#astarion ancunin fanfic
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the better strategy. / astarion x tav
summary: After successfully saving Druid Grove, Astarion has one goal in mind: secure his safety. His strategy? Seduce Tav. But what if that plan goes horribly wrong and he falls for his own game?
pairing: astarion x tav (female, she/her)
word count: 3.9k
tags: act one spoilers, non-sexual intimacy, hand kink/hand holding, astarion's pov, miscommunications, allusions to astarion's past, selûne worshipper!tav // mature for thematic elements
part one. / part three. | masterlist.
PART TWO: THE REPRISE.
.
He can still feel the tickle of moving fingertips when he flexes his hand.
It’s positively psychotic, to think an undead runaway such as himself truly, and willingly, spent an entire night sitting side by side with a cleric of Selûne — a goddamn messenger of a moon goddess whose never earned more than a spit to her worshipping plaque in Baldur's Gate from him.
Not only sitting side by side, however, no.
They were stargazing.
They were stargazing and holding hands, for fuck’s sake.
Like the wretched gentleman he’d been mesmerized into becoming overnight, Astarion walked the little wood elf back to her tent once the wee hours of the morning crawled near. He sent her off and bid her goodnight like a caller — like a godsdamn suitor vying for her affection.
Then they parted ways, and Astarion was left alone to lay in his tent where he spent the morning hours staring at the peak of his tent with a confusion he hadn’t felt in…
Well, ever.
They were supposed to have sex.
He was supposed to give it to her so damned good that she’d stay by his side and only his side.
He was supposed to secure his safety within this group as they traveled from the grove to the Githyanki creche, to the Underdark, and beyond.
Seduction was the only thing he was good for. It was the only thing he was good at. Yet he got rejected, twice, without it ever feeling like a rejection at all.
Because Tav still wanted to sit with him, right?
She still wanted to talk his ear off about Selûne this and the moon that, right?
And he allowed her to trace the lines of his palm without questioning her intent, good or bad, and stayed against his better judgment — right?
She chose him that night. She never strayed to another tent.
(He stayed up to make sure.)
So what the fuck does it mean when he’s stuck at the back of the party listening to Gale drabble on about magic while the self-appointed Mama K plays personal bodyguard and Wyll strolls leisurely at the front with Tav?
That’s supposed to be him.
Astarion is meant to be the one to influence Tav. Astarion is meant to advise her on what to do and what to avoid in these ghastly ruins. Astarion is meant to steer her in a direction that will keep them both safe — because she’s the only one who can keep him from going back.
Yet it’s Wyll who’s charmed her, made her laugh with his Blade of Frontiers glory stories, while Karlach makes sure that not a singular hair falls out of place as the two women walk elbow-to-shoulder across a shadow-infested bridge.
They’re a pack of wolves vying for her affection — even Lae’zel has exceptionally warmed up to the wood elf upon their perilous endeavors to a sacred Githyanki creche.
Each person has been touched by the cleric and wants her approval, her affections, but he has one thing on Saint Tav that the rest do not:
Her blood.
Her very life essence flows through his veins because she has willingly, consensually, offered her neck to him — a decision that cannot be made lightly, not for the living, not when he held his truth from her for so long.
Yet every morning she arrives like clockwork to his tent, bringing pleasantries and whatever vile breakfast Gale has made for camp. She asks him about sleep — he doesn’t have the courage to tell her he’s never slept so peacefully in his undead life. She asks him how he’s feeling — he doesn’t know how to answer that honestly.
Then comes her offer, and what lowly little spawn would ever say no?
(You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.)
He still doesn’t know why she does it.
Nonetheless, Astarion will play up the charm and leer like she’s the most delectable thing in Sword Coast — because Gods, with a track record of one living person under his belt, nothing tastes quite like her.
Nothing probably ever will.
(My sweet, there is nothing I’d like more.)
Tav has a bleeding heart, but surely she must know that the benefits of this arrangement are purely one-sided. If he’s not fucking her, then what the hell can he give her? Extra protection in battle, maybe. Extra coin from pick-pocketing and lock-picking, sure.
But there is nothing — he is nothing.
