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Dead muse
Archive #28 | copyright to saturnsfairycat
Author's note: this one literally just came to me while I was in the middle of a conversation with @raccoonboy321 on instagram lmao what - anyway enjoy!
Dead Muse
---------------------
I wrote so much about you, my poetry on the walls, and scattered across my room.
I know so much about you, words can only be used as personifications because simplicity is absentminded in your presence.
I read into it too deep, I forget to drop the pen sometimes and my hand cramps up in the same position for the longest of times.
Too sore to stretch out my worn fingers, too hesitant to stop.
What if I forget you? How else am I supposed to remember you?
The feeling of pain is exhilarating as I scratch bloody ink onto paper, dizzy from all the emotions, it spills out in splotches instead of brainstorms.
I get overwhelmed by all the ways to describe you, my imagination runs wild at the thought of moments we can share together.
Can? Or did?
Wait,
Did that even happen?
I forcefully pause as I stare at my writing,
They are just words, nothing more.
I glance down at my bloody fingers in confusion,
What were you like? I don't remember.
But I wrote it down—
Fuck,
I don't remember if that was how you are as a person, or if that's how I wanted you to be.
I thought I knew you, but we barely even held eye contact long enough for you to see my inky tears.
I thought I wrote a lot about you, but all these words— these words are merely personifications of how absentminded you are.
The emotions are so strong, because the blood that draws from where my pen scratches into my own skin are the words.
I don't even remember the last time you smiled at me.
"He smiles at me every time he sees me."
I don't even remember the last time I saw him.
Words, on my pieces of paper.
Useless.
And still on my walls,
And scattered across my floors;
Haunting my simplicity
As my hand stays in the same position,
Throughout this whole time.
Mágoa
Archive #29 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: can you believe I wrote this one on instagram? lmao being a writer is weird. enjoy!
Mágoa
------------------------------------
Our love was like home to me. It felt like a physical place for my mentality to lie.
On days where the world seemed colder, I seek warmth near the fireplace— cuddling up with blankets and hot cocoa. On days where it was spring, I would be dancing on the deck over seeing our garden— you always believed dancing is best in silence, the only sound was careless whispering to each other. Such sweet nothings filled our house with warmth and my heart with comfort.
Of course, it was never easy— the belongings in our home were the memories and bonds we have made and shared together. If it wasn't for me, the house would be bare to the bone— only left with the original wallpaper that you put up after breaking down my walls.
I know you tried, and you would visit the house as much as you could— but we both knew deep down it wasn't enough. Soon, it wasn't only the world that seemed colder; my breath is shaky as I puffed out frost from my lungs. The fireplace was no longer used, even when I tried multiple times with the damn lighter you gave me. Our garden started to wilt, and home felt more like a distant memory.
But the belongings were still here— and so I kept them near me at all times. Hugging them to my chest like it provided me with the warmth and care I needed, ignoring the distinct coolness that came off it every passing day.
'When will you return home?' was the question I used to always ponder. 'Am I bad at maintaining our home?' I scrunched up my face in frustration. It started raining a lot during that time, it was salty— and made the skin of my cheeks feel dry afterwards.
One day, it stopped raining. Warmth came back— tenfold— but the fireplace wasn't the source. The draping wallpaper had caught on fire, I guess I have sparked the lighter a little too close to the dangling pieces of wallpaper above the fireplace.
How did I not notice the fire? I don't know. I think I have always seen a spark, but mistook it for hope instead.
The fire consumed everything in the house, even climbing out onto the wilted garden.
I managed to get out… But barely. I was harmed, yes. But people came to my rescue— I was safe. I was hurt. I felt sick, our home was getting destroyed and I could only helplessly stand back and watch it burn.
The only two choices I had left were to either stand there and watch it burn, becoming homeless without shelter— or walk away, and build my own house. I reluctantly pulled away at my spot outside the burning house, turning my back and glancing behind me a couple of times.
And then that's where I saw you.
You stood at the entrance of the house. Your foot edging past the door and threatening to enter the burning building. You looked back at me, beckoning me to follow you.
I felt a million emotions. You probably didn't understand what I was feeling— the fear of false hope, the desperation for that second chance, the dread of seeing your face again. I thought back to our memories, and how a lot of them were destroyed by the fire— you didn't remember them at all.
You were giving me mixed emotions, you didn't look certain to be where you are, but you didn't move.
Was this the second chance I was so desperate for?
Do I follow you in?
You seem to be completely different and just the same as I once knew you all at the same time. You must have lost your way, your visible scars prove so. Maybe… I could help. I could help somehow, what can I salvage? Is that why you're wanting to enter the house? Are you wanting to retrieve the remaining belongings?
I rushed towards you, following you in. If I just save the things we both loved in that house, maybe we can restart as something new— maybe just a small vegetable garden, or an ash tree.
The smoke blinded me, I have lost you in the smoke. But I knew what to do, I didn't lose my way. I reached and grasped at what I could, wincing at the heat. When I neared a window, I saw your left hand holding one of our more newer possessions— while your right hand held our oldest possession. I was confused, you were outside— don't you want the others?
I guess you got cold feet, too scared of the flames to salvage the rest. You left, after I hesitantly stared back at you— your eyes begging me to follow you once more.
I was burning up, I was lost. What have I done? I have caused more pain for myself. I gave you a second chance and ran into a burning building to save the things I loved. But you didn't save me.
I escaped the collapsing house, leaving the belongings behind in the fire.
Without a single glance. I walked away from the burning house I once called our home.
A stargazer's lover
Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: does it sound familiar?
A stargazer's lover
-----------------------------
Everyone loves differently,
from my way of devotion to your potential declaration of adoration.
In a way, we are all lovers, but just from different lengths and brightness.
Our constellations of mistakes and greatness form scars in our skin; you may find it repulsive,
but a stargazer out there would exchange their skin— a blank canvas that has not touched a single stroke of our paintbrushes, to trace their fingertips against our lines of stars.
We are lovers,
an ocean of sea pebbles that appear all the same at first glance, but compliment each other so well in our strack contrasts.
The lines on our skin,
the clearness of thought,
the dark that surrounds our huddled position in the universe.
It is lovers like us that shine in the darkness. We see light and colour, like a canvas of the brightest of skies.
But when it comes to ourselves, our beauty within shines from the silence, the chaos, and the void. Because we fill it with our beauty, our love.
WRITE FOR UKRAINE
🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦
We all have a voice. A powerful, extraordinary tool for making a difference and helping others.
If you are a writer, or someone who would like to contribute your voice to aid the people of Ukraine, please visit Write for Ukraine - my Ukrainian humanitarian advocacy project - www.WriteForUkraine.org .
You can read more about the initiative, as well as locate links to further help the people of Ukraine. You can also read my short story supporting Ukraine, "Where the Sunflowers Grow".
🇺🇦🌻🇺🇦
www.WriteForUkraine.org
Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024
Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett
NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Jump!
Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak
The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”
Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”
“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”
Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.
“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.
Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.
His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”
Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.
Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”
Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”
Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”
Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”
“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”
Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.
Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.
Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”
Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.
The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.
She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.
His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.
Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.
She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."
His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.
The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.
Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.
But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."
Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.
His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”
Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."
Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”
She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.
Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."
His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”
Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”
Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”
Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.
His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”
Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."
Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”
Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”
Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”
Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”
Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”
And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024
Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett
NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Jump!
Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak
The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”
Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”
“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”
Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.
“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.
Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.
His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”
Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.
Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”
Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”
Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”
Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”
“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”
Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.
Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.
Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”
Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.
The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.
She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.
His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.
Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.
She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."
His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.
The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.
Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.
But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."
Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.
His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”
Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."
Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”
She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.
Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."
His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”
Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”
Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”
Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.
His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”
Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."
Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”
Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”
Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”
Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”
Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”
And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.
I have officially joined X! As I'm trying to get more eyes on my work and also because I am slightly concerned I might be shadowbanned on Tumblr. Please consider liking this post if you see it! Either way, I have emailed Tumblr support just in case! Here's my X account too: https://x.com/BellasMumbles where NSFW versions of art shall be as well! Art by @drawinglinestoconstellations
Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 116k
Warning: SMUTT, Heavy BDSM Play!
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 16: Oct 2 2024
Song of the Hour:
Red Room - Bryce Savage
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust
Astarion led Sima through the grand halls of his palace, the air thick with a quiet urgency. Vampires flitted about like shadows, their presence a mere whisper against the ancient stone. Their eyes flicked toward him in deference, but they lingered on Sima, drawn to her like lost souls hungering for the light. Curiosity simmered beneath their gazes, envy curling like smoke. And in some, something far darker stirred—a longing to possess what they dared not approach. Sima stood out, a jewel in their midst, glowing against the cold, pale hues of the vampire nobility.
Astarion, acutely aware of the eyes on them, moved with deliberate grace, as though the palace itself bent to his will. Every glance cast her way only strengthened his resolve. She was his now—part of this empire, whether she realized it yet or not. Each step was regal, his posture composed, betraying none of the urgency thrumming beneath his calm exterior. The palace was his stage, and he was its ruling actor, commanding every glance and whispered breath. His power was absolute, and yet, tonight, he sought something more. He wanted her to see it all, not just his dominion—he’d give her this world. But the final say would always be his
Through winding corridors and hidden passages, Astarion revealed the full extent of his reach. Beneath the city, his network of spies slithered through the Under City’s labyrinthine tunnels, gathering secrets only a vampire lord could possess. They passed vaults lined with glittering treasures—gold, jewels, artifacts from centuries past—proof of his wealth and influence over the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. He painted vivid portraits of their future with words laced in silk, of ruling together, their “benevolent” reign absolute. Yet, his crimson eyes sought hers often, the charm on his lips masking a deeper hope for approval.
As the evening darkened, Astarion’s touch lingered when he brushed Sima’s hair aside, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck, a deliberate tease. "The night wanes, my sweet," he purred, that velvet tone steeped in rich intent. "Shall I show you the rest of what belongs to me?"
A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he led her toward his private chambers, away from prying eyes and the reach of judgment. This, above all, was his sanctuary. Here, behind these walls, he could indulge the desires he had kept locked away from the world. He wanted her to see everything—the things no one else had ever been allowed to witness.
Sima’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Another bedchamber? What makes this one worth the theatrics?”
Astarion’s smile widened, wicked and familiar, his pale lips curling with rakish charm. The same smile that had seduced countless others before her, though none had ever stirred him the way she did. “Nothing… save for what unfolds here.” He whispered in lustful and dulcet murmurs.
He pushed open the door, revealing a room steeped in sin. Opulence cloaked in debauchery, indulgence disguising the darker truth—that every inch of it was designed to demand obedience. The crimson velvet bed gleamed under the dim light, framed by gold-threaded pillows. Black silk curtains wrapped the room in shadow, cutting them off from the world beyond. The walls, adorned with hedonistic murals, whispered of forbidden pleasures, and along the edges of the room hung the tools of indulgence—restraints, whips, and finely crafted toys, each piece as exquisite as it was dangerous.
Astarion’s gaze never left her as she took in the sight. The pride in his smile was unmistakable. He had always delighted in the dramatic, but this room—this sanctuary of decadence—was the purest manifestation of his desires. “I thought it was time I had a proper playroom,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of amusement, but beneath it lay something deeper, hungrier. “No more hiding in caves. This is my domain now, and nothing here is out of reach. Including you.”
Sima stepped into the room, her fingers trailing over the silk sheets, feeling the cool, luxurious fabric beneath her fingertips. She had seen many sides of him before, but this... this felt like stepping into the core of who Astarion truly was—a place where control, desire, and power fused into one. Even as she let him lead, there was a thrill in knowing she could still say no. She let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing against the silk restraints on the bedposts. “I see you’ve expanded your collection.”
Astarion’s smirk grew, his gaze flickering over her with palpable hunger. “I have,” he purred. “No more limits. No more hiding. Only indulgence.” His eyes lingered on the violet and gold fabric of her embroidered blouse, the way it hugged her figure, laying beautifully against her rich brown skin. “Nothing I will deny myself.”
She met his gaze, her dark ringlets cascading down her back as she leaned against the bedpost, fully aware of the effect her presence had on him. She could see it in the way his breath caught, how his crimson eyes roamed over her, momentarily lost in the sight. In this moment, she held a kind of power over him, one that made her burn with satisfaction.
He moved behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine before pulling her flush against him. His breath, hot against her ear, made her shudder. "You're a vision… a masterpiece," he whispered, voice a low, dangerous growl. His crimson eyes gleamed with hunger. "The things I could do to you… they’re endless."
Sima locked eyes with him, her own gaze bold and teasing. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Astarion’s pulse quickened, a fierce, unrelenting desire surging through him. She awakened something in him, something that had lain dormant for centuries. The challenge in her eyes only stoked the fire inside him. His hands tightened on her waist as he leaned down, his lips grazing her neck. “Nothing… nothing but permission,” he whispered, his voice thick with unslaked lust.
Sima’s eyes fluttered shut, the tremor of his touch sending a pulse of heat through her, awakening something wild and untamed beneath the surface. His fingers traced the open back of her blouse, teasing her skin with each light touch. “Total permission? Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice breathless, knowing full well the answer.
Astarion’s lips hovered near her ear. 'Absolute and utter submission,' he whispered.
Astarion eased back just enough to catch her gaze, his smile darkening as a wolfish hunger flickered in his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’ve set free,” he whispered like a dangerous caress.
Sima’s confidence never wavered. She met his gaze, her voice a daring whisper. “Show me. You have my permission.”
Astarion surged forward, as his body crashed against her and devoured her lips. His hands curled possessively around the small of her back, pulling her flush against him as his other hand tangled in her hair. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and power, as his tongue sought hers, and together, they fell into the heat of their connection.
Sima moaned softly into his kiss, her body pressing against his, the heat of her desire burning through her. Her fingers raked across his chest, nails grazing his skin as she reveled in the feel of his taut muscles beneath her touch.
Astarion's breath hitched as he ripped the blouse away from her body, the fabric falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. He took his time undoing her slacks, savoring the moment, the anticipation building between them like a coiled spring ready to snap. She broke from his kiss, her lips trailing down his jawline, nipping playfully at his throat. Her own hands making quick work of his finery.
He growled softly, a low sound of approval, as his hands found the waistband of her pants. With one smooth motion, he slid them down her legs, his lips brushing against the curve of her hip as she arched into him, her body bending under his touch.
Astarion’s body burned and ached with a fever at her touch. Sima's hands moved across his back, her soft moans filling the air between them even as her hands found the ridges of his old scars. Her touch was fire, branding him, marking him as hers. He reveled in the feel of her beneath him, her body yielding to his as he pushed her back onto the bed.
Sima collapsed onto the silk sheets, her breath quickening in shallow bursts. Her gaze flicked to the restraints waiting for her, anticipation coiling in her gut. Red ropes, tied neatly to the four bedposts, awaited their turn. Her eyes locked with his as she lay there; her dark, mahogany skin gleaming in the dim light and her curves a delightful sight.
Her voice was a soft whisper, filled with challenge and desire, as she looked up at him. "Play with me?"
For the briefest of moments, Astarion’s crimson eyes flickered, though he quickly mastered his expression. The surge of excitement her words evoked threatened to surface, but he reined it in. This was a game, yes—but a dangerous one, and she had given herself so easily. His hand moved to trace the curve of her breasts, fingers lingering on the soft swell as he leaned down to breathe the next words out as a wanton hiss,
"Play, my darling? Oh, I intend to do far more than that tonight."
Sima moaned softly against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip as his hand latched around her breasts and his fingers expertly pinching her nipples. A mounting desire rose between them, her impatience growing as she ground her hips against his body. Would he tie her up? Blindfold her? Punish her? Her mind raced with anticipation, even as his kisses deepened, stoking the fire between them.
Astarion knew it was time to test her limits. He wanted to see just how far she’d let him push this. His hands moved with expert precision as he captured her wrists, binding them behind her back with the soft red ropes. She couldn’t escape now, her hands rendered completely useless. He stepped back, admiring his work with satisfaction before leaning in once more, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear.
