up, swallowing thickly, eager to make amends.
“Y-yes sir.”
You’re rewarded with a hum of approval, the hand dropping from your throat to slide across your ribs and behind your back, pulling you against his chest for a moment.
“Good pet.” He praises, his words like velvet as he dips his head, speaking to the shell of your ear and speaking just a touch over the sound of your heart, slamming away in your chest.
“It’s time to tell everyone goodnight then, isn’t it?”
~ ~
“Such a pretty little pet~”
Astarion’s words are soft, juxtaposing his intentions as he assesses you, circling your naked and kneeling form amidst the cover of the dense forestry. The moon peeking through the treetops bask your skin in an almost ethereal glow, and he cannot help but bite back the satisfaction of the way you watch him, big doe eyes and a nervous, albeit excited palpitation about you.
He’s wielding a small, ornate dagger, and your gaze flits to and fro his face and the weapon alike, swallowing thickly as you shift on your knees, hands in your lap as you’ve been instructed to do so. Waiting in anticipation.
Astarion was a demanding lover, degrading at that… but you cannot deny the way your heart flutters and the way arousal pools in your belly at his every remark and reprimand. The reward of praise and his satisfaction pushed you to obey. To earn the title of a good pet- His good and perfect pet- you’d do anything.
Astarion knew this.
Crimson eyes peel from you as he senses a presence in the distance, lifting his chin and zeroing in on Halsin, lingering within shrubbery and attempting to hide amongst the cover, but Astarion can practically hear the man’s heartbeat from there, slamming away in his chest as he looks on- knowing exactly what is to transpire but cannot bring it within himself to walk away.
Astarion smirks. He has you and Halsin precisely where he wants.
“I think you’ve earned a reward tonight, my pet.” The man’s words are smooth, hushed as he returns his gaze to you, moving to stand before you clad in only his tight-fitting trousers and that devilishly handsome smile. “After all, our brave little hero deserves it, don’t they?”
Your eyes light up at his words, a blush blossoming across the apples of your cheeks and a warmth flooding into your extremities, nodding moments after his words catch up in your Lust-clouded mind. A hand, cold and confident, holds two fingers beneath your chin, your moon-lit gaze fixating up to him as your heart stammers within your ribcage.
‘By the gods’, you cannot help but think. ‘He is so beautiful.’
A strong hand against your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts and you are shoved onto your back before you could even process, Astarion hovering over you and claiming your lips against his within an instant.
The first kiss is always a shock to the system; a coldness that becomes your unspoken duty to warm. It’s an easy feat, and as his tongue swipes against your lip to coax open your maw, you obey without so much of a moment of hesitation. Such obedience is rewarded, pressing himself against you as hands find your own, pinning them above your head and allowing your thighs to wrap around his slender waist. The attention from him is intoxicating and you’re no better than a drunk, basking in the way he provides such delicious friction between you. It makes your head spin, and by the time he tears his lips away you’re panting for breath, pretty lips swollen and parted as you gulp down the cool night’s air.
But Astarion is far from finished with you. He’s just beginning.
Lips travel down your jawline and to your throat, kissing the previous puncture scars he’s bestowed upon you before he’s sinking his teeth in for the first drink of the night. It's a rush; a high that your body has been trained to yearn- the feeling of an ice shard wrapped in flames, igniting your body as freezing fear rushes through your body. The fear lasts only a moment, however, before it is smothered by arousal. Every fiber of your being thrums to life as your mind surrenders to the heavy fog of submission- your eyes glaze, your jaw slacks, and you are but the prettiest of pathetic things as he rears his head back to admire his work. To admire you.
He’d be damned if he’s to let anyone- especially Halsin- pull such an expression from you.
Lips return to your body, painting crimson kisses along your collarbone and chest, nipples scraped with his pearly whites to pluck more sweet cries from you, and by the time he’s left blood-stained lip marks down your torso and hips, your thighs are trembling, hands held above your head despite Astarion never uttering a word to keep them there.
So, so obedient.
“I’ve been thinking about your reward, my treasure.” He hums, his nose skimming across your thigh before he’s sinking his teeth into you again, and the sound of your whimpers and gasps filling the air is music to his ears, only urging him to further break you apart.
Normally, he’d silence you; a hand around your throat, his fingers in your mouth or a hand clasped or hells- he’s had to stuff your mouth with your undergarments on one occasion, lest your symphony of pleasure awoke the entire camp. But tonight?
Tonight, he wanted to show off. To send a message. To warn Halsin that you belonged to him.
Only. Him.
He is quick to swipe his tongue over the fresh puncture marks on your thigh though, allowing some cooling sensation to your scorching skin before he is mirroring the treatment to your opposite, biting back a grin as you practically scream out his name. A hiss of lust-drunk pleasure and arching of your back punctuates just how easily you come undone for him, but he snarls against your skin, a hand snaking up your body and pressing a palm over your chest, forcing you back down. “Behave, Darling.” He scolds lightly, your blood still dripping from his lips, warm and sweet.
You mumble a response along the lines of ‘yes sir’, and simmer back down, focusing on your breathing- just like he taught you some nights ago. He utters a quick ‘good pet’ before averting his attention to what laid between your thighs, licking his lips in anticipation. Every instinct demanded him to just devour and take, but tonight’s intimacy had purpose- he needed to focus.
“Eyes on me, my treasure.”