At the very least, Astarion has tried to make the experience of drinking her blood as painless as possible.
When Cazador bit him, it hurt. Brazingly so.
The vampire spawn never wants Tav to know such discomfort.
He likes when her hand holds his bicep, squeezing at the first pinch when teeth breaches skin. He likes feeling that grip lessen, relax, when he flicks his tongue over the wounds as an apology. I’ve got you.
In a way, it’s twistedly romantic.
People have always romanticized a vampire’s bite. Perhaps he’s simply romanticizing Tav.
He found cradling her head helps eliminate the strain in her muscles. And, if he uses his free hand to hold her hip, then Tav makes gentle noises in his ear — he likes those the most.
A suppressed whimper not of pain or disgust, but a misplaced euphoria.
Sometimes he’ll find himself threading his fingers through her thick locks, testing the softness — it’s always feather-light. Sometimes he’ll leave her hip and press a palm to the juncture of her neck and jawline and glide his thumb along her chin, too much of a coward to touch her lips.
And sometimes — Gods, more than sometimes — his stomach will sour at the notion Tav only allows him to feed from her body out of some heroic obligation, a dubious consenting victim bared raw to a bloodthirsty monster that she may considerably fear.
But what does it matter? This is about his survival, not hers.
(It must matter, deep down, because he’s fallen into the habit of waiting with his lips against her neck to ask one make-or-break question: are you sure?
Nothing is sweeter, nothing is more divine, than her breathy response: I’m sure.)
By now, most of their party is aware of the most interesting deal. It didn’t take long for Gale to look sickened and for Shadowheart to appear intrigued by such a proposal. The consensus fell to a unanimous one: as long as it wasn’t one of their necks, then it didn’t matter what the hells was happening after the sun went down.
Because Tav said she trusts him. So they, in turn, trust Tav.
Yet somehow, even with the leg up on the rest of these idiots, Astarion finds himself in the bloody back of the pack while Gale absently flips through his book of helpful (see: incredibly unhelpful) spells, occupying his brain with anything other than his goddess.
“Here.”
Tav’s voice makes both men stir from their own worlds to look at her as she points to a seemingly untainted alcove.
“According to Halsin’s instructions, Moonrise Towers isn’t far. We shall rest for the night, get our bearings, then soldier on in the morning.”
“Oh, thank the Gods,” Karlach groans, flopping instantly onto a tree stump. “My poor feet. They’re ready to fall off.”
“Do you need help with your tent, Tav?” Wyll asks Tav as he leans closer to her side, causing the cleric to look into his eyes.
The man smiles at her, clearly meaning it in a helpful way, but—
“No need!”
Astarion calls, holding up a flamboyant finger as he glides through the thick of their companions.
“I’m sure the magic men are better suited at securing a protective perimeter with our stock of torches. Surely we’ll need to use plenty of them to ward off any pesky problems in this dire hellscape.”
He’s quick to grab Tav’s pack before Wyll can even touch it.
“Go on,” he ushers with a disgusted sneer, “go do magic things. I’ve got this.”
This, as it appears, is a grave miscalculation on his part. The entire party stops and stares with varying degrees of confusion at Astarion’s sudden bout of helpfulness. Even Lae’zel, who couldn’t be bothered with any of their drama, has a deeper scowl than usual.
When Astarion looks around the pack, however, his attention falls on Tav’s rounded eyes that stare back at him.
The cleric’s lips part in that funny way when she’s at a loss for words, straddling kindness and honesty, and Astarion cannot help but feel smug about it.
Yes, he murmurs in his mind’s eye, as if the tadpole will relay his thoughts. Look at me. Only me. See how useful I am to you, darling.
“You’ve got this?” Shadowheart breaks the tension, souring the mood.
“Magic men?” Gale adds with a deep frown.
“We don’t even do the same things,” Wyll murmurs, brows knit as he turns to Gale to deliberate.
“Last I recall, it took hours for you to pitch your tent,” Shadowheart adds, squinting in a way that’s downright annoying to the vampire — trying to figure out where his niceties derive. “Are the days of the Grove so far behind us already?”