"You're such a good girl, Sima. Such a beautiful, good girl, just the way I like you..."
Sima’s back arched, her dark ringlets spilling down her shoulders, framing her face as her body lay exposed—vulnerable, yet unyielding in its submission. The silk ropes around her wrists held firm, not too tight yet secure enough to remind her that escape was not an option. He fisted his hand into her hair, tugging her head back sharply, eliciting a gasp before he threw her back against the bed. Her legs were still unbound, and the only barrier between her and his lustful intent was the fragile black thong she wore.
Astarion didn’t hesitate. His hands explored her body with reverence, savoring every curve, every inch of her warm mahogany skin beneath his fingers. His lips grazed her ear, his breath a hot whisper. “You’re exquisite… I can barely imagine how divine you’ll be as a vampire. The deep brown of your skin, those perfect curls… utterly irresistible.”
The hunger in his voice was palpable, a deep, consuming desire that drove him to the edge of control. In one swift motion, he tore her thong away, leaving her utterly bare before him. Her legs were pulled back and tied to the bedposts, her wrists now secured above her head as he adjusted the ropes with deliberate care. Sima was spread open for him, a vision of raw, unrestrained desire. Astarion couldn’t help but smile, admiring the sight of her vulnerable and exposed.
There was nothing else but surrender left at this moment. She lay stretched across the bed, every stretch of soft flesh exposed in a way that made her heart race. Her wrists pulled against the ropes, testing their give. Even tied, she still had power in the way her hips arched into his touch, the way she forced him to wait.
Sima’s gaze met his, as he hovered over her, his expression dark with hunger that went far beyond mere need. He loomed over her like an artist before his masterpiece, preparing to shape her as he saw fit. She gave herself so willingly—far too easily for it to be real submission, he thought.
Astarion’s grin widened as he took in the sight of her, helpless and at his mercy, bound and ready for his pleasure. Her body was his to mold, and he reveled in it. Leaning down, he began to work her breasts with expert hands, caressing, kneading, and pinching the sensitive flesh, coaxing soft moans and whimpers from her lips. His mouth followed, tongue tracing her skin down her body, teasing her until she squirmed beneath him, utterly his.
Sima gasped as his tongue flicked between her thighs, her body arching as his hands continued their teasing play with her breasts. She glanced down the length of her body, watching him, her hands tied and helpless to stop the teasing assault. The torment of it—the way he brought her so close, only to pull away—left her breathless with frustration and want.
Astarion watched her closely, delighting in her every reaction. He reveled in the control he had over her, to make her beg for him. To him, it was all a dark performance—one he had perfected over centuries. And now, he was playing it out with the woman he desired more than any other.
With each soft moan that escaped her lips, he kissed them away, his teeth grazing her skin as mouth grew more demanding. His hands returned to her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples with more intensity, watching with satisfaction as her body shuddered beneath him. She was so sensitive, so eager for him.
Astarion growled, low and seductive, the heat in his voice meant only for her. His hands moved lower, sliding up and down her thighs, teasing her with every pass, his fingers brushing ever so close to her clit before pulling away again. The evidence of her desire was clear on her slick skin, a testament to the power he held over her.
"Look at you..." he purred, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "My perfect little slut. Filthy, aren’t you? But only ever for me."
Sima’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed her tender core, her body trembling. Caught by surprise she gasped as he hoisted her legs higher in the ropes, leaving her even more exposed. Astarion’s hand came down with a sharp slap against her ass, the sting making her body jolt, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
"Yes..." she breathed, her voice shaky with anticipation. "I like being yours."
Astarion’s eyes darkened with pleasure at her words, and he slapped her again, harder this time, watching as she groaned and hissed, stifling a moan. Power surged through him—intoxicating, undeniable—but it was her willing submission that felt like the ultimate triumph. He leaned in close and deeply commanded her, as the breath on his lips caressed her skin.
"Like being mine? Say it and mean it Sima. ‘I love being yours.’"
Her mind swam as she felt the power of his compulsion wash over her, her eyes glowing violet under the influence of his command. Her voice was soft, sultry, as she repeated the words, her tone mimicking his.
"I love being yours..."
Astarion’s hesitated a moment, taking in the look of her pure surrender. Then, as he snapped back into himself, his fangs grazed her neck as he released her from the spell, allowing her will to return. He craved her true submission, her real consent—but the echo of his whispered command still lingered in her mind, making the drip between her legs poor even more.
Sima blinked, momentarily disoriented, but as she looked up at him, tied and bound, her lips curled into a smile. She bit her lip as she watched him, blood still staining his mouth, the deep red glow of the room framing the scene in a perfect tableau of their shared depravity. He turned away, walking toward the wall of toys, a display of his intent that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She smirked as she observed him, like a curator selecting his favorite piece* “Well look who's so utterly satisfied with himself…” Her bratty tone mixed with the thrill of her desire.
Astarion grinned as he glanced back at her, his fingers trailing over the various implements hanging on the wall. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he considered his options, finally selecting a medium-sized paddle. He turned back toward her, his voice thick with amusement.
"Tell me... do you have a preference?" he asked, his voice teasing. "You've always been so good with your toys and playmates. Let me know what you want to explore. Let's have some fun, shall we?"
Sima’s eyes followed him closely, her breath hitching as he traced his fingers over the floggers and paddles. Her gaze lingered on the paddle in his hand, her body tensing with anticipation. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to ask for it.
"Please," she breathed, her voice dripping with both defiance and mocking submission. "I've been bad... I need to be spanked."
Astarion’s eyes lit up with delight at her challenge, savoring the bratty spark in her gaze. He could never resist that rebellious streak in her. With a wicked grin, he raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp crack across her rear.
Sima’s body jerked in response, a cry escaping her lips as the pain seared through her, mingling with the intense pleasure that coursed through her veins. The sting left her trembling, her body arching toward him as her desire grew with every passing moment.
Astarion took his time, relishing each reaction, watching her with the intensity of a wolf cornering a fawn. Again and again, the paddle came down, each strike landing on fresh skin, painting her rear in a deep maroon hue, darker than the red of the ropes that bound her.
She groaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands tightened around the ropes. Her body arched with each strike, the mixture of pain and pleasure building into an unbearable tension. Every time the paddle connected with her skin, a new wave of sensation washed over her, each one more intense than the last. Her dark brown eyes fluttered shut as the dampness between her thighs grew. The sensation of his marks, left behind on Sima began an addicting ache.
Astarion was relentless, his strikes precise, his pace measured. He alternated the force and location of each hit, aiming deliberately toward the most sensitive spots—just above her clit, along her inner thighs—drawing out sharp yelps of rapture from Sima. Her body writhed beneath him, unable to escape the onslaught, her need palpable as the tension coiled tighter within her.
Her breath hitched as his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers brushing over her slick folds, teasing her mercilessly. The soft sounds of her soaked skin filled the room, a testament to the control he held over her. Every inch of her was his, and she couldn’t deny how much she craved this.
"You're such a filthy little thing," he murmured, completely wanton. "You love it when I make you beg, don't you?"
Sima whimpered, her body trembling as his fingers danced across her swollen bud, her hips bucking involuntarily toward his touch. She was so close now, the tension building into something almost unbearable, her need for release overwhelming every other thought in her mind. The torrent of feeling across her skin, left her only able to frantically nod.
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her confession, his fingers sliding inside her now, curling just right to hit that hidden spot within her. He watched with dark delight as her body responded to him, her moans growing louder, her thighs quivering with every movement. His voice dropped to a growl as he spoke again, his breath hot against her ear.
"Come for me, Sima… Prove just how much you crave being mine."
Sima’s body tensed at his command, the words pushing her over the edge. Her back arched off the bed, her breath catching as her orgasm crashed over her in a wave of heat and ecstasy. She cried out his name, her body shaking as she came hard, her core tightening around his fingers, pulling him deeper into her.
Astarion watched her with wanton craving, savoring the sight of her falling apart beneath him. His own desire surged as he felt her body convulse with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the last waves of her climax. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting her juices with a wicked grin.
"You taste delicious," he murmured, a mix of potent lust and longing. "But don’t think we’re done, my love. The night is still young, and I’m far from satisfied."
Sima lay sprawled across the bed, her body slack in the ropes, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants. Her skin was flushed, glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. But as she looked up at him, the gleam in her eyes hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
"Don’t waste another minute then" she whispered, her voice still tinged with defiance despite the exhaustion in her limbs. "Show me."
As Sima squirmed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, Astarion leaned over, his lips pressing softly against her neck. He trailed kisses and licks along her flushed skin, savoring the heat she exuded. His fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, the wetness greeting him with a surge of desire. He smirked against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body under his touch.
Her cries grew louder as his fingers found her aching bud, relentlessly teasing her as she gasped his name. Sima was oversensitive and he knew it. Her deep brown eyes locked with his crimson gaze, full of unspoken pleas. Every brush of his fingers coaxed her closer to the edge, the pressure within her building, her body trembling with the promise of release.
Sima’s hips bucked desperately against his hand, her need palpable as she sought more—harder, deeper. She was so close now, her body tightening with every stroke, her voice breaking with frustration and desire. Astarion watched her with a hunter’s focus, his own desire barely contained as he relished in her vulnerability, in the power he held over her pleasure.
"Tell me what you want, darling," he whispered, his voice a low growl, laced with dark intent. His breath was hot against her ear as his fingers continued their relentless teasing, drawing her closer to that sweet oblivion. "Let me hear it, and I’ll give you everything."
Her voice broke into a desperate whimper, her body shaking with need as she bucked harder against his fingers. "Harder..." she gasped, defiance edging her voice. "And tell me those dirty things I love."
Astarion chuckled softly, amused and aroused by her defiance. His fingers moved faster, the pressure growing more insistent as he leaned closer, his breath sending electric shocks through her. His whispers turned filthy, each word dripping with condescension and desire, feeding the fire that burned within her. He reveled in her submission, the way she squirmed beneath him, her body completely at his mercy.
"Such a good little whore," he whispered darkly, his voice thick with lust. "You love it, don’t you? Being mine... utterly helpless."
Sima groaned in response, arching off the bed as his degrading words washed over her. Her ringlets spilled over her face as she bucked harder, grinding against his hand, desperate for more. His fingers matched the frantic rhythm of her hips, bringing her closer to the edge with every stroke, keeping her teetering on the precipice of pleasure.
Astarion watched her closely, his crimson eyes gleaming with pride and hunger as her body trembled beneath him. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them expertly to hit that hidden spot that made her gasp. His whispers continued, taunting her with promises of more until she couldn’t take it anymore.
"Is that it?" he murmured, his voice a tantalizing tease. "Is that the kind of filth you crave? I can make you feel so much more, Sima... just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll show you everything."
Her body shook with need, her frustration evident as she begged for more. "Yes... please..." she gasped, her voice trembling. "Keep calling me names..."
Astarion smirked, loving the way she begged, the way she writhed beneath his control. His voice was a dark whisper in her ear as he continued his filthy endearments.
"Such a good little slut," he purred. "You’re mine, Sima... always mine."
The words pushed her over the edge. Her body tensed, her hips lifting off the bed as her core clenched around his fingers. Her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, her cries filling the room as her body shuddered with the force of her release. Her head fell back against the pillow, her body trembling as she surrendered to the tremors radiating through her.
Astarion drank in the sight of her with pride and wanton greed. The sound of her moans, the way her body moved beneath him, sent a surge of satisfaction through him. He pulled his fingers from her slowly, this time bringing them to her own lips to coat them in her slick.
Sima lay slack in the ropes, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in soft pants. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body still pulsing with the remnants of pleasure. A soft whimper escaped her as his fingers made her taste her own spent desire.
For a fleeting moment, the familiar arrogance ebbed, replaced by something deeper—something tender. His smile lingered, though softer now, a trace of genuine pleasure in his eyes. His voice dropped to a near whisper, reverent in its softness.
"Such a good girl..."
The words barely left his lips before he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he savored the taste. The plush drag of their mouths full of heat and longing, as if neither of them could get enough of the other.
Sima pulled against the red ropes that ensnared her. Leaning forward with her body as she ached, to hold him, but the restraints kept her bound. She whined softly as he shifted on top of her, his stiff, unspent cock sliding against her folds languidly.
Astarion ran his fingers through her wild curls, his gaze never leaving hers. In that moment, something stirred deep within him—something more than lust, more than the thrill of conquest. It was a connection, a sense of completion that he hadn’t felt in centuries. It unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny it.
He leaned in closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, and a soft whimper escaped his darling’s lips as the restraints prevented her from wrapping her legs around him as she craved. Desperation edged her voice as she pressed her lips against his ear, her breath warm, thick with need.
“I want you… fill me.”
Astarion’s restraint shattered in an instant. Her words, dripping with raw longing and insatiable hunger, stripped away his usual poise. His ruby eyes blazed with an uncontainable need as he thrust into her with a single, powerful stroke. His lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss. Each flick of his tongue a promise that he would not stop until he had consumed her completely, until her pleasure had devoured them both.
Sima groaned deeply, the ropes biting into her skin as she pulled against them, her body desperate to move with him, to wrap herself around him and pull him even deeper. When he pushed all the way to the hilt, her inner walls fluttered and her throat caught before he began thrusting at a primal pace. Each collision of their bodies burned a fervor under her skin that only grew with each stroke. Their mouths remained locked, her tongue flicking against his fangs until she tasted the sharp tang of blood on his lips. The blood only fueled the fire between them, heightening every sensation, every thrust, every kiss.
For Astarion, this was the pinnacle of everything he had ever wanted. She, who was always so strong, now lay utterly helpless, surrendered to him, completely at his mercy. His hands gripped the sheets, his jaw clenched as his lips moved feverishly from hers to her neck, down to her collarbone. Everywhere he touched her, he claimed her, his desire raw and unrelenting.
His usual cool demeanor had long since vanished, replaced by a frenzied, animalistic rhythm. He kissed her hungrily, savoring the taste of her blood mixed with the sweet scent of her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh as he drove into her harder, faster, losing himself completely in the heat of their connection. Every moan, every gasp, every roll of her hips sent him closer to the brink, her body a perfect vessel for his darkest desires.
Sima whimpered against his mouth, her body moving with his in perfect, desperate harmony. Each thrust filled her so completely, stretching her to the point where it felt like she might shatter. Her core tightened around him, her hips bucking wildly as she felt herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, consuming her with each passing second. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her body undulating with the frantic rhythm they had created. She bit down on his lip, hard, drawing more blood as her moans softened into breathless gasps, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
Astarion’s hand moved to her throat, gripping it just enough to hold her steady as he kissed her deeply. Her moans, her whimpers, the way her silken vise gripped him so tightly—it was all too much. The pleasure surged through him, driving him into a frenzied rhythm, his every thrust pushing them both closer to oblivion.
Sima’s soft, desperate voice broke through the haze, her moan vibrating against his lips. "With me? Gods... I’m close..."
Her words shattered the last vestiges of his control. Astarion’s breath hitched, his body moving faster, his thrusts harder, more frantic as he pushed even deeper into her, hitting that hidden trigger inside her with precision.
"Yes... yes... yes..." he panted, his voice raw and desperate, each thrust sending them both hurtling toward their shared release.
Sima’s body arched off the bed as she cried out Astarion’s name as she broke against her own peak. Her core tightened around him, milking him with each tight flutter and her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his. Each wave of pleasure left her gasping for breath. For a moment, it felt like she was suspended in free fall, her mind blissfully empty, consumed entirely by the pleasure he had coaxed from her. Her eyes locked onto him as he chased her over the edge.
