infatuation ☾ bg3 writings

make me feel it - astarion x fem!oc

Day Three of Kinktober is Knife Play, you DO NOT have to read this story if any of the following may be triggering. If you are keeping up with Cirice and Astarion's timeline, choosing to not read this chapter WILL NOT keep you from reading/learning new information about them. Please, do what is best for your mental health <3

!! knife play, knife play but for twisted personal reasons, references to murder victims, references to traumatic pasts, trauma, blood, injury, and light gore, (she will heal, she's a vampire's bride, remember?)

Cirice needed to feel it – the icy kiss of a blade's edge against her skin, grazing her throat like death's promised whisper. She needed to know what her victims had felt in those final moments, needed to understand the paralyzing fear that seemed to always flood their eyes before her knife severed their flesh and stole away their final breath. It gnawed at her from somewhere deep inside, hollowing out her conscience and filling the empty spaces within her mind with writhing worms of death and decay. She couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to know.

Most nights Cirice lays beneath the lavish canopy of her and Astarion's bed, staring up into the dark abyss while her mind conjures endless visions of pools of rich, dark blood. She dreams of a silver blade and its cold edge against her neck – of terror, of true submission, of being on the other side of the kill for once and at the hand of the only person she'd ever learned to love. Astarion. Each breath she takes is haunted by the question: what did those wretched souls feel in their last moments? Did they feel at all? Was one quick swipe truly the end? Was it warm? Was it peaceful like the elders in the temples always said?

She needed to know...

There was no fear in her undead heart, especially with the power Astarion had granted her as his right hand, and there had been little even when it still had its own beat. Only a relentless hunger to feel, to understand, seemed to consume her now. It pulled at the sinews that held together her sinful body and wrapped itself in the very shadows she was raised from the ashes to command. Tonight, the hunger in her soul had grown too persistent to ignore. Tonight, she would know.

"I want you to do it," she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely audible over the sounds of all of their severed screams in her ears. There was a slight shift in the bedding at her side that confirmed to her that Astarion had never succeeded in his trance – also stuck in his own head during the darkest part of the night. "Make me feel what they felt before I ended them."

"I don't think you know what you're asking for, my dear," he answered after a long beat of nothingness. Then his voice deepened to a purr she could feel rumbling in her bones. "You know how far I can go... What my hands are capable of."

"That's why I need it to be you."

Astarion fell quiet again and Cirice could sense his hesitation. She'd never asked for this before, but they both knew that it would eventually be uttered from her lips.

She blinked and Astarion rolled over, and suddenly there was a beautiful blade hovering mere millimeters from the center of her throat. To think from where it emerged from never even flickered in her mind. Cool metal kissed the pale surface of her skin and she shivered. But it wasn't fear that caressed her insides – it was the delicate brush of arousal. The tiefling tilted her head back against the pillows, her horns digging into the down as she dared him to press harder, redirect her twisted mind towards real fear. But it wasn't the weight of the knife against her throat that made her twist her fists into the sheets, but the feeling of his body crawling over hers into a position she's watched him take over his victims thousands of times. He pins her core with his hips and her right hand above her head with his free one. The hand gripping the knife never falters, and she allows him to dig the sharp point of his elbow into the delicate flesh of her inner arm. She feels the pinching of her nerves in her fingertips. Another rush of pleasure travels down her spine and causes her cunt to pulse. Astarion shifts his weight into his upper body and the increase in pressure on her neck makes her suck a useless breath through her fangs.

"You're trembling," Astarion whispers, a smile in his voice, and the blade suddenly feels heavier. Cirice's core pulses again, alight with smoldering flames. He leans closer, enough so that his curls brush over the arch of her brow and the warmth of his breath caresses her cheeks. "But I don't think this is fear. No, I think this is something else, my pet. Something darker and much more twisted..." The blade tilts and drags downwards towards her collarbone, then further to the swell of her breast, where it becomes lodged between them. "I think you want more than just the fear, don't you?"

"Make me feel it," she breathes and tries to arch her body upwards into the sharp tip when it dips between her breasts against her sternum. What exactly she's asking for becomes muddied.  She's ended a life just like this before; she remembers the crack of the man's bones and his ribs as she thrusted her knife into the center of his leather tunic. It had been glorious, she could see it in his eyes as the light faded away. She wanted it then, and she wants it now. And then there's suddenly a sharp, blinding pain and she feels every inch as Astarion slices the edge of the dagger shallowly through her skin from the bottom of her neck to the top of her navel. It burns, red and fiery hot, and she screams.

For a brief second a flicker of something foreign dances in her chest, choking her and making her skull feel like it's being crushed. Her eyes widen and her muscles tense as she realizes exactly what he'd done.

Blood bubbles from the wound and gathers in shallow pools before sliding down her flanks in rivulets. The cut isn't nearly deep enough to disembowel her, but she'll scar permanently, even with the accelerated ability of her healing. Her right hand grips his fingers in an iron hold and she hisses through her teeth when he drops his chin to her stomach to taste her from the bottom all the way up to the top. She can smell her blood on his tongue, and when he emerges in her vision, he's grinning from ear to pointed ear.

"That makes us equal for what you did to me."

He's referring to the hideous scar that she carved into his skin from his knee to his thigh. It never healed evenly and is an ugly sight that mars his beautiful flesh. He deserved it, though he never thought the same and will never agree with her. The scar he just gave her – this one is a gift.

Her abdomen burns hotter as she bleeds, lighting flame against her skin and in her most sensitive area between her legs when Astarion presses his chest flat to hers, painting his marble skin with crimson and mouthing hotly at her lips, smothering her in her own taste. The knife in his hand dances along the ridge of her temple, her cheekbone, and to the point of her chin. When he presses the edge against her bottom lip she watches through lust-flooded eyes as he cleans the blade with his tongue. Then he presses the thing right back up against the center of her throat. She feels the bite of the new cut. He swallows the pathetic noise she makes with his mouth.

His lips crush against her own, fueled by the force of his fury and his love, and Cirice manages to wriggle her arm from beneath his elbow to twist her fingers into his curls and force him ever-closer. He growls with the feeling of her hands on him, digging the edge of the blade harder into her flesh, and shushing her cruelly when it really begins to tear and dig into fragile cartilage.

Her head swims with that weird feeling – her core spasms around nothing, slick between her thighs.

What if this was the end?

Could I be satisfied?

"Is this what they felt?" She whispers, voice tight and unable to contain the look of bliss that curls onto her hellish features when the blood drips into her hair at her nape.

"Before you took them?" Astarion asks. His lips brush against hers and he nips at her bottom lip with his fang. "No, darling. This is what you feel. Nobody else feels like this beneath me. Only you have the honor of doing that, especially in this position."

The tiefling covers the hand against her neck with her own.

"Make me feel alive, Astarion."

His lips descend to kiss the four ridges of her knuckles and he smirks, "I'll make you feel much more than that, my love."