“Your attempts were most pitiful,” Lae’zel quips, upper lip twitching at her passive agreement with the Shar cleric to her right.
“Astarion.”
There — Tav’s voice cuts through all the noise, and the vampire focuses on it. Revels in it, that she lets go of her pack so that he may swing the strap heavily over his shoulder. The vampire refuses to let it fall, gripping tightly to the handle as Tav addresses everyone with her eyes.
Thinking.
Always thinking. Always assessing. Always trying to do the thing that makes everyone happy.
“You don’t have to,” she murmurs, and suddenly his good mood goes to waste.
Right. She’d rather Wyll help her. She’s not obsessed with him as much as he’d—
“But I want to,” he blurts quietly, and her expression softens.
The effect of his feigned selflessness is instantaneous, and he blinks his crimson eyes several times to comprehend.
Is this how he wins the game? Not by fucking her until she can’t walk — that will come eventually, he’s sure of it — but by simply… doing what she perceives as the nice thing?
Oh, he could vomit.
It’s such a fairytale approach, and he is in no part a prince.
Regardless, Tav smiles and turns her chin towards Wyll. “Astarion has the right idea. I trust you and Gale to secure the perimeter of camp while the rest of us set up the tents. Would you like us to take care of yours while you’re busy?”
What?
He didn’t offer to fucking touch Gale’s tent—
“You’re lovely to do so,” Wyll tells her, genuine in his gratitude, “but we’ll take care of ours once we return. Thank you, Tav.”
Gale, still speechless in his confusion, slowly follows the warlock when Wyll presses his palm to the wizard’s shoulder and guides him towards the perimeter.
The moon lantern’s glow makes it easy to track everyone in this eternal darkness, but Astarion isn’t watching or caring whether they make it to the banks safely.
Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Karlach go about their own business, choosing to situate their own tents. It’s only when he realizes how elaborate this shit is — the tapestries, the poles, the… maddening holes they need to spear into the dirt — does he regret his impulsive decision.
“Something on your mind, Astarion?” Tav finally asks, screwing some poles together with a suppressed smile. “I thought you hated setting these up.”
“Yes, well,” the vampire relents, picking up a metal pole with a grimace at the packed dirt touching his palm, “Wyll felt the need to keep you all to himself the entire way here.”
“I wouldn’t agree with that version of events,” the wood elf replies, clearly amused as she bends over to wriggle the pole in the dirt. “Karlach was right beside me and—”
“Stop.”
Tav blinks, the worry spreading instantly. Is she always this nervous to displease others?
“What did I—”
Astarion holds out his palm, brow quirked. “I said I’d help.”
She looks lovely bent at the hips like this, her travel-worn hair cascading over her shoulder. Usually he’s ready to stare at the neck that will be at his mercy in just a few short hours. Instead he’s so hellbent on staring at all of her, the complete image of her, as she assesses.
Then she relents.
Tav gives him the pole, and Astarion gets to work. It’s miserable — the tapping of dirt, the prodding to see where it will take best, the shoving and the turning and everything in-between. He utterly loathes the feeling of perspiration on his skin, but he knows Wyll wouldn’t complain.
When did he start to care so fucking much about what the bloody warlock would do?
The wood elf crosses her arms over her chest, watching for a spell, before dropping her knees. “Wait, you didn’t loop—”
“I was getting to that,” he hotly argues, waving her hand away, and she giggles.
Gods above, she fucking giggles. He’s almost two centuries older than her yet he feels no older than when he was given immortality when she laughs like that.
“I believe you,” Tav tells him, patting him on the shoulder before leaving to start work on the back half of the tent.
Astarion takes a moment to watch her leave, to get engrossed in her task, her laughter echoing in his mind.
He’s losing his touch.
“I figured I spend so many of my nights with you,” Tav starts again, turning her chin to watch as they prepare her tent for the evening, “that it would be wise to check in with the others.”
Is that her version of an apology, for ignoring him? Astarion snorts. “Is that what we do? Spend the nights together?”
“In our way,” she replies, securing the back corner of the tent. She moves towards the west end of it, disappearing behind fabric.