Astarion couldn't hold back any longer. Her cunt’s raw embrace, her cries filling the air utterly broke him, and he lost all control. Astarion let out a long, deep moan as he spilled inside her. He thrust into her with desperate fervor, riding the last waves of their shared ecstasy until he was utterly spent. The scent of sex, sweat, and her perfume leaving him heady.
For a moment, he lay there, still buried deep within her, his body warm and heavy against hers. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced—an intoxicating blend of satisfaction, love, and relief. Astarion pressed his lips to her skin, but the warmth that lingered unnerved him. It wasn’t the heat of passion—it was something deeper, a softness that made him feel exposed. He told himself it would pass, but some part of him whispered that it wouldn’t.
Sima lay beside him, her body utterly relaxed, her wrists and ankles marked red from the ropes that had held her in place. The ache in her limbs was sweet, a reminder of how completely she had surrendered to him, how much she trusted him. She turned her head toward him, feeling the softness of his damp curls brush her cheek. Her breath was still uneven, but a contented sigh escaped her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.
Astarion’s arm snaked around her, pulling her close against his chest. He could hear the gentle beat of her heart, steady and soothing, her breathing soft as it lulled him into a rare sense of calm. It was a strange feeling—one he wasn’t accustomed to, but one he found himself craving more of. He closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in her wild curls as he held her close. In this moment, everything felt perfect, as if the rest of the world no longer mattered.
Sima’s voice broke the silence, a soft murmur still thick with the remnants of pleasure. "Astarion... I want to hold you..." She wriggled her wrists, trying to free herself from the ropes that still bound her.
Astarion didn’t respond with words, not immediately. Instead, he shifted his body, pulling her closer, his leg sliding between hers as he nuzzled into her neck. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, wasn’t ready to lose the feeling of her warmth against him. She was still bound, and a small part of him enjoyed that—knowing that she was his, even for just a little longer.
Sima sighed, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Silly thing... my wrists and ankles are going to go numb if you don’t untie me."
Astarion grinned against her skin, his voice a soft murmur filled with amusement. "I’ll untie you, my love. But not yet." He pressed his leg more firmly between hers, his body wrapped around her possessively, as if he couldn’t bear to let her slip away from him. Not after what they had just shared.
Sima laughed softly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Well, fine. I suppose you’re very cute right now."
Astarion chuckled, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone. His breath was warm against her skin, sending little shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed along her neck, his fingers resting lightly on her throat, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin in lazy circles. It was a gentle touch, one that belied the intensity they had just shared, but one that made her heart race all the same.
Sima moaned softly, her body relaxing into his embrace. His kisses were disarming, tender in a way she hadn’t expected, and she found herself sinking deeper into the sensation. She had always loved the way he kissed her neck, the way his lips pressed against her skin like a promise. And as he kissed lower, she let herself fall into the warmth of the moment.
Astarion could feel the way her body responded, the way she leaned into his touch, trusting him completely. It stirred something deep within him, something that felt far too close to love. He smiled against her skin, knowing exactly what she was feeling. His lips moved in gentle nibbles along her throat, his thumb still tracing circles on her neck, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath his fingers. The warmth of her blood called to him, and he knew he couldn’t resist it any longer.
His fangs descended slowly, a low growl escaping him before he sank them into her neck.
Sima gasped, the sharp pain quickly giving way to a rush of pleasure. She moaned softly, her body quivering in his embrace as his arms tightened around her. Bound and helpless as she was, she trusted him entirely, letting herself fall into the sensation as the warmth of his bite washed over her. She could feel his need, the hunger behind the bite, but more than that, she felt the tenderness in the way he held her.
Astarion drank slowly, savoring the taste of her blood. It had been so long since he had fed from her, and now, as her blood flowed into him, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection. She was more delicious than he remembered, her essence filling him with warmth and desire. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark oxblood pools of pure satisfaction.
Sima lay still, her body flushed, and her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she recovered from the bite. She was still tied, but there was a softness in her expression, a contentment that made him smile. Gently, Astarion began to untie her wrists; his movements careful to protect this precious thread of closeness between them.
As her arms fell to the mattress, Sima sighed in relief, her body going slack. She pulled at the ties on her ankles, and when they finally came loose, she leaned her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes.
"Relax," Astarion whispered, his voice soft as he kissed her deeply, his hands cradling her face. "You’re safe with me." There was no rush, no urgency now—just the sweetness of the moment, the quiet intimacy that lingered between them. And for the first time in a long while, he tried to infuse those words with every part of himself.
Sima kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him at last, pulling him close. Her legs, still shaking slightly from the intensity of their passion, managed to wrap around his waist. She held him tightly, needing to feel every part of him, to reassure herself that this moment was real.
"Say those words again," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with need. Those words meant more to her than anything else, more even than the pleasure they had just shared.
Astarion smiled against her lips, his gaze softening as he held her. "You’re safe with me," he whispered again, his voice low, tender, and full of conviction. The words were meant to comfort her, but deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure they were true. He wanted them to be—gods, how he wanted them to be. But could he really promise her safety, when the darker parts of himself still whispered otherwise?
He could feel the weight of her trust, the significance of those words between them. She had given herself to him completely, body and soul, and now, perhaps for the first time, he realized that this was more than mere passion. This was something that bound them together in a way that even he hadn’t anticipated.
She allowed herself to melt into his kiss, a deliberate surrender of control. She wasn’t simply swept away—she was making a choice, to trust him again, to meet him halfway. When their lips parted, she rested her forehead against his, gazing into his crimson eyes with a tenderness that only deepened.
"I love you," she whispered, her fingers curling into his damp white curls as she held his face in her hands.
Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as the gravity behind her words sank in. For a moment, the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t said them in centuries—hadn’t allowed himself to. But with her, it felt... right. Even if, deep down, part of him wondered if he could ever fully mean them in the way she deserved.
"I love you as well, Sima," he said softly, his eyes opening and gazing at her as if she was the entirety of his existence. He pressed another kiss to her lips, slow and gentle and his hand caressed her cheek as if she was more precious than any stone in Evereska.
Sima’s heart thudded in her chest as she gazed into his eyes, her hands still caressing his face. Every part of her wanted to believe, to trust in this love they had discovered together. But it wasn’t without its risks, its uncertainties. She knew the chaos it might bring, the complications of their lives, but she also knew, deep in her soul, that she was ready.
With a steadying breath, Sima held his face more firmly as she made her silent decision. She leapt headfirst toward the unknown, driven by the faith she had in him, in them.
She swallowed, her breath trembling but her resolve firm as she whispered, "Yes... Astarion. Yes. I'll do it."
For the first time in his long, cursed life, Astarion’s smile wasn’t marred by seduction or arrogance. It was honest, vulnerable, and real. He cupped her face in his hands, her name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer, "Sima…"
But deep inside, beneath the warmth of her acceptance, a flicker of uncertainty remained. Could he really let go of the power he had always craved? Could he share it equally? He wanted to believe he could. He loved her, didn’t he? Yet, some darker corner of his mind whispered: You will always have the final say.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of eternity. His gaze, always so sharp, softened as his lips enveloped her as she chose him in this moment. The lingering kiss spoke of everything he couldn’t say aloud—his gratitude, his awe, his love. This was no fleeting moment of pleasure. This was forever.
Sima’s conviction solidified in the press of their lips. Her hands tightened in his white curls as if anchoring herself to this moment, to the man who had offered her the world and challenged her at every turn. There was no turning back now, and the thought of it didn’t scare her. It thrilled her. This time, it would be different, a quiet refrain in her mind.
But as Astarion held her, the old instincts whispered again—control, dominance, power. Was he truly capable of this equality she demanded? Could she be his equal without threatening his carefully constructed rule?
When their lips parted, Astarion’s eyes glistened with a quiet intensity. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his voice soft yet resolute. "I swear to you, on everything I am, you will never fear me again. I will never hurt you, Sima, not ever. You will always be free." But even as he said the words, a subtle shadow flickered in his mind—Free... but mine. He pulled her closer, as if the force of his love could silence the doubts gnawing at him.
The words hit her with a force she hadn’t expected. Free—the word echoed in her mind. It meant more now, after all they had been through, after the trust she had placed in him. But that wasn't enough. Her decision to embrace this life, to stand at his side forever, meant they couldn’t just be lovers, or sire and bride. They had to be more. They had to be equals, bound by choice, not chains.
She pulled back slightly, her dark brown eyes blazing with a fierce clarity as she held his gaze. "Astarion," she whispered, her voice trembling with both love and hidden fears. "If I give you all of me, if I step into eternity with you… we do this together. We’re equals. Equal in every way. I won’t be your shadow, your possession. I want to be your partner, standing beside you, not beneath you." This is my line in the sand. I won’t cross it, she thought. If I let myself be anything less than his equal, I’d be betraying everything I’ve fought for, everything I am. I’ve come too far, survived too much. He has to understand that. If he doesn’t...
Astarion blinked, the weight of her words settling over him like an iron blanket. In all the centuries he had lived, no one had ever spoken to him like this—no one had ever asked for equality. They had feared him, admired him, submitted to him. But this… this was different. This was power, real power, given willingly, not taken by force. And yet... could he let go of this gnawing, ravenous need for control?
He brushed his lips over hers again, this time slower, softer, as if sealing a pact between them. When he pulled away, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Equal and free, Sima. Always."
But a small voice inside reminded him: Equal, yes—but still mine. Always mine, like a sick lullaby. Could he give her freedom and keep her bound to him? The thought twisted something deep inside him, but he pushed it aside for now. "Not my shadow, not my possession. My equal. My partner. My consort."
Her heart swelled, and for a moment, she almost let herself believe it completely. But even still her traitorous heart questioned in the shadows: could Astarion really give her what she needed? Or was she asking too much of a man who had spent centuries in chains of his own making?
She cupped his face again, her fingers curling against his sharp jaw as she whispered back, "Equal and free," she repeated, sealing it with a kiss of hope. "And together, we’ll have everything. No one will stand in our way."
Astarion’s smile turned wicked, the glint of ambition sparking in his eyes, but now it was shared—it wasn’t just his hunger for power, but theirs. Together, they would be unstoppable. Together, but still in the palm of my hand...
"Everything, my love. I swear it."
They had forged their bond in blood and fire, and now they would burn the world down together, equal and free—at least, as far as he could allow.
Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 116k
Warning: SMUTT, Heavy BDSM Play!
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 16: Oct 2 2024
Song of the Hour:
Red Room - Bryce Savage
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Chapter 15: A hunger crueler than bloodlust
Astarion led Sima through the grand halls of his palace, the air thick with a quiet urgency. Vampires flitted about like shadows, their presence a mere whisper against the ancient stone. Their eyes flicked toward him in deference, but they lingered on Sima, drawn to her like lost souls hungering for the light. Curiosity simmered beneath their gazes, envy curling like smoke. And in some, something far darker stirred—a longing to possess what they dared not approach. Sima stood out, a jewel in their midst, glowing against the cold, pale hues of the vampire nobility.
Astarion, acutely aware of the eyes on them, moved with deliberate grace, as though the palace itself bent to his will. Every glance cast her way only strengthened his resolve. She was his now—part of this empire, whether she realized it yet or not. Each step was regal, his posture composed, betraying none of the urgency thrumming beneath his calm exterior. The palace was his stage, and he was its ruling actor, commanding every glance and whispered breath. His power was absolute, and yet, tonight, he sought something more. He wanted her to see it all, not just his dominion—he’d give her this world. But the final say would always be his
Through winding corridors and hidden passages, Astarion revealed the full extent of his reach. Beneath the city, his network of spies slithered through the Under City’s labyrinthine tunnels, gathering secrets only a vampire lord could possess. They passed vaults lined with glittering treasures—gold, jewels, artifacts from centuries past—proof of his wealth and influence over the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. He painted vivid portraits of their future with words laced in silk, of ruling together, their “benevolent” reign absolute. Yet, his crimson eyes sought hers often, the charm on his lips masking a deeper hope for approval.
As the evening darkened, Astarion’s touch lingered when he brushed Sima’s hair aside, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck, a deliberate tease. "The night wanes, my sweet," he purred, that velvet tone steeped in rich intent. "Shall I show you the rest of what belongs to me?"
A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he led her toward his private chambers, away from prying eyes and the reach of judgment. This, above all, was his sanctuary. Here, behind these walls, he could indulge the desires he had kept locked away from the world. He wanted her to see everything—the things no one else had ever been allowed to witness.
Sima’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Another bedchamber? What makes this one worth the theatrics?”
Astarion’s smile widened, wicked and familiar, his pale lips curling with rakish charm. The same smile that had seduced countless others before her, though none had ever stirred him the way she did. “Nothing… save for what unfolds here.” He whispered in lustful and dulcet murmurs.
He pushed open the door, revealing a room steeped in sin. Opulence cloaked in debauchery, indulgence disguising the darker truth—that every inch of it was designed to demand obedience. The crimson velvet bed gleamed under the dim light, framed by gold-threaded pillows. Black silk curtains wrapped the room in shadow, cutting them off from the world beyond. The walls, adorned with hedonistic murals, whispered of forbidden pleasures, and along the edges of the room hung the tools of indulgence—restraints, whips, and finely crafted toys, each piece as exquisite as it was dangerous.
Astarion’s gaze never left her as she took in the sight. The pride in his smile was unmistakable. He had always delighted in the dramatic, but this room—this sanctuary of decadence—was the purest manifestation of his desires. “I thought it was time I had a proper playroom,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of amusement, but beneath it lay something deeper, hungrier. “No more hiding in caves. This is my domain now, and nothing here is out of reach. Including you.”
Sima stepped into the room, her fingers trailing over the silk sheets, feeling the cool, luxurious fabric beneath her fingertips. She had seen many sides of him before, but this... this felt like stepping into the core of who Astarion truly was—a place where control, desire, and power fused into one. Even as she let him lead, there was a thrill in knowing she could still say no. She let out a soft laugh, her fingers brushing against the silk restraints on the bedposts. “I see you’ve expanded your collection.”
Astarion’s smirk grew, his gaze flickering over her with palpable hunger. “I have,” he purred. “No more limits. No more hiding. Only indulgence.” His eyes lingered on the violet and gold fabric of her embroidered blouse, the way it hugged her figure, laying beautifully against her rich brown skin. “Nothing I will deny myself.”
She met his gaze, her dark ringlets cascading down her back as she leaned against the bedpost, fully aware of the effect her presence had on him. She could see it in the way his breath caught, how his crimson eyes roamed over her, momentarily lost in the sight. In this moment, she held a kind of power over him, one that made her burn with satisfaction.
He moved behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine before pulling her flush against him. His breath, hot against her ear, made her shudder. "You're a vision… a masterpiece," he whispered, voice a low, dangerous growl. His crimson eyes gleamed with hunger. "The things I could do to you… they’re endless."
Sima locked eyes with him, her own gaze bold and teasing. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Astarion’s pulse quickened, a fierce, unrelenting desire surging through him. She awakened something in him, something that had lain dormant for centuries. The challenge in her eyes only stoked the fire inside him. His hands tightened on her waist as he leaned down, his lips grazing her neck. “Nothing… nothing but permission,” he whispered, his voice thick with unslaked lust.
Sima’s eyes fluttered shut, the tremor of his touch sending a pulse of heat through her, awakening something wild and untamed beneath the surface. His fingers traced the open back of her blouse, teasing her skin with each light touch. “Total permission? Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice breathless, knowing full well the answer.
Astarion’s lips hovered near her ear. 'Absolute and utter submission,' he whispered.
Astarion eased back just enough to catch her gaze, his smile darkening as a wolfish hunger flickered in his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’ve set free,” he whispered like a dangerous caress.
Sima’s confidence never wavered. She met his gaze, her voice a daring whisper. “Show me. You have my permission.”
Astarion surged forward, as his body crashed against her and devoured her lips. His hands curled possessively around the small of her back, pulling her flush against him as his other hand tangled in her hair. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and power, as his tongue sought hers, and together, they fell into the heat of their connection.
