19 Works by dhampling
Listing Works
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Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be.
All except for him.
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He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail.
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tl;dr astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure.Series
- Part 3 of dhampling's dadstarion compendium
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He‘s not the sort to linger among the rabble of the kitchen at the end of the evenings. The fact you were barely aware of his existence prior to now speaks volumes.
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he's a potwasher. you want to fuck the potwasher. this started as a joke and now i'm obsessed. enjoy.
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You gently nudge him to the bed and ask if he’s willing to indulge you, and he confirms with those smouldering eyes that he’s ‘been thinking about it all day’.
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feral pregnant sex with the elf. that's it.
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Some half-lidded doze before dawn breaks and you must only be sentient because you await him subconsciously, as prey awaits a looming predator on the hill.
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early morning feeding and cockwarming because i said so. -
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Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.
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the bridal ceremony lingers on the horizon, and yet you're still mortal. there's a surprisingly good reason for it.
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As you step closer and drop the basket on the ground he throws a palm up at you. Short, ragged groans.
“That… tea. It’s done something to me. The old wretch.”
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Astarion discovers an aphrodisiac during a trip to the night market, and only one thing is on his mind.
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A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau. The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary.
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Astarion finds the idea of calling you 'mother' wholly ruinous. -
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“You are truly selfless, Astarion. Ilmater in the flesh.”
He rocks her slightly. Kisses her small head.
“Don’t listen to your mother, darling. If you’re alone in your perfection you’ll be fighting off every eligible hand in Faerûn when you’re bigger. Wouldn’t want that burden solely on you now, would we?”
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Your home is quaint. Astarion continues to insist it isn’t busy enough.
Series
- Part 4 of three. minimum.
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Him. A balm for open thighs, bedrest for a burning core. The slightest cants of his hips; rock-hard and searching for your apex through dirtied road-worn clothes.
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it rains. you swindle some wine and astarion cums in his breeches. enjoy!
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He doesn’t consider himself a clingy parent.
He just endeavours to spend every waking moment he can with her.
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dadstarion watches dhampling sleep for a lil bit and has some thoughts about life. floof.
Series
- Part 2 of dhampling's dadstarion compendium
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“What if I were… a leech?”
His steady hands continue to work through her hair as his eyes roll briefly into his skull.
“Would you like me to elaborate all the ways in which you already are, my treasure?”
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astarion and his daughter have a spat. idk what to tell you. this is pure fluff.Series
- Part 1 of dhampling's dadstarion compendium
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“Oh, come on now. It’s ok. They’ll come back, or they won’t.’
He sidles over and sits next to you. A toothy grin.
‘It could be worse. We could be here without each other.”
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a plummet into a chasm leaves you and your light-fingered friend stuck. together, you wonder if you’ll ever emerge again. -
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‘Is my resident corvid lacking ample opportunity to thieve elsewhere? Surely not.”
His gaze wavers slightly, but his own smile remains firmly wide. He wants information. By right of him finding these pages, he sees himself as entitled to it.
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astarion’s habit of visiting your tent leads him to your hidden pile of sonnets. your secret is out.
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The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots.
A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose.
A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you.
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you reject bhaal’s greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.
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“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”
“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”
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astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that’s it. that’s the plot.
Series
- Part 3 of three. minimum.
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“Careful, my treasure. You start saying things like that and we’re going to have to buy a bigger house."
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Seven months along, halo of sweat on your beleaguered brow.
He’s besotted with every pregnant piece of you.
Series
- Part 2 of three. minimum.
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Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.
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you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.
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"A flock of Ancuníns. Happy with more, obviously, but I’m picturing three as a negotiable starting point. Providing this works, that is."
Astarion has been planning, for the first time in his life. He wants babies.
You are ripe and willing.
Series
- Part 1 of three. minimum.