Astarion freely rolls his eyes when she’s out of view. “I visit, my dear. I have yet to spend.”
“Then would you like to?”
The rogue question from the cleric almost has the man fucking up his stringed knot.
He lurches forward, briefly, crimson eyes wide and…
His stomach leaps into his throat, partially with relief and mostly with dread.
Did she just suggest what he thinks she suggested?
He’s grateful for the obscurity from the tent, allowing his facial expressions to run through the motions of what Tav may in fact offer at this moment: the one thing he’s been trying to get her to agree to, to want, to desire, since they met.
Him.
His company. His words. His… body.
He sharply inhales through his nose and smirks, sauntering towards the west of the tent. The pale elf peers around the fabric to see her staring back at him with a bright, warm smile.
“You wish to share this evening?” he purrs.
Tav gives a one-shoulder shrug, securing her pole to the ground. (How the hells did she finish these tasks so fast? He’s not even started on the final corner.) “It would be easier than pitching two tents, is it not? We’re only here for the night, and you were nice enough to—”
“No need for an explanation, darling,” Astarion cuts off, expression darkening. “I will see you and your delicious little self tonight.”
He doesn’t remember finishing the final anchors of her tent.
He doesn’t remember whatever they spoke about between her proposition and the midnight hour.
He doesn’t remember Gale and Wyll returning, the camp eating their remnants of a dinner, before promptly falling asleep without ever questioning Astarion’s lack of shelter.
Astarion crawls into himself to scheme, plan, prepare — she’s finally admitted she wants him in her tent after dark not just to feed, but to share.
To stay with her.
He wasn’t born yesterday. He knows what this will lead to.
Then why is he so fucking sad that he’ll have to deceive her, toy with her, become everything she’s ever wanted — when this is what he’s wanted, too?
They near Baldur’s Gate with every passing sunrise. Cazador’s palace will be just over the Shadowlands and into the horizon of the Lower City. He’s already wasted so much time in uncertainty — he cannot afford to lose now.
Yet when he opens the flap to Tav’s tent, anticipating her trousers to be on the floor or her gaze to be hungry, he’s met with… well, with a woman sipping wine alone on her bedroll, not the least bit fazed by his entrance.
“Hi,” Tav greets, all smiles and no seduction.
Astarion clears his throat, remembering to close the flap behind him. “Hi.”
(Smooth. So fucking smooth.)
Tav pats a seat beside her, and Astarion lamely sits down beside her. He ought to be ravishing her. He ought to be pushing her shoulders down, finding out whether she loves dirty talk or sweet nothings or—
“I didn’t really wish to sleep alone tonight.”
Blinking twice, the vampire turns his chin belated to the cleric who watches the front of her tent like a hawk. The smaller wood elf shifts in her seat, drawing in a slow inhale as if to…
He can sense she’s nervous, but not about what he’s so used to.
"It's embarrassing, I know," she admits, fidgeting with her fingers. "Though I suppose no one else will know it."
"They're all asleep," he coos. "I checked. Your secrets are safe with me. Speak freely, darling."
(Nothing is safe with me, he wants to scream.)
Tav scrunches her nose, nodding. Agreeing, somehow.
"Well, it's just that I don't... this place, it's so... I can't help but feel... fear."
“You’re afraid of the Shadowlands?” he bluntly asks, squinting with accusation.
Tav, bless her soft heart, shrugs. The string front of her tunic loosens with the movement. “I know my goddess is somewhere, not so much far as she is near, but it’s so… bleak. You can hardly see the moon out here.”
She turns to look his way, all rounded eyes and parted lips, and if he had a heart? It would break for her.
With each passing second, her bravery and wisdom diminishes, stripping her of her armor until she’s laid bare beside him.
“I’ve never been away from my goddess since my vow to her, not once. Not even when I woke up on the ship with the mind flayers and the tadpoles. But it is dark out here, and I feel… consumed, by it.”
Tav frowns, searching his face for answers the vampire does not have. He looks just as in the dark as she feels. His own lips part to mirror hers, uncertain of how to proceed.
“It is terrifying without Selûne. I am terrified without Selûne. But if I cannot have my goddess here to protect me, then at least I have you near."