Sima moaned softly into his kiss, her body pressing against his, the heat of her desire burning through her. Her fingers raked across his chest, nails grazing his skin as she reveled in the feel of his taut muscles beneath her touch.
Astarion's breath hitched as he ripped the blouse away from her body, the fabric falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. He took his time undoing her slacks, savoring the moment, the anticipation building between them like a coiled spring ready to snap. She broke from his kiss, her lips trailing down his jawline, nipping playfully at his throat. Her own hands making quick work of his finery.
He growled softly, a low sound of approval, as his hands found the waistband of her pants. With one smooth motion, he slid them down her legs, his lips brushing against the curve of her hip as she arched into him, her body bending under his touch.
Astarion’s body burned and ached with a fever at her touch. Sima's hands moved across his back, her soft moans filling the air between them even as her hands found the ridges of his old scars. Her touch was fire, branding him, marking him as hers. He reveled in the feel of her beneath him, her body yielding to his as he pushed her back onto the bed.
Sima collapsed onto the silk sheets, her breath quickening in shallow bursts. Her gaze flicked to the restraints waiting for her, anticipation coiling in her gut. Red ropes, tied neatly to the four bedposts, awaited their turn. Her eyes locked with his as she lay there; her dark, mahogany skin gleaming in the dim light and her curves a delightful sight.
Her voice was a soft whisper, filled with challenge and desire, as she looked up at him. "Play with me?"
For the briefest of moments, Astarion’s crimson eyes flickered, though he quickly mastered his expression. The surge of excitement her words evoked threatened to surface, but he reined it in. This was a game, yes—but a dangerous one, and she had given herself so easily. His hand moved to trace the curve of her breasts, fingers lingering on the soft swell as he leaned down to breathe the next words out as a wanton hiss,
"Play, my darling? Oh, I intend to do far more than that tonight."
Sima moaned softly against his mouth, biting down on his lower lip as his hand latched around her breasts and his fingers expertly pinching her nipples. A mounting desire rose between them, her impatience growing as she ground her hips against his body. Would he tie her up? Blindfold her? Punish her? Her mind raced with anticipation, even as his kisses deepened, stoking the fire between them.
Astarion knew it was time to test her limits. He wanted to see just how far she’d let him push this. His hands moved with expert precision as he captured her wrists, binding them behind her back with the soft red ropes. She couldn’t escape now, her hands rendered completely useless. He stepped back, admiring his work with satisfaction before leaning in once more, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear.
"You're such a good girl, Sima. Such a beautiful, good girl, just the way I like you..."
Sima’s back arched, her dark ringlets spilling down her shoulders, framing her face as her body lay exposed—vulnerable, yet unyielding in its submission. The silk ropes around her wrists held firm, not too tight yet secure enough to remind her that escape was not an option. He fisted his hand into her hair, tugging her head back sharply, eliciting a gasp before he threw her back against the bed. Her legs were still unbound, and the only barrier between her and his lustful intent was the fragile black thong she wore.
Astarion didn’t hesitate. His hands explored her body with reverence, savoring every curve, every inch of her warm mahogany skin beneath his fingers. His lips grazed her ear, his breath a hot whisper. “You’re exquisite… I can barely imagine how divine you’ll be as a vampire. The deep brown of your skin, those perfect curls… utterly irresistible.”
The hunger in his voice was palpable, a deep, consuming desire that drove him to the edge of control. In one swift motion, he tore her thong away, leaving her utterly bare before him. Her legs were pulled back and tied to the bedposts, her wrists now secured above her head as he adjusted the ropes with deliberate care. Sima was spread open for him, a vision of raw, unrestrained desire. Astarion couldn’t help but smile, admiring the sight of her vulnerable and exposed.
There was nothing else but surrender left at this moment. She lay stretched across the bed, every stretch of soft flesh exposed in a way that made her heart race. Her wrists pulled against the ropes, testing their give. Even tied, she still had power in the way her hips arched into his touch, the way she forced him to wait.
Sima’s gaze met his, as he hovered over her, his expression dark with hunger that went far beyond mere need. He loomed over her like an artist before his masterpiece, preparing to shape her as he saw fit. She gave herself so willingly—far too easily for it to be real submission, he thought.
Astarion’s grin widened as he took in the sight of her, helpless and at his mercy, bound and ready for his pleasure. Her body was his to mold, and he reveled in it. Leaning down, he began to work her breasts with expert hands, caressing, kneading, and pinching the sensitive flesh, coaxing soft moans and whimpers from her lips. His mouth followed, tongue tracing her skin down her body, teasing her until she squirmed beneath him, utterly his.
Sima gasped as his tongue flicked between her thighs, her body arching as his hands continued their teasing play with her breasts. She glanced down the length of her body, watching him, her hands tied and helpless to stop the teasing assault. The torment of it—the way he brought her so close, only to pull away—left her breathless with frustration and want.
Astarion watched her closely, delighting in her every reaction. He reveled in the control he had over her, to make her beg for him. To him, it was all a dark performance—one he had perfected over centuries. And now, he was playing it out with the woman he desired more than any other.
With each soft moan that escaped her lips, he kissed them away, his teeth grazing her skin as mouth grew more demanding. His hands returned to her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples with more intensity, watching with satisfaction as her body shuddered beneath him. She was so sensitive, so eager for him.
Astarion growled, low and seductive, the heat in his voice meant only for her. His hands moved lower, sliding up and down her thighs, teasing her with every pass, his fingers brushing ever so close to her clit before pulling away again. The evidence of her desire was clear on her slick skin, a testament to the power he held over her.
"Look at you..." he purred, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "My perfect little slut. Filthy, aren’t you? But only ever for me."
Sima’s breath hitched as his fingers brushed her tender core, her body trembling. Caught by surprise she gasped as he hoisted her legs higher in the ropes, leaving her even more exposed. Astarion’s hand came down with a sharp slap against her ass, the sting making her body jolt, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
"Yes..." she breathed, her voice shaky with anticipation. "I like being yours."
Astarion’s eyes darkened with pleasure at her words, and he slapped her again, harder this time, watching as she groaned and hissed, stifling a moan. Power surged through him—intoxicating, undeniable—but it was her willing submission that felt like the ultimate triumph. He leaned in close and deeply commanded her, as the breath on his lips caressed her skin.
"Like being mine? Say it and mean it Sima. ‘I love being yours.’"
Her mind swam as she felt the power of his compulsion wash over her, her eyes glowing violet under the influence of his command. Her voice was soft, sultry, as she repeated the words, her tone mimicking his.
"I love being yours..."
Astarion’s hesitated a moment, taking in the look of her pure surrender. Then, as he snapped back into himself, his fangs grazed her neck as he released her from the spell, allowing her will to return. He craved her true submission, her real consent—but the echo of his whispered command still lingered in her mind, making the drip between her legs poor even more.
Sima blinked, momentarily disoriented, but as she looked up at him, tied and bound, her lips curled into a smile. She bit her lip as she watched him, blood still staining his mouth, the deep red glow of the room framing the scene in a perfect tableau of their shared depravity. He turned away, walking toward the wall of toys, a display of his intent that made her pulse quicken with excitement. She smirked as she observed him, like a curator selecting his favorite piece* “Well look who's so utterly satisfied with himself…” Her bratty tone mixed with the thrill of her desire.
Astarion grinned as he glanced back at her, his fingers trailing over the various implements hanging on the wall. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he considered his options, finally selecting a medium-sized paddle. He turned back toward her, his voice thick with amusement.
"Tell me... do you have a preference?" he asked, his voice teasing. "You've always been so good with your toys and playmates. Let me know what you want to explore. Let's have some fun, shall we?"
Sima’s eyes followed him closely, her breath hitching as he traced his fingers over the floggers and paddles. Her gaze lingered on the paddle in his hand, her body tensing with anticipation. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to ask for it.
"Please," she breathed, her voice dripping with both defiance and mocking submission. "I've been bad... I need to be spanked."
Astarion’s eyes lit up with delight at her challenge, savoring the bratty spark in her gaze. He could never resist that rebellious streak in her. With a wicked grin, he raised the paddle and brought it down with a sharp crack across her rear.
Sima’s body jerked in response, a cry escaping her lips as the pain seared through her, mingling with the intense pleasure that coursed through her veins. The sting left her trembling, her body arching toward him as her desire grew with every passing moment.
Astarion took his time, relishing each reaction, watching her with the intensity of a wolf cornering a fawn. Again and again, the paddle came down, each strike landing on fresh skin, painting her rear in a deep maroon hue, darker than the red of the ropes that bound her.
She groaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands tightened around the ropes. Her body arched with each strike, the mixture of pain and pleasure building into an unbearable tension. Every time the paddle connected with her skin, a new wave of sensation washed over her, each one more intense than the last. Her dark brown eyes fluttered shut as the dampness between her thighs grew. The sensation of his marks, left behind on Sima began an addicting ache.
Astarion was relentless, his strikes precise, his pace measured. He alternated the force and location of each hit, aiming deliberately toward the most sensitive spots—just above her clit, along her inner thighs—drawing out sharp yelps of rapture from Sima. Her body writhed beneath him, unable to escape the onslaught, her need palpable as the tension coiled tighter within her.
Her breath hitched as his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers brushing over her slick folds, teasing her mercilessly. The soft sounds of her soaked skin filled the room, a testament to the control he held over her. Every inch of her was his, and she couldn’t deny how much she craved this.
"You're such a filthy little thing," he murmured, completely wanton. "You love it when I make you beg, don't you?"
Sima whimpered, her body trembling as his fingers danced across her swollen bud, her hips bucking involuntarily toward his touch. She was so close now, the tension building into something almost unbearable, her need for release overwhelming every other thought in her mind. The torrent of feeling across her skin, left her only able to frantically nod.
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her confession, his fingers sliding inside her now, curling just right to hit that hidden spot within her. He watched with dark delight as her body responded to him, her moans growing louder, her thighs quivering with every movement. His voice dropped to a growl as he spoke again, his breath hot against her ear.
"Come for me, Sima… Prove just how much you crave being mine."
Sima’s body tensed at his command, the words pushing her over the edge. Her back arched off the bed, her breath catching as her orgasm crashed over her in a wave of heat and ecstasy. She cried out his name, her body shaking as she came hard, her core tightening around his fingers, pulling him deeper into her.
Astarion watched her with wanton craving, savoring the sight of her falling apart beneath him. His own desire surged as he felt her body convulse with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she rode out the last waves of her climax. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly, bringing them to his lips and tasting her juices with a wicked grin.
"You taste delicious," he murmured, a mix of potent lust and longing. "But don’t think we’re done, my love. The night is still young, and I’m far from satisfied."
Sima lay sprawled across the bed, her body slack in the ropes, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants. Her skin was flushed, glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. But as she looked up at him, the gleam in her eyes hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
"Don’t waste another minute then" she whispered, her voice still tinged with defiance despite the exhaustion in her limbs. "Show me."
As Sima squirmed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, Astarion leaned over, his lips pressing softly against her neck. He trailed kisses and licks along her flushed skin, savoring the heat she exuded. His fingers slipped between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, the wetness greeting him with a surge of desire. He smirked against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body under his touch.
Her cries grew louder as his fingers found her aching bud, relentlessly teasing her as she gasped his name. Sima was oversensitive and he knew it. Her deep brown eyes locked with his crimson gaze, full of unspoken pleas. Every brush of his fingers coaxed her closer to the edge, the pressure within her building, her body trembling with the promise of release.
Sima’s hips bucked desperately against his hand, her need palpable as she sought more—harder, deeper. She was so close now, her body tightening with every stroke, her voice breaking with frustration and desire. Astarion watched her with a hunter’s focus, his own desire barely contained as he relished in her vulnerability, in the power he held over her pleasure.
"Tell me what you want, darling," he whispered, his voice a low growl, laced with dark intent. His breath was hot against her ear as his fingers continued their relentless teasing, drawing her closer to that sweet oblivion. "Let me hear it, and I’ll give you everything."
Her voice broke into a desperate whimper, her body shaking with need as she bucked harder against his fingers. "Harder..." she gasped, defiance edging her voice. "And tell me those dirty things I love."
Astarion chuckled softly, amused and aroused by her defiance. His fingers moved faster, the pressure growing more insistent as he leaned closer, his breath sending electric shocks through her. His whispers turned filthy, each word dripping with condescension and desire, feeding the fire that burned within her. He reveled in her submission, the way she squirmed beneath him, her body completely at his mercy.
"Such a good little whore," he whispered darkly, his voice thick with lust. "You love it, don’t you? Being mine... utterly helpless."
Sima groaned in response, arching off the bed as his degrading words washed over her. Her ringlets spilled over her face as she bucked harder, grinding against his hand, desperate for more. His fingers matched the frantic rhythm of her hips, bringing her closer to the edge with every stroke, keeping her teetering on the precipice of pleasure.
Astarion watched her closely, his crimson eyes gleaming with pride and hunger as her body trembled beneath him. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them expertly to hit that hidden spot that made her gasp. His whispers continued, taunting her with promises of more until she couldn’t take it anymore.
"Is that it?" he murmured, his voice a tantalizing tease. "Is that the kind of filth you crave? I can make you feel so much more, Sima... just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll show you everything."
Her body shook with need, her frustration evident as she begged for more. "Yes... please..." she gasped, her voice trembling. "Keep calling me names..."
Astarion smirked, loving the way she begged, the way she writhed beneath his control. His voice was a dark whisper in her ear as he continued his filthy endearments.
"Such a good little slut," he purred. "You’re mine, Sima... always mine."
The words pushed her over the edge. Her body tensed, her hips lifting off the bed as her core clenched around his fingers. Her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, her cries filling the room as her body shuddered with the force of her release. Her head fell back against the pillow, her body trembling as she surrendered to the tremors radiating through her.
Astarion drank in the sight of her with pride and wanton greed. The sound of her moans, the way her body moved beneath him, sent a surge of satisfaction through him. He pulled his fingers from her slowly, this time bringing them to her own lips to coat them in her slick.
Sima lay slack in the ropes, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in soft pants. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body still pulsing with the remnants of pleasure. A soft whimper escaped her as his fingers made her taste her own spent desire.
For a fleeting moment, the familiar arrogance ebbed, replaced by something deeper—something tender. His smile lingered, though softer now, a trace of genuine pleasure in his eyes. His voice dropped to a near whisper, reverent in its softness.
"Such a good girl..."
The words barely left his lips before he leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he savored the taste. The plush drag of their mouths full of heat and longing, as if neither of them could get enough of the other.
Sima pulled against the red ropes that ensnared her. Leaning forward with her body as she ached, to hold him, but the restraints kept her bound. She whined softly as he shifted on top of her, his stiff, unspent cock sliding against her folds languidly.
Astarion ran his fingers through her wild curls, his gaze never leaving hers. In that moment, something stirred deep within him—something more than lust, more than the thrill of conquest. It was a connection, a sense of completion that he hadn’t felt in centuries. It unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny it.
He leaned in closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, and a soft whimper escaped his darling’s lips as the restraints prevented her from wrapping her legs around him as she craved. Desperation edged her voice as she pressed her lips against his ear, her breath warm, thick with need.
“I want you… fill me.”
Astarion’s restraint shattered in an instant. Her words, dripping with raw longing and insatiable hunger, stripped away his usual poise. His ruby eyes blazed with an uncontainable need as he thrust into her with a single, powerful stroke. His lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss. Each flick of his tongue a promise that he would not stop until he had consumed her completely, until her pleasure had devoured them both.
Sima groaned deeply, the ropes biting into her skin as she pulled against them, her body desperate to move with him, to wrap herself around him and pull him even deeper. When he pushed all the way to the hilt, her inner walls fluttered and her throat caught before he began thrusting at a primal pace. Each collision of their bodies burned a fervor under her skin that only grew with each stroke. Their mouths remained locked, her tongue flicking against his fangs until she tasted the sharp tang of blood on his lips. The blood only fueled the fire between them, heightening every sensation, every thrust, every kiss.
