infatuation ☾ bg3 writings

tear you apart - astarion x fem!oc

astarion x fem!oc (cirice)

smut

!! durge, ascended astarion, everything is consensual–cirice is just an asshole, durge has murderous thoughts and gets off on them, ascended astarion is an asshole so he kinda deserves it, fighting, a little scuffle, no actual gore, smut, references and mentions of blood and gore and durge-esque thoughts, toxic and manipulative relationship yet they're perfect for eachother, brief mention of knives, vaginal sex, gropingmn, blood, blood drinking, biting

Cirice heard him long before she felt his hands upon her skin. Astarion's usual grace, his poise, gone by the time he reached the threshold of their bedroom and laid his crimson eyes upon his lover's silhouette. There she had stood at the vanity in only her nightclothes–a thin gown of ruby-red silk given to her as a gift the night after he'd turned her–and little else. The mirror had been empty when she had been alone in the dimly lit room, nothing but fabric and furniture, but now the tiefling can't help but glower, casting a quick appraisal over the man as she eyes the image of her husband as he saunters over with that familiar look of hunger in his eyes. His devastatingly beautiful features are painted with obvious need and desire. It makes her want to bare her fangs, unsheath her claws. Yet when he places his hands on either side of her hips and pulls her body flush to his own, she does neither.

"Relax," he says into her ear and nips at the delicate point with his teeth, "it's only me. You've left me alone all day and it has truly been a test of endurance to stay away..." He purrs all of those abhorrent pet names that Cirice loathes so much into the smooth skin just behind her ear and allows his hands to wander and grope at her waist, her hips, her thighs, and she hates how easily they roll off of his tongue. Perhaps in another life she'd gotten on her knees and willingly let them wash over her–thanked him with touches he doesn't deserve. Astarion presses the half-hard length of himself into the soft meat of her ass and gives a subtle grind, making his intentions more than clear, and Cirice grinds her teeth together so terribly that her fangs audibly creak within her jaw.

"The powerful Vampire Ascendant," she mumbles and Astarion bunches up the silky fabric of her dress in his hands to press his palms into the softness of her tummy. His lips find her neck at the same time that her fingers wrap around his wrists and she cranes her neck upwards, silently offering him more room to kiss and suckle. Her words contrast starkly with her body language. "How did I ever get so unlucky to get stuck with you?"

He's heard it all before. Every jibe and jab aimed precisely at his ego that once made his blood run hot with rage. Now they float by his ears and fall flat like dead flies–empty words with sound but no real meaning. She calls him disgusting. Breathlessly. He tuts and rough-handedly cups one of her breasts. Rolls a nipple between his fingers until it aches. Pulls her ever closer into the clutch of his body and licks a long line from her shoulder up to her nape until she's arching her back so beautifully against him.

When his deft hands drift up the alabaster skin of her arms to dip under the tiny straps of her nightdress she allows him to slip them from her shoulders. The pretty fabric falls around her thighs and gets stuck around where his hips are pinned to hers, then a little shifting is all it takes for the expensive article to fall in a heap around her feet... And it's only a matter of time before those sickly sweet words begin to fall from between his lips again.

She snarls with every breath he takes and tightens her grip on him when he holds her firmly and squarely against him by her hips, her blood simmering beneath her skin hotter and hotter with each grating syllable until she's boiling and bubbling like a hag's cauldron. She turns in his grasp a fraction of a moment before she bubbles over and shoves a clawed hand into the center of his chest, pushing him backwards with a sudden burst of strength that causes the Ascendant to trip over his feet until the backs of his knees hit the sturdy frame of an armchair and he falls less than gracefully into the cushions.