The wood elf has a funny way of rendering him speechless.
Time and time again, he proves to her that he is not trustworthy — that he is not noble like the Duke’s son, or honorable like the tiefling that escaped Avernus, or bold like the Githyanki who defied her own queen’s will.
He will use her and throw her away when the time comes to keep running.
Right?
“I could be…”
His voice is but a croak. Astarion is surprised to hear it in the quiet of the night as they stare at one another. Tav’s eyes round, inquisitive, and he clears his throat.
“I could be nearer, if you’d like.”
This is the moment he has to take the reins; to kiss her, to devour her, to push her onto her back and make her sing his name for all of their companions to hear.
— but he cannot.
Tav tilts her chin just so, asking without speaking, before Astarion takes the plunge.
His arm closest to her lifts off of his side, held out to invite her in. He’s seen people in taverns do this in times of need, in times of grief, when he’d stalk the lonely ones at the demand of his master. He’s seen the act of comfort with bodies outside of sex, but he isn’t quite sure if this is how it works.
Tav pauses, brows knit for just a second, before she speaks five words he’s never thought another person could ask someone as vile as him:
“Are you alright with that?”
She knows — knows what he’s done, what he’s been subjected to, under Cazador’s spell.
Agency is something of a fairytale for vampire spawn. Quite frankly, even with the tadpole lodged in his head, it still is.
But she asks anyway.
When Astarion nods, forcing his body to comply with her question, Tav slides close to his side and rests her temple against his chest. She fits so perfectly against him, even if she still keeps a triangle of space between them at the hip.
His arm remains outstretched, uncertain what to do. He can feel himself panic — fearful he may blow this, that he may say something out of turn, that he may suggest the wrong things — but the sensation of the back of her hand gently resting on the top of his thigh expels all anguish.
It’s an offer.
A beckoning, against all better judgment.
Thickly Astarion swallows and reaches for her palm. Their hands glide together, smooth and cold and soft.
How is she always so soft?
“Thank you,” she murmurs against his tunic, and Astarion doesn’t respond. Can’t, not when he wants to scream and yell and tell her all of the wicked things he planned to do tonight, and every other night, since the tiefling party.
All he can do is relent — his arm finally wraps timidly around her shoulders, pulling the scent of her hair closer to his nose.
He rests the lower half of his face against the crown of her head, breathing her in, as his eyes stare at a corner of the tent he didn’t properly secure.
“Better?” he murmurs into her hair, too afraid to say anything more.
Her body relaxes into his arm, his torso, and he can feel it — her fear, her anxieties, melt with such a simple gesture.
She nods wordlessly, cheek pressed against his shirt, and folds her slender fingers over his.
After a half hour, he feels it: the way her body slumps heavier against his, back expanding and contracting against the length of his arm.
Asleep.
Tav, for some unfathomable reason, feels safe enough to sleep beside a vampire spawn.
Beside him.
Jaw clenched, Astarion forces himself to keep watch on that fragile little corner of her tent.
To stay completely still for hours, so as to not wake the wood elf gently snoring at his side.
To remain right here, with her, until sunrise.
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☾ the gold & the rust ☼
Pic Sources: 1 | 2 | 3
Pairings: Astarion Ancunín/Tav!Reader
Warnings: NSFW; angst/comfort smut; yearning; Astarion is not ascended; mentions of past canon-typical trauma/abuse; the struggle of healing; Astarion has racing thoughts and you can't tell me otherwise; canon-typical biting; it's not about the sex it's about the feelings; spoilers for the endgame
Word Count: 7,168 words
Reader Gender: Female
Author: Meg
Summary: You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again...
A/N: Look I blame Hozier for making too many Astarion-coded songs that make me sob my eyes out while thinking about the implications of his "good" ending. Astarion has literally changed my brain chemistry.
The sun cusps over the horizon, its soft tendrils spreading over a murky sky. Beckoning the night’s fleeing retreat with a gentle violence as the day demands more territory in each passing second. Sparse hues of blue manage to cling to some lingering clouds that have yet to meet the threateningly beautiful pink and orange sky.