For Astarion, this was the pinnacle of everything he had ever wanted. She, who was always so strong, now lay utterly helpless, surrendered to him, completely at his mercy. His hands gripped the sheets, his jaw clenched as his lips moved feverishly from hers to her neck, down to her collarbone. Everywhere he touched her, he claimed her, his desire raw and unrelenting.
His usual cool demeanor had long since vanished, replaced by a frenzied, animalistic rhythm. He kissed her hungrily, savoring the taste of her blood mixed with the sweet scent of her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh as he drove into her harder, faster, losing himself completely in the heat of their connection. Every moan, every gasp, every roll of her hips sent him closer to the brink, her body a perfect vessel for his darkest desires.
Sima whimpered against his mouth, her body moving with his in perfect, desperate harmony. Each thrust filled her so completely, stretching her to the point where it felt like she might shatter. Her core tightened around him, her hips bucking wildly as she felt herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, consuming her with each passing second. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her body undulating with the frantic rhythm they had created. She bit down on his lip, hard, drawing more blood as her moans softened into breathless gasps, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
Astarion’s hand moved to her throat, gripping it just enough to hold her steady as he kissed her deeply. Her moans, her whimpers, the way her silken vise gripped him so tightly—it was all too much. The pleasure surged through him, driving him into a frenzied rhythm, his every thrust pushing them both closer to oblivion.
Sima’s soft, desperate voice broke through the haze, her moan vibrating against his lips. "With me? Gods... I’m close..."
Her words shattered the last vestiges of his control. Astarion’s breath hitched, his body moving faster, his thrusts harder, more frantic as he pushed even deeper into her, hitting that hidden trigger inside her with precision.
"Yes... yes... yes..." he panted, his voice raw and desperate, each thrust sending them both hurtling toward their shared release.
Sima’s body arched off the bed as she cried out Astarion’s name as she broke against her own peak. Her core tightened around him, milking him with each tight flutter and her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his. Each wave of pleasure left her gasping for breath. For a moment, it felt like she was suspended in free fall, her mind blissfully empty, consumed entirely by the pleasure he had coaxed from her. Her eyes locked onto him as he chased her over the edge.
Astarion couldn't hold back any longer. Her cunt’s raw embrace, her cries filling the air utterly broke him, and he lost all control. Astarion let out a long, deep moan as he spilled inside her. He thrust into her with desperate fervor, riding the last waves of their shared ecstasy until he was utterly spent. The scent of sex, sweat, and her perfume leaving him heady.
For a moment, he lay there, still buried deep within her, his body warm and heavy against hers. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever experienced—an intoxicating blend of satisfaction, love, and relief. Astarion pressed his lips to her skin, but the warmth that lingered unnerved him. It wasn’t the heat of passion—it was something deeper, a softness that made him feel exposed. He told himself it would pass, but some part of him whispered that it wouldn’t.
Sima lay beside him, her body utterly relaxed, her wrists and ankles marked red from the ropes that had held her in place. The ache in her limbs was sweet, a reminder of how completely she had surrendered to him, how much she trusted him. She turned her head toward him, feeling the softness of his damp curls brush her cheek. Her breath was still uneven, but a contented sigh escaped her lips as she let herself sink into the moment.
Astarion’s arm snaked around her, pulling her close against his chest. He could hear the gentle beat of her heart, steady and soothing, her breathing soft as it lulled him into a rare sense of calm. It was a strange feeling—one he wasn’t accustomed to, but one he found himself craving more of. He closed his eyes, his fingers tangling in her wild curls as he held her close. In this moment, everything felt perfect, as if the rest of the world no longer mattered.
Sima’s voice broke the silence, a soft murmur still thick with the remnants of pleasure. "Astarion... I want to hold you..." She wriggled her wrists, trying to free herself from the ropes that still bound her.
Astarion didn’t respond with words, not immediately. Instead, he shifted his body, pulling her closer, his leg sliding between hers as he nuzzled into her neck. He wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, wasn’t ready to lose the feeling of her warmth against him. She was still bound, and a small part of him enjoyed that—knowing that she was his, even for just a little longer.
Sima sighed, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Silly thing... my wrists and ankles are going to go numb if you don’t untie me."
Astarion grinned against her skin, his voice a soft murmur filled with amusement. "I’ll untie you, my love. But not yet." He pressed his leg more firmly between hers, his body wrapped around her possessively, as if he couldn’t bear to let her slip away from him. Not after what they had just shared.
Sima laughed softly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Well, fine. I suppose you’re very cute right now."
Astarion chuckled, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone. His breath was warm against her skin, sending little shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed along her neck, his fingers resting lightly on her throat, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin in lazy circles. It was a gentle touch, one that belied the intensity they had just shared, but one that made her heart race all the same.
Sima moaned softly, her body relaxing into his embrace. His kisses were disarming, tender in a way she hadn’t expected, and she found herself sinking deeper into the sensation. She had always loved the way he kissed her neck, the way his lips pressed against her skin like a promise. And as he kissed lower, she let herself fall into the warmth of the moment.
Astarion could feel the way her body responded, the way she leaned into his touch, trusting him completely. It stirred something deep within him, something that felt far too close to love. He smiled against her skin, knowing exactly what she was feeling. His lips moved in gentle nibbles along her throat, his thumb still tracing circles on her neck, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath his fingers. The warmth of her blood called to him, and he knew he couldn’t resist it any longer.
His fangs descended slowly, a low growl escaping him before he sank them into her neck.
Sima gasped, the sharp pain quickly giving way to a rush of pleasure. She moaned softly, her body quivering in his embrace as his arms tightened around her. Bound and helpless as she was, she trusted him entirely, letting herself fall into the sensation as the warmth of his bite washed over her. She could feel his need, the hunger behind the bite, but more than that, she felt the tenderness in the way he held her.
Astarion drank slowly, savoring the taste of her blood. It had been so long since he had fed from her, and now, as her blood flowed into him, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection. She was more delicious than he remembered, her essence filling him with warmth and desire. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark oxblood pools of pure satisfaction.
Sima lay still, her body flushed, and her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she recovered from the bite. She was still tied, but there was a softness in her expression, a contentment that made him smile. Gently, Astarion began to untie her wrists; his movements careful to protect this precious thread of closeness between them.
As her arms fell to the mattress, Sima sighed in relief, her body going slack. She pulled at the ties on her ankles, and when they finally came loose, she leaned her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes.
"Relax," Astarion whispered, his voice soft as he kissed her deeply, his hands cradling her face. "You’re safe with me." There was no rush, no urgency now—just the sweetness of the moment, the quiet intimacy that lingered between them. And for the first time in a long while, he tried to infuse those words with every part of himself.
Sima kissed him back, her arms wrapping around him at last, pulling him close. Her legs, still shaking slightly from the intensity of their passion, managed to wrap around his waist. She held him tightly, needing to feel every part of him, to reassure herself that this moment was real.
"Say those words again," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with need. Those words meant more to her than anything else, more even than the pleasure they had just shared.
Astarion smiled against her lips, his gaze softening as he held her. "You’re safe with me," he whispered again, his voice low, tender, and full of conviction. The words were meant to comfort her, but deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure they were true. He wanted them to be—gods, how he wanted them to be. But could he really promise her safety, when the darker parts of himself still whispered otherwise?
He could feel the weight of her trust, the significance of those words between them. She had given herself to him completely, body and soul, and now, perhaps for the first time, he realized that this was more than mere passion. This was something that bound them together in a way that even he hadn’t anticipated.
She allowed herself to melt into his kiss, a deliberate surrender of control. She wasn’t simply swept away—she was making a choice, to trust him again, to meet him halfway. When their lips parted, she rested her forehead against his, gazing into his crimson eyes with a tenderness that only deepened.
"I love you," she whispered, her fingers curling into his damp white curls as she held his face in her hands.
Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as the gravity behind her words sank in. For a moment, the words caught in his throat. He hadn’t said them in centuries—hadn’t allowed himself to. But with her, it felt... right. Even if, deep down, part of him wondered if he could ever fully mean them in the way she deserved.
"I love you as well, Sima," he said softly, his eyes opening and gazing at her as if she was the entirety of his existence. He pressed another kiss to her lips, slow and gentle and his hand caressed her cheek as if she was more precious than any stone in Evereska.
Sima’s heart thudded in her chest as she gazed into his eyes, her hands still caressing his face. Every part of her wanted to believe, to trust in this love they had discovered together. But it wasn’t without its risks, its uncertainties. She knew the chaos it might bring, the complications of their lives, but she also knew, deep in her soul, that she was ready.
With a steadying breath, Sima held his face more firmly as she made her silent decision. She leapt headfirst toward the unknown, driven by the faith she had in him, in them.
She swallowed, her breath trembling but her resolve firm as she whispered, "Yes... Astarion. Yes. I'll do it."
For the first time in his long, cursed life, Astarion’s smile wasn’t marred by seduction or arrogance. It was honest, vulnerable, and real. He cupped her face in his hands, her name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer, "Sima…"
But deep inside, beneath the warmth of her acceptance, a flicker of uncertainty remained. Could he really let go of the power he had always craved? Could he share it equally? He wanted to believe he could. He loved her, didn’t he? Yet, some darker corner of his mind whispered: You will always have the final say.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of eternity. His gaze, always so sharp, softened as his lips enveloped her as she chose him in this moment. The lingering kiss spoke of everything he couldn’t say aloud—his gratitude, his awe, his love. This was no fleeting moment of pleasure. This was forever.
Sima’s conviction solidified in the press of their lips. Her hands tightened in his white curls as if anchoring herself to this moment, to the man who had offered her the world and challenged her at every turn. There was no turning back now, and the thought of it didn’t scare her. It thrilled her. This time, it would be different, a quiet refrain in her mind.
But as Astarion held her, the old instincts whispered again—control, dominance, power. Was he truly capable of this equality she demanded? Could she be his equal without threatening his carefully constructed rule?
When their lips parted, Astarion’s eyes glistened with a quiet intensity. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his voice soft yet resolute. "I swear to you, on everything I am, you will never fear me again. I will never hurt you, Sima, not ever. You will always be free." But even as he said the words, a subtle shadow flickered in his mind—Free... but mine. He pulled her closer, as if the force of his love could silence the doubts gnawing at him.
The words hit her with a force she hadn’t expected. Free—the word echoed in her mind. It meant more now, after all they had been through, after the trust she had placed in him. But that wasn't enough. Her decision to embrace this life, to stand at his side forever, meant they couldn’t just be lovers, or sire and bride. They had to be more. They had to be equals, bound by choice, not chains.
She pulled back slightly, her dark brown eyes blazing with a fierce clarity as she held his gaze. "Astarion," she whispered, her voice trembling with both love and hidden fears. "If I give you all of me, if I step into eternity with you… we do this together. We’re equals. Equal in every way. I won’t be your shadow, your possession. I want to be your partner, standing beside you, not beneath you." This is my line in the sand. I won’t cross it, she thought. If I let myself be anything less than his equal, I’d be betraying everything I’ve fought for, everything I am. I’ve come too far, survived too much. He has to understand that. If he doesn’t...
Astarion blinked, the weight of her words settling over him like an iron blanket. In all the centuries he had lived, no one had ever spoken to him like this—no one had ever asked for equality. They had feared him, admired him, submitted to him. But this… this was different. This was power, real power, given willingly, not taken by force. And yet... could he let go of this gnawing, ravenous need for control?
He brushed his lips over hers again, this time slower, softer, as if sealing a pact between them. When he pulled away, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Equal and free, Sima. Always."
But a small voice inside reminded him: Equal, yes—but still mine. Always mine, like a sick lullaby. Could he give her freedom and keep her bound to him? The thought twisted something deep inside him, but he pushed it aside for now. "Not my shadow, not my possession. My equal. My partner. My consort."
Her heart swelled, and for a moment, she almost let herself believe it completely. But even still her traitorous heart questioned in the shadows: could Astarion really give her what she needed? Or was she asking too much of a man who had spent centuries in chains of his own making?
She cupped his face again, her fingers curling against his sharp jaw as she whispered back, "Equal and free," she repeated, sealing it with a kiss of hope. "And together, we’ll have everything. No one will stand in our way."
Astarion’s smile turned wicked, the glint of ambition sparking in his eyes, but now it was shared—it wasn’t just his hunger for power, but theirs. Together, they would be unstoppable. Together, but still in the palm of my hand...
"Everything, my love. I swear it."
They had forged their bond in blood and fire, and now they would burn the world down together, equal and free—at least, as far as he could allow.
Chapter 16: You Await My Command…
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 117k
Warning:
Hey everyone, just a quick note before this chapter. Chapter 16 explores intense themes of power dynamics, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. Astarion and Sima’s relationship has always explored complex territory, but this chapter marks a darker shift, and it may be triggering for some readers. I understand this content can be difficult, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourselves as you read. This scene highlights the struggles and flaws in their dynamic, but I recognize it may not be for everyone. Thank you, as always, for your continued support of this story. If you need to step away or talk about anything after reading, don’t hesitate to reach out. Your well-being is always the priority. ❤️
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 11 2024
Song of the Hour:
Lovely: Billie Ellish and Khalid
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Chapter 16: You Await My Command…
Astarion sat back in one of the plush leather chairs in his study, his posture almost regal, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal wine glass filled with dark blood resting lazily in his hand. The deep crimson liquid shimmered in the soft candlelight, casting reflections on the polished wood of his desk. He took a slow sip, savoring the metallic tang on his tongue as his thoughts circled, ever returning to Sima. She was inescapable—her presence a constant undertow that tugged at the edges of his carefully laid plans.
A sigh escaped his lips, low and filled with a quiet, almost reluctant regret.
She’s stalling, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How predictable.
Her insistence on “time to sort her affairs” was a transparent delay. Astarion had seen through it from the beginning—had relented, yes, but only because he’d known that, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Time was an illusion; she was already his, whether she admitted it or not.
But she's still clinging to that mortal life of hers, he mused, his lips curling into a slight sneer. How quaint.
Time or no time, she was his, and he would never let her go. The idea of losing her was intolerable.
His thoughts wandered back to the night they shared—the intensity of their passion, the way she had writhed beneath him, surrendering to her deepest desires. He had tied her up, not just physically but emotionally, binding them both to a truth neither could deny. That night, they had confronted something raw, something primal. It was a moment where lust, control, and something far deeper had intertwined. She had finally agreed to be his, and that victory played over and over in his mind like a sweet, seductive refrain.
He rose, pacing toward the large window overlooking Baldur’s Gate, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living, breathing creature. Every flicker of light, every shadow, every whisper in the alleys—it was all his. He had built this domain, spun his web of influence, and bent nobles and spawn alike to his will.
But Sima…
She’s different.
That thought simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior, an unwelcome irritation. She was intelligent, beautiful, and powerful, but more than that—she was dangerous. Not because she opposed him outright, but because she resisted him subtly, with her ideals and her stubborn sense of morality.
He paced the length of his study, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls. The room was a reflection of his mind—controlled, calculated, and filled with power. The star chart that dominated one wall was a map of his ambitions, each constellation representing a piece of his carefully constructed future. And in that future, Sima would be at his side. She would be his vampire bride, powerful and eternal. Together, they would rule not only Baldur's Gate but the world beyond.
The thought of her transformation filled him with a mix of elation and dread. She would be his equal, yes—but what kind of equal? Once she became a vampire, she would never be the same. Her human vulnerabilities, the softness he sometimes glimpsed in her, would be stripped away. What would remain? Would she resent him for it? Would she still desire him the way she did now? Or would her new power create a distance between them?