You raise your head, pupils blown wide and you’ve only a moment to catch his vermillion gaze before he’s descending upon you, tongue and maw expertly unthreading you at the seams. He’s a messy eater, but an attentive one all the same, knowing precisely how to make you lose your mind in moments. And you’re none the wiser; struggling to keep still like requested as your brain all but melts in pleasure, attempting to cry his name like a mantra to the holiest of deities. “Ast- Astari-” Your attempts to form coherent sentences are useless- not in the state he’s got you in of divine pleasure. He’s too good, and the way he’s possessively pawing at you and keeping you pinned beneath him only further fuels the heat in your belly. He knows you’re close, and when he’s sinking two of his fingers into you and curling, you’re seeing stars. However, before your inevitable plunge, he releases you from his mouth, fingers still pumping deep within you, ever so slowly. Coaxing your pleasure furthermore and stringing it along all the same.
“I want to make you mine, forever.” His proposition comes with a sadistic stroke against that bundle of nerves within yourself, plucking a moan from you instead of a proper answer. As if you’d be able to give one anyways, not when your mind is racing of the pale elf before you, and nothing else. “That's what you want, isn’t it? To be mine? Forever?”
“Y-yes!” Your voice wavers, pleasure and the promise of bliss your driving force, unaware of exactly what you’re signing up for. Your eyes screw shut as desperation drips from your voice, brows laced together as you further your desperation. “Please Astarion!”
You miss the sinister grin blooming across bloodied lips.
Fingers are pulled from you and you mewl something pathetic; a whine for the return of fullness. Astarion is quick to begin to make up for his transgressions, tearing down his trousers and freeing his neglected cock, slapping it half-heartedly against your hip as if to remind you to keep your eyes open, all the while his darkened own drink you in as he reaches for his knife.
There's a moment of hesitation as your eyes land on the knife, and Astarion is quick to attempt to soothe your fears. “You want to be mine, don’t you?” His free hand grips the base of his erection and aligns himself, waiting for your answer before moving. “Just a letter, my love. A single, little, letter, and the world will know you’re my pet. Know that you belong to me and only me.”
You know that saying yes will bring pain, but so, so much pleasure will quickly follow, Astarion had always recognized and respected your threshold of pain, and as much as your mind screamed for clarity… your heart and your aching arousal triumphed. This is what you wanted.
So there, in the quiet hours of the morning, beneath the moonlight, Astarion, and unknowingly Halsin’s gaze…
You agree.
“Please, sir.” You squeak. “Make me yours- ah!”
Before you could even finish your consent, Astarion is pressing his cock into you, hilting in one fell swoop and any remaining brain power in your pretty little head is being used to focus on the pleasure he’s shocking your system with. A hand descends around your throat, thumb and middle finger squeezing on either side to ensure his darling fucktoy is rewarded with the high they’ve been chasing all night. He fucks you with a speed and ferocity that could only be described as otherworldly, and the moonlight barely glints off of the steel of his blade as he presses its tip into the flesh of your hip. However- he hesitates.
For a fleeting moment, he thinks of Cazador- thinks of that gods-forsaken night he carved the ‘poem’ into his own back. The agony he endured, the hopelessness he felt- was he no better than his master? Carving into a pawn?
He’s quick to shake away the thought- At least Astarion offered you the opportunity to say no. You wanted this! You agreed!
Without another moment’s hesitation, he sinks the tip of the blade into your skin.
It's painful, and your scream of pain and pleasure alike is gurgled beneath his squeezing hand, the other making three, precise cuts that overflow with that addictive crimson.
The letter A. Just as he promised.
“That's it, my darling!” His voice is heavy with sinister pride and toxic arousal, discarding his dagger and swiping a palm against your cut, smearing the blood across your body as if you were a canvas. His canvas. Your entire torso is smeared in your blood and his handprints, and as he praises you for taking him so well, he squeezes just a touch tighter at the sides of your throat- just how he knows you like it.
Your orgasm is plucked from you before you could even recognize it, and its violent; full body tremors as your hands held above your head move, nails digging into the dirt. You’re desperate to ground yourself at all costs- as if letting go means you’d float away, or wake up and discover this was all some cruel dream, and you find yourself never wanting this night of passion to end. You’d do it all over again if he’d ask. Hells- you’d let him carve his entire fucking name into your skin it meant to relive such a reward.
A small part of you hopes he asks.
He releases your throat at the apex of your high, and as your orgasm is prolonged from the rush of blood back to your pretty little head, he’s uttering praise of how perfect you are for him, how you will always be his, how he’ll always take care of his darling, perfect, needy pet. The praise alone made the pain all worth it.
His own climax quickly follows, but before he allows himself the satisfaction of the plunge, he tosses his gaze to the right- to the foliage where a certain druid watched in assumed secrecy.
Halsin is gone.
A potent, palpable, sick sense of pride washes through the elf and it’s enough to push him over the edge, returning his gaze to you with a newfound vigor. There’s a wild look in his eye, a dark laugh ringing through the air as he grips your thighs suddenly, tugging you closer to him and allowing a deeper leverage. Within a few rolls of his expert hips, he’s holding you flush against him, pumping rope after rope of his fruitless seed as deep as your body allows.
It is as if your head is in another realm- your body struggling to catch up but you feel it, the throbbing pain of the carving in your hip, the ache in your back and shoulders from the rutting on the forest floor, the way his cool hands hold you close and roll you both onto your good side, his lips pressing into your clammy skin. He’s whispering praise in your hair about how you took him so well, how he’s proud of you for claiming your reward in stride, and how he’s so happy you chose him over everyone else.
Yet, the weight of your choices have not settled within your mind just yet, allowing you to relax in his arms, curl against his chest and drift off to sleep… unaware of the monster you awoke within the man beside you.
You were Astarion’s now.
Forever.