Astarion reaches out from behind the heavy curtain and his darkness, towards the pillar of light that breaks into the privacy of your bedchamber. Pale fingertips dip hesitantly into the light, as if he could believe everything that has occurred over this past week has been only a dream. It takes but a moment for the evidence of his reality to meet him when his skin sparks and dusts under the light of day.
He flinches back, hissing lowly from the burning pain of it. Glaring down at his flexing hand as if the disdain in his eyes could change the fates that have turned the thread of his life into this ever-knotted thing. He’d never imagined he would miss having that damned illithid parasite in his head, yet here he was. Yearning to reach for morning again. Wishing to experience a dawn that may never welcome him again.
He hears the stirring moan, soft and drenched in exhaustion, and dares a glance away from his own skin and stinging regret. Stilling entirely, Astarion hopes he has not awoken you just yet. He does not wish for you to see him like this, in this state of self-pitiful detestation. Though he knows you may yet love him despite having seen it, showing the reality of his mind beyond his comfortable performances is easier said than done. Tension drips from his shoulders, if only a little bit, as he watches your body relax into the cushions with your blissfully ignorant slumber.
The sigh at his lips is shaky. Mournful. He looks back towards the sunlight and remembers how it had felt when it had forgotten how to punish him like this. He doesn’t know which is crueler: to have never felt it at all, or for it to be ripped away from him like this. In the brief time he was granted to finally walk in the sun again after the past two centuries, Astarion can’t help the fresh anger that bubbles up in him at the taking away of it. He didn’t deserve this--- any of it.
Truthfully, he has no clear memory of how the sun had felt to him when he was simply a mortal elf and not a spawn belonging to a master. It had been so long ago; memories fade over time when drenched in horror, he’s discovered well since. Still, something tells Astarion he loved the day even then as he did now. He’s certain he had always loved the heat of it--- the color.
The way it filters through your hair when you stand in the path of daylight, kissing the edges of your skin in a way he forever wished to share with it. It had been warmer and kinder to him than he had ever expected to receive, somewhat like you. You were undeniably beautiful in the light of day.
Even standing within the finality of the sunset of your journey together--- foes vanquished, coated in sweat and victory--- he had thought the same.
But nothing good ever lasts, he’s learned. At least, nothing but you. Astarion wonders if he would still grieve this much if he were to never have known the day at all. Would he know what he was missing? Would a piece of its cosmic heat have whispered of you to him, even then?
He can’t truly comprehend a world in which his fate had not become so intimately entangled with yours. Perhaps that is the worst part, how he knows he would always brave this feeling of loss to gain what he has with you. In the end of it all, he knows he has made the right choice to have this over the temptations of that infernal ritual’s power.
Despite that knowledge, Astarion truly hadn’t expected you to run after him when the lingering illithid protections dissipated from his being and the sun began its remorseless burning again. He had scampered away from the docks in an abject desperation, attempting to flee from the light’s betrayal. Astarion was the objectively faster party, but you had found him eventually--- you always seem to find him--- after he had taken to cowering behind wooden crates that cast a meager shadow of solace. He had been shaking, cradling himself, closed off entirely from the world as that sickeningly familiar taste of how things had been before--- back when he was still Cazador’s--- came flooding back onto his palate. His mind had become drenched in a fear he had thought could never claim him again.
You’d cut through all of it with your worried call of his name. Plunging him into the magical darkness you cast upon the both of you to shield him from the sun’s assault with such a thoroughness that not even you could see through it. His call of your own name sounded far too broken on his tongue for his own liking, but you’d followed the sound towards his outstretched arms all the same.
Dragging him up into yours, only a sliver of the calamity in his soul dissipated when you promised him blindly, “Come, quickly, I’ll get you someplace safe.”
Despite his better efforts, his voice shook as he allowed you to clumsily drape your cloak over his curls in darkness, unable to bring the deflecting humor to his voice that he so achingly wished would return, “Darling, you are a sight for sore eyes; or, you would be, I’m sure, if I could see you.”
“I told you this would come in handy,” you shot back, and he had been grateful for your effort at ignoring the bittersweet grief that so clearly drenched his soul in favor of reminding him of how he had teased you for spending a good amount of your gold on this very cloak when you’d all first arrived in the city.