What an amusing little dilemma, he mused. She will resist, of course. But resist too much? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever came, it didn’t matter. She would be his, and together, they would be unstoppable. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. With Sima at his side, they would be the most feared and powerful couple in Faerûn. The nobles of Baldur's Gate would kneel at their feet, and soon, the world would fall under their rule. She would be the crown jewel of his reign.
But then, as if summoned by the very conflict within him, the door to his study creaked open, breaking the silence. A vampire spawn entered, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor. His entire body trembled as he knelt before his master.
“My lord… there is unrest in the dormitories.”
Astarion turned, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold, detached interest. “What kind of unrest?”
The spawn swallowed, eyes glued to the floor. “The spawn… they’re speaking of ideas. Ideas of freedom.”
Astarion’s grip on his glass tightened, and he could feel the cold fury blooming within him. Freedom? The word slithered through his mind, jagged and unsettling.
“And why, pray tell, would they be speaking of such things?” His voice was a soft hiss, sharp as the edge of a blade.
“Lady Sima…” the spawn stammered. “She has been speaking with them. She… she speaks of choice, my lord. Of things… changing when she becomes a vampire lord.”
For a moment, Astarion remained still, his gaze fixed on the trembling figure at his feet. Inside, his anger coiled tighter, cold and seething beneath the surface.
So, it’s come to this.
“She’s… speaking with the others?” His tone was flat, controlled. But inside, a storm raged.
“Yes, my lord. She speaks to them even now.”
His gaze darkened, fury bubbling to the surface as the reality of her actions hit him. Sima—his Sima—was undermining him, planting dangerous ideas of autonomy in his spawn.
“Show me.”
The spawn led Astarion through the palace corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As they neared the dormitories, Sima’s voice drifted through the air, soft yet confident, mingling with the occasional laughter of the spawn. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to burst into the room growing with every step.
"...You must see it for yourselves," Sima was saying as Astarion approached, her voice warm, almost motherly. "Your Master has given you stability, yes, but there’s more that you can be. More than just tools for power."
Astarion’s jaw tightened. She’s at it again—filling their heads with ideas she barely understands herself. His steps quickened, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp glint in his eyes as he neared the threshold.
They reached the dormitory, and Astarion stood in the shadows, watching her with barely contained fury. Sima sat by the fire, her posture relaxed, as though she were the one in control. Several young spawn leaned in, listening eagerly as she spoke.
"When I become a vampire lord," she continued, "I want you to be strong and effective, yes... but also to have the choice. To think for yourselves."
Astarion’s grip on the doorframe tightened. Choice. The word made his blood boil. She spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it weren’t a threat to everything he had built.
Silly, naive girl, he thought, his gaze narrowing. She has no idea what she’s inviting.
Sima’s voice carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing behind her. "You’ve all served faithfully, but it’s time you had a voice in the matters of your own existence. That’s what I hope to bring—"
Enough. Astarion’s patience snapped, his fury rising with each word that passed her lips. She had crossed the line. The spawn—his spawn—would not be infected with her idealistic nonsense. It was time to put an end to this charade.
"Sima, my love," Astarion called, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes blazed with controlled anger. He stepped into the dim light, his posture regal but tense. "I didn’t realize you were already so... involved with the spawn."
As Astarion’s voice cut through the air, Sima’s head lifted, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his smooth, deceptively calm tone. For a moment, relief washed over her—he always had that effect, even when she knew better.
But there was something off tonight. Something darker.
She looked up at him, greeted him warmly, but as she took in his posture, his eyes, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly by his sides, a flicker of doubt crept in.
He’s angry, she realized, her stomach tightening.
She could see it in the tension of his movements, the way his lips curled into a too-calm smile.
Sima’s head lifted, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Beloved" She greeted him warmly but still somewhat subdued. "I was just getting acquainted with them. Considering I’ll be a vampire lord soon, I thought it wise to build rapport. You agree, don’t you?"
She thinks this is innocent, doesn’t she? How charmingly misguided. Astarion’s smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened, a predatory gleam surfacing beneath the calm exterior. He approached slowly, each step measured, deliberate. "Indeed," he replied, extending his hand. "But we should discuss these... ideas... in private. There’s much we need to talk about."
Sima hesitated, the warmth in her smile faltering as she sensed the growing shift in him, a crack in the calm facade. But she nodded, taking his hand, trusting that whatever was troubling him would be resolved in time. "Of course," she said, her voice still light, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes.
Good, Astarion thought. Uncertainty suits you better than defiance. His grip tightened slightly as he led her from the room, the tension between them thickening with every step.
As they ascended the stairs toward their private chambers, the tension between them grew palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with each step. Sima glanced back at the spawn, who watched silently as they left, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. She had wanted to make things better for them—to give them something more than the hollow existence they endured under Astarion’s rule. But now, as she walked beside him, she wondered if she had overstepped.
The moment the door to their chambers closed behind them, Astarion’s mask of calm shattered. With a violent shove, he thrust Sima into the room, his hand clamping down on her arm with bruising force.
"Do not presume to speak to me with anything but respect," he hissed, his voice low and threatening, his lips curling into a snarl. "There is an order to things, and you—you—are answerable to me. You will listen when I command you to listen."
Sima stumbled, barely catching herself before colliding with the wall. She looked at him in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. His sudden aggression took her breath away, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. She straightened, squaring her shoulders as she glared at him. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Astarion’s eyes darkened, his fury rising like a storm. He stalked toward her, his movements predatory, his voice a dangerous whisper. "What’s wrong with me?" he growled, his breath hot against her face as he towered over her. "You undermine me in front of the spawn—my spawn. You fill their heads with notions of freedom, of choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re asking me to do?"
Sima’s breath quickened, but she refused to back down. She stood her ground, defiant, her chin raised as she met his gaze. "I did nothing wrong," she spat, her voice fierce, unwavering. "I spoke to them with compassion—something you seem to have forgotten. What? Are you angry because you can’t stand the idea of someone thinking for themselves? Is that what this is really about?"
Astarion’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist with an iron grip and yanking her roughly against his chest. “You think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, eyes narrowed as his other hand slid up her skirt, fingers digging into her thigh with punishing force. His touch was anything but tender—harsh, commanding, filled with anger that he was barely keeping at bay.
Sima gasped, the shock of his aggression slamming into her body. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back, but even as she tried to push him away, his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. Her back collided with the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her, trapping her between the stone and his unforgiving hold.
"What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling, not just with anger but with a faint, unspoken arousal that she loathed. She hated how her body responded to him—how, no matter how furious she was, there was always a part of her that craved the control he exerted over her.
Astarion’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, dark satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. “I’m teaching you a lesson,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the dangerous edge to his voice making it clear this was no idle threat. “You need to understand your place, my love.”
Sima gritted her teeth, her nails biting into his arms as she struggled to break free of his hold, the fire of defiance burning in her chest. “I’m not one of your spawn,” she spat, her voice sharp and cutting despite the heat building inside her. “I don’t belong to you.”
Astarion’s smirk only widened, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, but you do,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, his hand moving with deliberate, insistent pressure. He could feel her body react to his touch, the heat between them undeniable. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
He pressed her harder against the wall, his movements rough, calculated—designed to strip away her resistance, to punish her for daring to defy him. Sima gasped, her body trembling involuntarily under his touch. She hated the way he made her feel—the way her body betrayed her, craving the harshness of his control even as her mind rebelled. She hated that some part of her wanted this, wanted him, even now.
"You want this," Astarion whispered darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the twisted pleasure he took from her conflict. "You want me to control you, to own you. Admit it."
Sima growled in defiance, her nails digging into his chest, desperate to push him away, to assert her own will. “Fuck you!” she spat, her voice thick with both rage and the undeniable heat simmering inside her. “You don’t get my submission today. Brat or not, I did nothing wrong.”
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. “Oh, I’ve dealt with brats before, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “And trust me, I always win.”
With a swift, sharp movement, he forced her legs apart with his knee, spreading her open to his touch. Her body quivered beneath him, every muscle tensing as he pushed against her. She wanted to fight him, to cling to her defiance, but her body had already started to betray her—responding to his dominance even as she willed it not to.
Sima glared at him, her voice a low, harsh whisper. “You can try all you want,” she said, her breath hot against his face. “But I am not yours to control.”
Astarion chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing the slick heat between her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent. “Oh, but we both know that’s not true, darling,” he whispered, his voice taunting, full of cruel satisfaction. “I own you, whether you admit it or not.”
Sima’s breath hitched, her body betraying her, even as her mind screamed defiance. The pressure of his fingers, the rough precision of his touch—it was maddening, pushing her toward the edge despite every ounce of resolve she clung to. She bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stifle the moan rising in her throat, her fists clenched as she fought to maintain control.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling, thick with a mixture of fury and unwanted arousal.
Astarion’s grin spread, slow and wicked, as he felt her body begin to yield, even if her mind resisted. His fingers never faltered, moving in an infuriating rhythm, coaxing responses from her that she couldn’t suppress. “Oh, come now, darling," he purred, his tone laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just too proud to admit how much you want it.”
Her defiance only spurred him on. He pressed harder, his movements rougher, more deliberate—calculated to strip away the last of her resistance. Sima’s legs began to tremble, betraying her completely as waves of pleasure built inside her, tightening in her core like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop, but the way he touched her—the way he knew her body so intimately—made it impossible.
With a snarl of frustration, Sima glared at him, her eyes burning with fury. “You want me to give up? To tell you that you’ve won?” She leaned in, her teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands tangling in his curls as she yanked his head back, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue.
Astarion growled through the pain, but instead of recoiling, his grin only widened, blood staining his lips as he licked them clean. “Oh, my sweet Sima,” he whispered, his voice a low, wicked rasp. “You’re only making this more delightful for me.” His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust harder, a cruel gleam of satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes. “But you and I both know how this ends. It always ends the same.”
His pace quickened, each movement precise and unrelenting, driving her closer to that edge she desperately fought to avoid. The dominance, the rawness of his touch, the power he held over her—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. Sima hated how easily he could push her, how her body responded to him no matter how much she resisted.
Astarion leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “You can lie to yourself all you want, love," he murmured darkly, "but we both know you love this—being disciplined, being put in your place. Admit it.”
Sima’s body tensed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside her, growing unbearable. She wanted to deny him, to shove him away, but her body betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every involuntary reaction to his touch. “Fuck… you…” she growled, her voice breaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back the pleasure that surged through her.
Astarion chuckled, his grin widening in satisfaction. “Not quite yet, my dear,” he whispered, his tone laced with dark promise. He could feel her nearing the brink, but he wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet. Drawing out her torment was half the pleasure. He wanted her to break—utterly and completely.
“I could make this so much worse for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers slowing just enough to keep her on edge, the tension mounting in her body. “Or you could just let go... Give in. You know you want to.”
Sima’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as the pressure inside her built to a fever pitch. The line between pleasure and pain blurred with every thrust of his fingers, every taunting word that slipped from his lips. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body betraying her mind as it craved release, despite her fierce determination to hold on.
Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body trembled beneath him. “You think you can break me, Astarion? You think you can make me submit?” Her voice was thick with venom, but beneath it was a tremor of something more—a desire she couldn’t fully deny.
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his grin never faltering. “Break you?” He chuckled softly, his voice a seductive purr. “Oh, my love, I already have.” His hand moved with brutal precision, deeper, harder, forcing her hips to buck against him. “Your body tells me everything I need to know. You’ve been mine from the start.”
Sima gasped, her body betraying her completely as waves of unwanted pleasure surged through her, overwhelming every last shred of resistance she had. She could feel her core tightening, her muscles clenching uncontrollably as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable intensity. She hated him for it—for knowing her body so well, for controlling her so effortlessly—but it was already too late.
Astarion’s free hand pinned her wrists above her head as he pressed her harder against the wall, his breath ragged in her ear. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just give in, Sima. Let go.”
Her breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a peak, so close it was agonizing. Every movement of his fingers, every thrust, sent her spiraling further into that unbearable tension, each wave of sensation tearing down her resistance. Her knees buckled beneath her, her mind screaming at her to hold on, to resist—but her body had already lost.
“Say it.” Astarion’s voice was a low growl now, almost a purr as his fingers moved relentlessly against her. “Tell me you belong to me. Admit it—you want this. You need it.”
Sima’s entire body quivered, the pleasure ravaging her, robbing her of control. Every nerve felt alight, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as she fought against the overwhelming tide building inside her. She hated him for this—for how easily he could strip her of reason—but her body had already surrendered, trembling beneath the onslaught of his touch.
“Fuck… you,” she spat, the words slipping through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage and the weight of her impending climax. Defiant to the end, even as her body betrayed her.
Astarion chuckled darkly, his grin widening as his breath ghosted hot against her ear. “You already did last night, darling,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, with merciless precision. “I’ve already broken you—you just haven’t accepted it yet.”
His other hand pinned her harder against the wall, his movements calculated and punishing, drawing her closer to the edge. “Go on then,” he whispered, his tone a blend of cruelty and seduction. “Fight me all you want, but we both know you’ll fall apart in my hands. You always do.”
Sima’s body trembled violently, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight, every thrust of his fingers pulling her closer to that precipice she desperately tried to resist. But it was useless—her muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and despite every effort to hold on, she was already slipping.
“You’re mine,” Astarion hissed, his voice thick with satisfaction, his fingers rougher now, pushing her to the breaking point. “Now be a good girl and show me how much.”
With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her tumbling over the edge into oblivion.
Sima’s body convulsed violently as her climax hit her like a wave, slamming into her with enough force to take her breath away. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenching tightly as her core tightened painfully around his fingers. She gasped, her head thrown back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through her, each one more powerful than the last.
Her body writhed against him, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she rode out the overwhelming sensations. Her mind screamed at her to resist, but it was too late—her body had already surrendered completely to him.
Astarion watched her fall apart, his eyes dark with satisfaction as she shuddered under his touch. His fingers were slick with her arousal, her hips moving against him in the aftermath of her climax, as if seeking more even though she had nothing left to give. She was his now—whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Yet as he stared down at her, something inside him shifted, a cold hollow sensation replacing the rush of power. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at her trembling form, her chest heaving as she slumped against the wall. He should have felt triumphant, but instead, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side as he took a step back.
Something snapped inside him, a thread pulled too tight and finally breaking. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Astarion stared at her, the weight of what he had done settling on him like a shroud. The bruises forming on her hips, dark and unmistakable on her bronzed skin, stood as a testament to the force he had exerted, the control he had lost. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended, not tonight. He had pushed too far. His fingers twitched at his side, a momentary urge to reach for her again. But the sight of those bruises—his bruises—froze him in place.
Gods, he thought, what am I doing?
"You’re hurt..." His voice, low and thick with something he rarely allowed himself to feel—guilt—sounded foreign even to his own ears.
Sima stiffened at his words. Her body trembled, still raw from the intensity of what had just passed between them, her mind reeling from both pleasure and fury. As she straightened, a sharp pain flared between her legs, causing her to wince again. She tugged her skirt down with wavering hands, the bruises on her hips throbbing as a cold, unfamiliar dread seeped into her chest.Yes, I’m hurt, she thought bitterly, though if it was a wound to her heart or more to her body, she could not tell. Her skin still burned with the remnants of their violent encounter, but it was the cold reality that truly stung.
"Yes," she spat, her voice sharp and trembling, though not with fear. "It would appear so, wouldn’t it?" Her eyes flashed with anger, her body tense, holding onto her defiance. The bruises on her hips throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anger flaring inside her. She had always known their relationship danced on a precarious edge, but tonight, he had crossed a line.
Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat. The dynamic they shared had always thrilled him—the push, the pull, the intoxicating balance of power. But now, the control he so cherished felt like a tightening noose. He had gone too far.
As she bent to pull on the rest of her clothes, he couldn’t look away. He saw the tension in her every move—the hesitation, the pain she tried to hide. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper. Something broken between them.
