• imagines, fanfiction, one-shots and drabbles reuploaded from my tumblr @p1nk-b1tes and ao3 @p1nkcanoe
• includes lots of content with original characters (tav)
!! CONTAINS MOSTLY SMUT AND OTHER NSFW TOPICS, TREAD CAREFULLY
!! I do not allow any re...
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!! if youre following cirice and astarion's story, this fic takes place many years after the events of what occurs in Baldur's Gate 3 and the story "Cirice"
astarion x fem!oc (cirice)
smut
!! a glimpse into the future, rituals, sex rituals, dark magic, chanting, religious imagery, fictional rituals, fertility rituals, vaginal sex, creampies, breeding, blood, blood drinking, but only a little bit for ritual purposes, vaginal sex, body worship, sex with an audience, knives, daggers, minor injury, tender sex, yeah, passionate sex, making love, riding, missionary
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Two pairs of bare feet pad across the uneven floor of an ancient temple. Once a grand and sacred place to worship the divine, the temple grounds now lie overgrown and secluded in a dark corner of Faerûn where they crumble to dust and become held together by the fragile integrity of withered cobwebs and twisting vines. The only beings who worship here now are the wild things who have reclaimed the rubble as their home, building their nests in the rafters and chewing holes in the walls. Birds and rats, mostly. The occasional squirrel. And now vampires too.
The first golden rays of the morning sun leak through cracks where images of ancient deities have been carved eternally in stone to watch in silence as Astarion and Cirice Ancunín walk hand in hand towards an ancient altar. Each step is slow, deliberate, as if guided forward by unseen forces by a hand on their backs. Hooded priestesses cloaked in shadow have gathered to their left and right to line the boundaries of the sanctuary. Each one is the same height as the next, and there is not a thread out of place on any of their robes to set one apart from the rest of the coven. Their heads hang low, their palms turned upwards towards the dark sky, and Astarion isn't sure there would even be a face within the folds of the fabric if they were to ever look up to greet them. They sing their sinister prayer together softly in chorus while they guide the Ascendants towards their bed of stone. As still as the pillars that hold what remains of the roof, they stir the sleeping sanctuary to life.
They've gathered to perform a ritual. One of blessed fertility long forgotten by Gods and mortal men alike.
The Blood of the Unholy Conception — the cure to the tiefling's cursed infertility and the only solution they have left in a pleading cry for help to transcend their race's natural limitations. Nature says that elves and tieflings cannot breed, but the possibilities granted by The Blood were written long before humanoids ever walked these lands.
For Astarion Ancunín, walking the path towards the altar is embarrassing. It's mortifying.
How is it that the most powerful couple throughout the entirety of Faerûn must be forced to carry out an ancient breeding ritual in order to bear children of their own? They have everything they've ever wanted and can sate any desire at the simple snap of a finger – but children... children are an unattainable dream. Children are utterly inconceivable. Simply out of their control. The ritual and all of its uncertainty is their only path left in creating new life.