His breath remained shallow, but his hand tightened over yours in what he hoped you knew was gratefulness when you finished ensuring the fabric had covered any of his exposed skin, “I shall never question any of your purchases again, on my honour.”
“Of course you will, Astarion,” he heard the slight worry in your voice as much as you tried to hide it. He felt the spell waning and with it the returning disorientation that even slight sunlight left him in. You had grasped his arm firmly and spoken with a confident determination that he suspected was as much for your comfort as it was for his, “Now, get ready to move quickly and keep your head down; the dark won’t last much longer.”
You were good for your promises, he’d learned over his time travelling with you, and that had brought some small comfort as the day reemerged before he’d had a chance to respond. Then, you were maneuvering him through the city, towards the darkness of Sharess’ Caress, with such a precision that he might think it more important than any quest you’ve had thus far if he hadn’t known better. Gripping him tightly the whole way, Astarion still has not dared tell you how grateful he was for it--- for you, surprising him against his better judgement every time with how you simply are.
It has been nearly a week now of you coming to his side in the night and yet some part of him still expected the other metaphorical shoe to drop. For you to come to your senses and tell him that you simply cannot carry on like this with him.
He wanted to believe you. Gods, how he wants it. Yet, he still felt like a fool to think he’s earned some love such as yours. He wants to believe he deserves the way you look at him like he can be what you see him to be. It’s too dangerous for his heart to invest in the thought that he maybe can. That maybe he is, already.
For you to look at him and tell him, “We’ll find it together. I promise we’ll find a way for you to walk in the sun again,” with such determination--- for you to be someone who genuinely believed the both of you could achieve it---
Well, you simply must be mad. He doesn’t know how else to explain these little ideas of yours.
Astarion figures you’ll continue to be as much a surprise to him as you’ve made a habit of in the past… and then there was that persistently annoying optimism of yours to contend with.
But this?
He doesn’t think that you understand the truth of the choice you’re making, to stay with him. To love him. How could you know it and still look upon him with such eager hopefulness as you do? He barely understands it at all himself, and he’s had centuries to come to terms with what he’s become. Forgive him if it’s a bit difficult to begin to understand just what “being something better than what Cazador made him” truly means.
He understands how much he wants you, though. He wants it all. The life that was stolen from him, the opportunities, but mostly for you to be there--- here. Where you’ve not wavered an inch from his side; you’ve given him no reason to think you plan on leaving anytime soon.
Why does he still fear it so much, though?
Some part of him had thought--- hoped foolishly, rather--- that killing Cazador would somehow fix two centuries of torment. Fix him. In the brief time after, he discovered that it hadn’t. In his elongated struggle, he worries it never will.
Nightmares still plague him, he still jumps at shadows, he still has thoughtless fear dart through his mind before he remembers again that his former master is well and truly dead. That simply existing in happiness was the rebellious proof of his victory over a man who he hopes will not haunt him forever. When he is with you, Astarion almost believes that Cazador won’t. It is some charm you have bewitched over him surely. Your ability to calm this chaos in him with soft eyes and patient hands that do not seek to own him, yet he eagerly chooses to belong there all the same.
Astarion still has trouble loving you like he knows you deserve to be loved. There are times when he can barely stand physical touch, though craves to want yours. And you understand the duality of the contradiction in him, taking only ever what he is willing to give.
Sometimes he thinks you too understanding, with little concern of how this affects you. He’s always baffled by how selfless you can be sometimes, particularly when you’re taking in strays. He has come to admit, if only to himself, that he does see the irony in his complaints. Moreso, he’s terrified of what will happen when that seemingly endless well of care you hold within you for others inevitably runs out.
What will happen when you can no longer bear his eccentricities? The compromises? The sacrifice that his double-edged love requires of you? Will there come a time when all he offers as part of being in this real love becomes too overwhelming?
Astarion had fallen in love with you in the easy warmth of sunlight. Looking upon you now as the dawn creeps against your sleeping form, his heart aches as he wonders if he can truly doom you to a life in his complicated darkness.