He reached out, softer this time, his hand brushing against her arm as if to offer solace, to regain a thread of the connection they had so violently severed. "Sima..." His voice was softer, pleading. "You must understand... as your sire, it’s my duty to—"
"To what?" Sima jerked away from his touch as though his hand had burned her. Her eyes, fiery and defiant, locked onto his. "To keep me in line?" Her voice was sharp, filled with an unyielding coldness. "You are not my sire," she spat, each word a blade cutting through whatever thread of intimacy had been left between them. "Let me remind you of that."
The weight of her words fell between them like a stone, the finality of them echoing in the silence.
Astarion blinked, her rejection hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. He had always envisioned himself as her inevitable sire—the one who would complete her, bind her to him for eternity. But now, she had thrown that back in his face, reminding him of his failure, of the incompleteness of their bond.
"I—" The words died in his throat. He had her, hadn’t he? She had always returned to him, bent to his will, even in defiance. But this time… this time felt different.
The chasm between them seemed to grow wider with each breath she took, an invisible distance that was impossible to close. She stood tall, despite the tremor in her body, her defiance burning brighter than ever. I am not one of your spawn, she thought, her earlier words echoing in her mind like a mantra. She refused to break before him, refused to be reduced to something he could control.
"You’ve done enough today, Astarion," she said, her voice steady despite the uneven rhythm of her breath. She refused to meet his gaze now, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. "Let me go."
His hand fell limply to his side, the space between them an unbreachable void. He didn’t move to stop her as she dressed in silence, each of her movements sharp, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that made his chest tighten. Let her go, his rational mind whispered. Fix this later.
But the other part of him—the part that demanded her submission, that craved her surrender—raged at the thought of her leaving, of her walking away from him.
Just before she reached the door, Sima paused, her voice trembling with barely contained fury as she turned back to him. "I don’t know what tonight was," she said, her chest rising and falling as though she could barely keep herself together. "But I can tell you one thing for certain. Nothing about what happened was acceptable."
Astarion stood frozen, her words cutting through him like a blade of ice. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had no retort, no quick, biting remark to wield as a shield. Only the sharp, bitter taste of guilt lingered, hanging in the air as he watched her storm out and slam the door behind her.
The sound echoed through the silence that followed, leaving him alone with the weight of his actions.
How dare she reject me? The thought surged through him, bitter and defensive. After everything he had given her, after everything he had shared with her—how dare she walk away? His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides as the familiar tide of anger rose within him. But beneath it, something darker gnawed at him, something he didn’t want to face.
The bruises. Her bruises. His marks.
They haunted him, flashing through his mind as unwelcome reminders of the boundary he had crossed. The control he had so valued had slipped, leaving behind a mess of tangled emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront.
This was supposed to be a game, he reminded himself, pacing the room, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the suffocating quiet. A lesson. We’ve always played this way... But tonight, tonight had been different, hadn’t it? He had felt it—the shift, the dangerous line that he had crossed without realizing it until it was too late.
You are not my sire. Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again. She had spoken them with such finality, as though to remind him of what he wasn’t. What he might never be.
His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of realization. I’ve broken her trust, he thought, the truth of it settling deep into his bones. I’ve pushed her away. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could bring her back.
But he would try. He had to.
There was still time—there had to be time—to fix this, to make her see that this had been a mistake, a momentary lapse. He couldn’t lose her, not when she was so close to being his—his equal, his bride, his partner in the eternity he had long envisioned.
Sima may have resisted him today, but in the end, she would be his. She had no other choice.
And neither did he.
Chapter 16: You Await My Command…
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 117k
Warning:
Hey everyone, just a quick note before this chapter. Chapter 16 explores intense themes of power dynamics, emotional manipulation, and dubious consent. Astarion and Sima’s relationship has always explored complex territory, but this chapter marks a darker shift, and it may be triggering for some readers. I understand this content can be difficult, and I want to encourage you to take care of yourselves as you read. This scene highlights the struggles and flaws in their dynamic, but I recognize it may not be for everyone. Thank you, as always, for your continued support of this story. If you need to step away or talk about anything after reading, don’t hesitate to reach out. Your well-being is always the priority. ❤️
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 11 2024
Song of the Hour:
Lovely: Billie Ellish and Khalid
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Chapter 16: You Await My Command…
Astarion sat back in one of the plush leather chairs in his study, his posture almost regal, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal wine glass filled with dark blood resting lazily in his hand. The deep crimson liquid shimmered in the soft candlelight, casting reflections on the polished wood of his desk. He took a slow sip, savoring the metallic tang on his tongue as his thoughts circled, ever returning to Sima. She was inescapable—her presence a constant undertow that tugged at the edges of his carefully laid plans.
A sigh escaped his lips, low and filled with a quiet, almost reluctant regret.
She’s stalling, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. How predictable.
Her insistence on “time to sort her affairs” was a transparent delay. Astarion had seen through it from the beginning—had relented, yes, but only because he’d known that, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Time was an illusion; she was already his, whether she admitted it or not.
But she's still clinging to that mortal life of hers, he mused, his lips curling into a slight sneer. How quaint.
Time or no time, she was his, and he would never let her go. The idea of losing her was intolerable.
His thoughts wandered back to the night they shared—the intensity of their passion, the way she had writhed beneath him, surrendering to her deepest desires. He had tied her up, not just physically but emotionally, binding them both to a truth neither could deny. That night, they had confronted something raw, something primal. It was a moment where lust, control, and something far deeper had intertwined. She had finally agreed to be his, and that victory played over and over in his mind like a sweet, seductive refrain.
He rose, pacing toward the large window overlooking Baldur’s Gate, the city sprawled out beneath him like a living, breathing creature. Every flicker of light, every shadow, every whisper in the alleys—it was all his. He had built this domain, spun his web of influence, and bent nobles and spawn alike to his will.
But Sima…
She’s different.
That thought simmered beneath his carefully controlled exterior, an unwelcome irritation. She was intelligent, beautiful, and powerful, but more than that—she was dangerous. Not because she opposed him outright, but because she resisted him subtly, with her ideals and her stubborn sense of morality.
He paced the length of his study, his fingers trailing over the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls. The room was a reflection of his mind—controlled, calculated, and filled with power. The star chart that dominated one wall was a map of his ambitions, each constellation representing a piece of his carefully constructed future. And in that future, Sima would be at his side. She would be his vampire bride, powerful and eternal. Together, they would rule not only Baldur's Gate but the world beyond.
The thought of her transformation filled him with a mix of elation and dread. She would be his equal, yes—but what kind of equal? Once she became a vampire, she would never be the same. Her human vulnerabilities, the softness he sometimes glimpsed in her, would be stripped away. What would remain? Would she resent him for it? Would she still desire him the way she did now? Or would her new power create a distance between them?
What an amusing little dilemma, he mused. She will resist, of course. But resist too much? He pushed the thought aside. Whatever came, it didn’t matter. She would be his, and together, they would be unstoppable. His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. With Sima at his side, they would be the most feared and powerful couple in Faerûn. The nobles of Baldur's Gate would kneel at their feet, and soon, the world would fall under their rule. She would be the crown jewel of his reign.
But then, as if summoned by the very conflict within him, the door to his study creaked open, breaking the silence. A vampire spawn entered, bowing deeply, his head almost touching the floor. His entire body trembled as he knelt before his master.
“My lord… there is unrest in the dormitories.”
Astarion turned, his smile vanishing, replaced by cold, detached interest. “What kind of unrest?”
The spawn swallowed, eyes glued to the floor. “The spawn… they’re speaking of ideas. Ideas of freedom.”
Astarion’s grip on his glass tightened, and he could feel the cold fury blooming within him. Freedom? The word slithered through his mind, jagged and unsettling.
“And why, pray tell, would they be speaking of such things?” His voice was a soft hiss, sharp as the edge of a blade.
“Lady Sima…” the spawn stammered. “She has been speaking with them. She… she speaks of choice, my lord. Of things… changing when she becomes a vampire lord.”
For a moment, Astarion remained still, his gaze fixed on the trembling figure at his feet. Inside, his anger coiled tighter, cold and seething beneath the surface.
So, it’s come to this.
“She’s… speaking with the others?” His tone was flat, controlled. But inside, a storm raged.
“Yes, my lord. She speaks to them even now.”
His gaze darkened, fury bubbling to the surface as the reality of her actions hit him. Sima—his Sima—was undermining him, planting dangerous ideas of autonomy in his spawn.
“Show me.”
The spawn led Astarion through the palace corridors, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As they neared the dormitories, Sima’s voice drifted through the air, soft yet confident, mingling with the occasional laughter of the spawn. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to burst into the room growing with every step.
"...You must see it for yourselves," Sima was saying as Astarion approached, her voice warm, almost motherly. "Your Master has given you stability, yes, but there’s more that you can be. More than just tools for power."
Astarion’s jaw tightened. She’s at it again—filling their heads with ideas she barely understands herself. His steps quickened, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp glint in his eyes as he neared the threshold.
They reached the dormitory, and Astarion stood in the shadows, watching her with barely contained fury. Sima sat by the fire, her posture relaxed, as though she were the one in control. Several young spawn leaned in, listening eagerly as she spoke.
"When I become a vampire lord," she continued, "I want you to be strong and effective, yes... but also to have the choice. To think for yourselves."
Astarion’s grip on the doorframe tightened. Choice. The word made his blood boil. She spoke of it as though it were a gift, as though it weren’t a threat to everything he had built.
Silly, naive girl, he thought, his gaze narrowing. She has no idea what she’s inviting.
Sima’s voice carried on, oblivious to the storm brewing behind her. "You’ve all served faithfully, but it’s time you had a voice in the matters of your own existence. That’s what I hope to bring—"
Enough. Astarion’s patience snapped, his fury rising with each word that passed her lips. She had crossed the line. The spawn—his spawn—would not be infected with her idealistic nonsense. It was time to put an end to this charade.
"Sima, my love," Astarion called, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes blazed with controlled anger. He stepped into the dim light, his posture regal but tense. "I didn’t realize you were already so... involved with the spawn."
As Astarion’s voice cut through the air, Sima’s head lifted, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his smooth, deceptively calm tone. For a moment, relief washed over her—he always had that effect, even when she knew better.
But there was something off tonight. Something darker.
She looked up at him, greeted him warmly, but as she took in his posture, his eyes, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly by his sides, a flicker of doubt crept in.
He’s angry, she realized, her stomach tightening.
She could see it in the tension of his movements, the way his lips curled into a too-calm smile.
Sima’s head lifted, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Beloved" She greeted him warmly but still somewhat subdued. "I was just getting acquainted with them. Considering I’ll be a vampire lord soon, I thought it wise to build rapport. You agree, don’t you?"
She thinks this is innocent, doesn’t she? How charmingly misguided. Astarion’s smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened, a predatory gleam surfacing beneath the calm exterior. He approached slowly, each step measured, deliberate. "Indeed," he replied, extending his hand. "But we should discuss these... ideas... in private. There’s much we need to talk about."
Sima hesitated, the warmth in her smile faltering as she sensed the growing shift in him, a crack in the calm facade. But she nodded, taking his hand, trusting that whatever was troubling him would be resolved in time. "Of course," she said, her voice still light, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes.
Good, Astarion thought. Uncertainty suits you better than defiance. His grip tightened slightly as he led her from the room, the tension between them thickening with every step.
As they ascended the stairs toward their private chambers, the tension between them grew palpable, an invisible thread pulling tighter with each step. Sima glanced back at the spawn, who watched silently as they left, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. She had wanted to make things better for them—to give them something more than the hollow existence they endured under Astarion’s rule. But now, as she walked beside him, she wondered if she had overstepped.
The moment the door to their chambers closed behind them, Astarion’s mask of calm shattered. With a violent shove, he thrust Sima into the room, his hand clamping down on her arm with bruising force.
"Do not presume to speak to me with anything but respect," he hissed, his voice low and threatening, his lips curling into a snarl. "There is an order to things, and you—you—are answerable to me. You will listen when I command you to listen."
Sima stumbled, barely catching herself before colliding with the wall. She looked at him in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. His sudden aggression took her breath away, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. She straightened, squaring her shoulders as she glared at him. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Astarion’s eyes darkened, his fury rising like a storm. He stalked toward her, his movements predatory, his voice a dangerous whisper. "What’s wrong with me?" he growled, his breath hot against her face as he towered over her. "You undermine me in front of the spawn—my spawn. You fill their heads with notions of freedom, of choice. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’re asking me to do?"
Sima’s breath quickened, but she refused to back down. She stood her ground, defiant, her chin raised as she met his gaze. "I did nothing wrong," she spat, her voice fierce, unwavering. "I spoke to them with compassion—something you seem to have forgotten. What? Are you angry because you can’t stand the idea of someone thinking for themselves? Is that what this is really about?"
Astarion’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist with an iron grip and yanking her roughly against his chest. “You think this is a game?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom, eyes narrowed as his other hand slid up her skirt, fingers digging into her thigh with punishing force. His touch was anything but tender—harsh, commanding, filled with anger that he was barely keeping at bay.
Sima gasped, the shock of his aggression slamming into her body. Her instincts screamed at her to fight back, but even as she tried to push him away, his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. Her back collided with the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her, trapping her between the stone and his unforgiving hold.
"What do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling, not just with anger but with a faint, unspoken arousal that she loathed. She hated how her body responded to him—how, no matter how furious she was, there was always a part of her that craved the control he exerted over her.
Astarion’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, dark satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. “I’m teaching you a lesson,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, the dangerous edge to his voice making it clear this was no idle threat. “You need to understand your place, my love.”
Sima gritted her teeth, her nails biting into his arms as she struggled to break free of his hold, the fire of defiance burning in her chest. “I’m not one of your spawn,” she spat, her voice sharp and cutting despite the heat building inside her. “I don’t belong to you.”
Astarion’s smirk only widened, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Oh, but you do,” he growled, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, his hand moving with deliberate, insistent pressure. He could feel her body react to his touch, the heat between them undeniable. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
He pressed her harder against the wall, his movements rough, calculated—designed to strip away her resistance, to punish her for daring to defy him. Sima gasped, her body trembling involuntarily under his touch. She hated the way he made her feel—the way her body betrayed her, craving the harshness of his control even as her mind rebelled. She hated that some part of her wanted this, wanted him, even now.
"You want this," Astarion whispered darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the twisted pleasure he took from her conflict. "You want me to control you, to own you. Admit it."
Sima growled in defiance, her nails digging into his chest, desperate to push him away, to assert her own will. “Fuck you!” she spat, her voice thick with both rage and the undeniable heat simmering inside her. “You don’t get my submission today. Brat or not, I did nothing wrong.”
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk deepening as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. “Oh, I’ve dealt with brats before, my love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “And trust me, I always win.”
With a swift, sharp movement, he forced her legs apart with his knee, spreading her open to his touch. Her body quivered beneath him, every muscle tensing as he pushed against her. She wanted to fight him, to cling to her defiance, but her body had already started to betray her—responding to his dominance even as she willed it not to.
Sima glared at him, her voice a low, harsh whisper. “You can try all you want,” she said, her breath hot against his face. “But I am not yours to control.”
Astarion chuckled darkly, his fingers teasing the slick heat between her thighs, drawing a gasp from her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent. “Oh, but we both know that’s not true, darling,” he whispered, his voice taunting, full of cruel satisfaction. “I own you, whether you admit it or not.”
Sima’s breath hitched, her body betraying her, even as her mind screamed defiance. The pressure of his fingers, the rough precision of his touch—it was maddening, pushing her toward the edge despite every ounce of resolve she clung to. She bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stifle the moan rising in her throat, her fists clenched as she fought to maintain control.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice trembling, thick with a mixture of fury and unwanted arousal.
Astarion’s grin spread, slow and wicked, as he felt her body begin to yield, even if her mind resisted. His fingers never faltered, moving in an infuriating rhythm, coaxing responses from her that she couldn’t suppress. “Oh, come now, darling," he purred, his tone laced with dark amusement. "You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re just too proud to admit how much you want it.”
Her defiance only spurred him on. He pressed harder, his movements rougher, more deliberate—calculated to strip away the last of her resistance. Sima’s legs began to tremble, betraying her completely as waves of pleasure built inside her, tightening in her core like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to push him away, to make him stop, but the way he touched her—the way he knew her body so intimately—made it impossible.
With a snarl of frustration, Sima glared at him, her eyes burning with fury. “You want me to give up? To tell you that you’ve won?” She leaned in, her teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands tangling in his curls as she yanked his head back, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue.
Astarion growled through the pain, but instead of recoiling, his grin only widened, blood staining his lips as he licked them clean. “Oh, my sweet Sima,” he whispered, his voice a low, wicked rasp. “You’re only making this more delightful for me.” His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust harder, a cruel gleam of satisfaction flickering in his crimson eyes. “But you and I both know how this ends. It always ends the same.”
His pace quickened, each movement precise and unrelenting, driving her closer to that edge she desperately fought to avoid. The dominance, the rawness of his touch, the power he held over her—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and terrifying all at once. Sima hated how easily he could push her, how her body responded to him no matter how much she resisted.
Astarion leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. “You can lie to yourself all you want, love," he murmured darkly, "but we both know you love this—being disciplined, being put in your place. Admit it.”
Sima’s body tensed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure built inside her, growing unbearable. She wanted to deny him, to shove him away, but her body betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every involuntary reaction to his touch. “Fuck… you…” she growled, her voice breaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back the pleasure that surged through her.
Astarion chuckled, his grin widening in satisfaction. “Not quite yet, my dear,” he whispered, his tone laced with dark promise. He could feel her nearing the brink, but he wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet. Drawing out her torment was half the pleasure. He wanted her to break—utterly and completely.
“I could make this so much worse for you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers slowing just enough to keep her on edge, the tension mounting in her body. “Or you could just let go... Give in. You know you want to.”
Sima’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest as the pressure inside her built to a fever pitch. The line between pleasure and pain blurred with every thrust of his fingers, every taunting word that slipped from his lips. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her body betraying her mind as it craved release, despite her fierce determination to hold on.
Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body trembled beneath him. “You think you can break me, Astarion? You think you can make me submit?” Her voice was thick with venom, but beneath it was a tremor of something more—a desire she couldn’t fully deny.
Astarion’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his grin never faltering. “Break you?” He chuckled softly, his voice a seductive purr. “Oh, my love, I already have.” His hand moved with brutal precision, deeper, harder, forcing her hips to buck against him. “Your body tells me everything I need to know. You’ve been mine from the start.”
Sima gasped, her body betraying her completely as waves of unwanted pleasure surged through her, overwhelming every last shred of resistance she had. She could feel her core tightening, her muscles clenching uncontrollably as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable intensity. She hated him for it—for knowing her body so well, for controlling her so effortlessly—but it was already too late.
Astarion’s free hand pinned her wrists above her head as he pressed her harder against the wall, his breath ragged in her ear. “You’re so close, aren’t you?” he taunted, his voice low and dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just give in, Sima. Let go.”
Her breath hitched, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a peak, so close it was agonizing. Every movement of his fingers, every thrust, sent her spiraling further into that unbearable tension, each wave of sensation tearing down her resistance. Her knees buckled beneath her, her mind screaming at her to hold on, to resist—but her body had already lost.
“Say it.” Astarion’s voice was a low growl now, almost a purr as his fingers moved relentlessly against her. “Tell me you belong to me. Admit it—you want this. You need it.”
Sima’s entire body quivered, the pleasure ravaging her, robbing her of control. Every nerve felt alight, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as she fought against the overwhelming tide building inside her. She hated him for this—for how easily he could strip her of reason—but her body had already surrendered, trembling beneath the onslaught of his touch.
“Fuck… you,” she spat, the words slipping through clenched teeth, her voice trembling with rage and the weight of her impending climax. Defiant to the end, even as her body betrayed her.
Astarion chuckled darkly, his grin widening as his breath ghosted hot against her ear. “You already did last night, darling,” he murmured, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, with merciless precision. “I’ve already broken you—you just haven’t accepted it yet.”
His other hand pinned her harder against the wall, his movements calculated and punishing, drawing her closer to the edge. “Go on then,” he whispered, his tone a blend of cruelty and seduction. “Fight me all you want, but we both know you’ll fall apart in my hands. You always do.”
Sima’s body trembled violently, the pleasure coiling unbearably tight, every thrust of his fingers pulling her closer to that precipice she desperately tried to resist. But it was useless—her muscles clenched, her breath hitched, and despite every effort to hold on, she was already slipping.
“You’re mine,” Astarion hissed, his voice thick with satisfaction, his fingers rougher now, pushing her to the breaking point. “Now be a good girl and show me how much.”
With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her tumbling over the edge into oblivion.
Sima’s body convulsed violently as her climax hit her like a wave, slamming into her with enough force to take her breath away. Her legs trembled, her muscles clenching tightly as her core tightened painfully around his fingers. She gasped, her head thrown back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through her, each one more powerful than the last.
Her body writhed against him, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she rode out the overwhelming sensations. Her mind screamed at her to resist, but it was too late—her body had already surrendered completely to him.
Astarion watched her fall apart, his eyes dark with satisfaction as she shuddered under his touch. His fingers were slick with her arousal, her hips moving against him in the aftermath of her climax, as if seeking more even though she had nothing left to give. She was his now—whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Yet as he stared down at her, something inside him shifted, a cold hollow sensation replacing the rush of power. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at her trembling form, her chest heaving as she slumped against the wall. He should have felt triumphant, but instead, there was a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, letting it fall to his side as he took a step back.
Something snapped inside him, a thread pulled too tight and finally breaking. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Astarion stared at her, the weight of what he had done settling on him like a shroud. The bruises forming on her hips, dark and unmistakable on her bronzed skin, stood as a testament to the force he had exerted, the control he had lost. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended, not tonight. He had pushed too far. His fingers twitched at his side, a momentary urge to reach for her again. But the sight of those bruises—his bruises—froze him in place.
Gods, he thought, what am I doing?
"You’re hurt..." His voice, low and thick with something he rarely allowed himself to feel—guilt—sounded foreign even to his own ears.
Sima stiffened at his words. Her body trembled, still raw from the intensity of what had just passed between them, her mind reeling from both pleasure and fury. As she straightened, a sharp pain flared between her legs, causing her to wince again. She tugged her skirt down with wavering hands, the bruises on her hips throbbing as a cold, unfamiliar dread seeped into her chest.Yes, I’m hurt, she thought bitterly, though if it was a wound to her heart or more to her body, she could not tell. Her skin still burned with the remnants of their violent encounter, but it was the cold reality that truly stung.
"Yes," she spat, her voice sharp and trembling, though not with fear. "It would appear so, wouldn’t it?" Her eyes flashed with anger, her body tense, holding onto her defiance. The bruises on her hips throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the anger flaring inside her. She had always known their relationship danced on a precarious edge, but tonight, he had crossed a line.
Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat. The dynamic they shared had always thrilled him—the push, the pull, the intoxicating balance of power. But now, the control he so cherished felt like a tightening noose. He had gone too far.
As she bent to pull on the rest of her clothes, he couldn’t look away. He saw the tension in her every move—the hesitation, the pain she tried to hide. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper. Something broken between them.
He reached out, softer this time, his hand brushing against her arm as if to offer solace, to regain a thread of the connection they had so violently severed. "Sima..." His voice was softer, pleading. "You must understand... as your sire, it’s my duty to—"
"To what?" Sima jerked away from his touch as though his hand had burned her. Her eyes, fiery and defiant, locked onto his. "To keep me in line?" Her voice was sharp, filled with an unyielding coldness. "You are not my sire," she spat, each word a blade cutting through whatever thread of intimacy had been left between them. "Let me remind you of that."
The weight of her words fell between them like a stone, the finality of them echoing in the silence.
Astarion blinked, her rejection hitting him harder than any physical blow ever could. He had always envisioned himself as her inevitable sire—the one who would complete her, bind her to him for eternity. But now, she had thrown that back in his face, reminding him of his failure, of the incompleteness of their bond.
"I—" The words died in his throat. He had her, hadn’t he? She had always returned to him, bent to his will, even in defiance. But this time… this time felt different.
The chasm between them seemed to grow wider with each breath she took, an invisible distance that was impossible to close. She stood tall, despite the tremor in her body, her defiance burning brighter than ever. I am not one of your spawn, she thought, her earlier words echoing in her mind like a mantra. She refused to break before him, refused to be reduced to something he could control.
"You’ve done enough today, Astarion," she said, her voice steady despite the uneven rhythm of her breath. She refused to meet his gaze now, as if the sight of him was too much to bear. "Let me go."
His hand fell limply to his side, the space between them an unbreachable void. He didn’t move to stop her as she dressed in silence, each of her movements sharp, filled with a quiet, simmering rage that made his chest tighten. Let her go, his rational mind whispered. Fix this later.
But the other part of him—the part that demanded her submission, that craved her surrender—raged at the thought of her leaving, of her walking away from him.
Just before she reached the door, Sima paused, her voice trembling with barely contained fury as she turned back to him. "I don’t know what tonight was," she said, her chest rising and falling as though she could barely keep herself together. "But I can tell you one thing for certain. Nothing about what happened was acceptable."
Astarion stood frozen, her words cutting through him like a blade of ice. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had no retort, no quick, biting remark to wield as a shield. Only the sharp, bitter taste of guilt lingered, hanging in the air as he watched her storm out and slam the door behind her.
The sound echoed through the silence that followed, leaving him alone with the weight of his actions.
How dare she reject me? The thought surged through him, bitter and defensive. After everything he had given her, after everything he had shared with her—how dare she walk away? His jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides as the familiar tide of anger rose within him. But beneath it, something darker gnawed at him, something he didn’t want to face.
The bruises. Her bruises. His marks.
They haunted him, flashing through his mind as unwelcome reminders of the boundary he had crossed. The control he had so valued had slipped, leaving behind a mess of tangled emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront.
This was supposed to be a game, he reminded himself, pacing the room, the echo of his footsteps the only sound in the suffocating quiet. A lesson. We’ve always played this way... But tonight, tonight had been different, hadn’t it? He had felt it—the shift, the dangerous line that he had crossed without realizing it until it was too late.
You are not my sire. Her words echoed in his mind, over and over again. She had spoken them with such finality, as though to remind him of what he wasn’t. What he might never be.
His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of realization. I’ve broken her trust, he thought, the truth of it settling deep into his bones. I’ve pushed her away. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could bring her back.
But he would try. He had to.
There was still time—there had to be time—to fix this, to make her see that this had been a mistake, a momentary lapse. He couldn’t lose her, not when she was so close to being his—his equal, his bride, his partner in the eternity he had long envisioned.
Sima may have resisted him today, but in the end, she would be his. She had no other choice.
And neither did he.
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🩸 Calling all Astarion fans! 🩸Looking for a place to explore (or enjoy) the steamy side of our favorite vampire in both his ascended and unascended forms? The Astarion’s Thirst collection on AO3 is live! 😈 Whether it’s sensual, dark, explicit, or anywhere in between, this collection is for those who can’t get enough of Astarion’s thirst for blood, passion, and more. 💋 Full Details: HERE AO3 Collection Link
In the aftermath of their victory over the Nether Brain, Astarion, now newly Ascended, and Sima’s love is tested by dark obsessions and a quest for independence. As they navigate perilous power struggles and inner demons, their bond teeters on the edge. Will it endure the encroaching darkness, or be consumed by it? Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue, 1 , 2 , 3 , Interlude, 4 , 5 , 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10 Interlude 2 , 11 , 12 13 14 15 16 Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist
Sima, a modern musician, is thrust into the magical world of Baldur’s Gate, captivating a certain vampire spawn: Astarion. Their passionate romance faces challenges of jealousy, societal prejudice, and personal traumas. Together, they navigate love, trust, and intimacy, standing as a team against the shadows of their pasts and the trials of a fantastical realm.
Tumblr posting Starts and Hiatus Will End: Aug 2024 Entire Story Link on AO3 (11 Chapters)
Songbird's Sanguine Sunset / Tumblr link inspired by Blood of the Songbird by @songbirdoftherogue Unfinished Work: Revenge and Blood on Silken Dunes
Tumblr Articles and Musings:
Musing 1: Snippets Snippet Prompt 1
Musting 2: WIP WIP 1
Musing 3: Characterization Discussions (Spoilers!) Characterization for Astarion's Paths , Characterization for Sima (Tav)
Musing 4: Random Ramblings Ramblings 1
Personal Projects:
I have launched a blog for my witchery and spilling the tea on the craft! Come check it out HERE
Thank you for Reading my work and if you are feeling kind, please leave a good word or comment or reblog on anything, its always appreciated!
Bella
graphics for lip dividers here: @firefly-graphics
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 119k
Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024
Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.
She hadn't let him near her since.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.
Five days. Has it really been that long?
The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.
Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.
Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.
A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.
She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.
That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.
And she had let him.
The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.
She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.
But inside, she had felt nothing.
She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.
His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.
And then, he had looked at her.
He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.
He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.
When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.
That had been five days ago.
She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.
The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.
The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.
Five days.
Has it really only been five days?
She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.
But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.
Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.
That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.
You wanted this... didn't you?
The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.
Five days...
She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.
It was dominance. It was possession.
And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.
She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.
But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.
She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.
The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.
She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.
Five days.
Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.
A hollow version of herself.
But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.
She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.
The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.
Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.
You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.
And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.
Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.
She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.
Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.
The mask was in place.
Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.
She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.
And certainly not his to fix.
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 119k
Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024
Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.
She hadn't let him near her since.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.
Five days. Has it really been that long?
The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.
Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.
Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.
A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.
She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.
That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.
And she had let him.
The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.
She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.
But inside, she had felt nothing.
She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.
His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.
And then, he had looked at her.
He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.
He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.
When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.
That had been five days ago.
She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.
The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.
The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.
Five days.
Has it really only been five days?
She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.
But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.
Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.
That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.
You wanted this... didn't you?
The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.
Five days...
She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.
It was dominance. It was possession.
And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.
She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.
But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.
She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.
The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.
She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.
Five days.
Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.
A hollow version of herself.
But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.
She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.
The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.
Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.
You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.
And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.
Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.
She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.
Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.
The mask was in place.
Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.
She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.
And certainly not his to fix.
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,
Word count: 119k
Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕
Status: Ongoing
Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024
Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish
Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3
After the Cut!
Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery
Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.
She hadn't let him near her since.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.
Five days. Has it really been that long?
The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.
Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.
Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.
A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.
She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.
That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.
And she had let him.
The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.
She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.
But inside, she had felt nothing.
She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.
His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.
And then, he had looked at her.
He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.
He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.
When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.
That had been five days ago.
She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.
The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.
The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.
Five days.
Has it really only been five days?
She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.
But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.
Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.
That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.
You wanted this... didn't you?
The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.
Five days...
She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.
It was dominance. It was possession.
And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.
She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.
But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.
She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.
The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.
She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.
Five days.
Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.
A hollow version of herself.
But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.
She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.
The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.
Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.
You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.
And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.
Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.
She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.
Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.
The mask was in place.
Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.
She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.
And certainly not his to fix.
the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.
if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.
fantasizing about a story idea >>> realizing you have to actually write it
a toxic trait of mine as a writer is that i will take any criticism i see online that isn't even meant for me with full offense. "things i dislike in fanfiction" and i'm reading the ENTIRE list to make sure i've never done it and will never do it ever again.
god giving his creatures free will was cruel. giving me the choice to love you, knowing i will, is an unnecessarily cruel action.