Selfishly, one thought consumes his mind--- he knows he wants to. He would want you, no matter the cost to you both. You have told him over and over again how you want the same but, Gods, he can’t figure out what he has done for this sliver of joy and it eats away at him in the dark. It’s unreasonable what he asks you to give him, but he’ll take it all the same. Bitterly he thinks, if he were a better man--- the man you see him to be--- he might even feel guilty for it.
For now, all he feels is the monstrous need to escape these racing thoughts in his head.
When will you walk away to join the sunlight for good? Hells forbid the answer his weary heart is preparing for ever be spoken from your lips.
Astarion hopes the day never comes when you choose to go where he cannot follow. He wants to spend all his days traipsing after you, wherever you may lead, no matter how much he may complain about it for show.
Astarion wants to spend all of it, whatever it may be, whatever he’s got left, with you. He’s terrified of the day that you change your mind on him. Fearful that you may one day decide these sleepless nights with a vampire spawn who can offer you nothing more than his undying love and sarcastic quips are nothing compared to the full life you could have with someone else. This theoretical, easy life in the sun that he dares to think he is stealing from you by loving you as he does.
Well, he supposes that reclaiming Cazador’s palace is always an option, rather than his other fantasy of burning it to the ground. Spending an eternity draping you in finery and keeping you to himself within a palace feels like something he should want, but he can’t help to think that it would be no better than making his love for you into a somewhat prettier cage.
More than he wants you, he needs you to freely want him. He’d be tempted to take up praying again if he had any faith that it could solidify your love for him forever, but deep down he doesn’t want heavenly intervention. He wants you to want to be with him--- to choose him willingly and without any regret for what the inevitable sacrifice will be. That understanding is, perhaps, what makes his heart swell with this bittersweet glory over all else.
You’ve told him as much and what your lips did not confess to him willingly, your body has whispered to his with an adoration that threatened to scorch him in much the same way of your beloved daylight. You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again--- this being the most horrible realization of all to have come to him tonight.
Hells, how desperately he wants to believe you, but Astarion has always had difficulty getting his hopes up. He hasn’t been known to bet on losing dogs, and he certainly doesn’t bet on his own odds these days.
But he figures you have more than enough hope for the both of you.
A minute smile quirks his troubled lips at that thought, watching your fingers twitch in your slumber. He shouldn’t doubt you as he does; you’ve given him everything. His freedom, his salvation--- even from himself, when he hadn’t known how much he needed it. Things he can never repay, and yet you’ve never asked him for a repayment. He owes you everything, but you’ve been adamant in tempering his sense of obligation. You’ve reminded him that everything he's done, he’s chosen for himself.
You’ve only ever asked him to love you, and that you have had for far longer than you know--- far before you ever actually plucked up the adorable courage to ask him for it.
He has come to love you more than he’s ever loved anything for as far back as he can remember. The depths of his adoration could scare even him with the raw vulnerability he is left with when it comes to you. How beautifully all his plans and plots for self-preservation have backfired upon him, though. He would not have you destroy his peace of mind in any other way.
Maybe one day, he’ll admit to you exactly when his nice, simple plan truly began to fall apart. The idea dances in his mind, of how you’ll react to that particular information. You’d hang on his every word, he thinks--- it would be rather pathetic of you, if he weren’t in much the same state.
Gripping the curtain, Astarion finally deems it time to push the budding light out of his darkness. If it is to be the only place he may have you for all of your days, he’ll make his darkness a sacred place. He decides he shall worship you in it--- all other gods have forsaken him already. Until the day his little hero saves him once again, he will indulge in this darkness with you.
The patriars nipping at your heels for guidance, the unwashed masses of the Gate clamoring for their glimpse of his hero, even your other traveling companions--- none of them shall invade upon this sanctuary.
He moves towards the bed, returning to you. Exhausted from a late day in the city and an even later night of enjoying his company, you’ve taken to claiming sleep when you can these days. The evidence of your labor rests in the dark circles under your eyes. He doesn’t think he could stop you from your philanthropic efforts assisting the city’s reconstruction even if he tried.
Still, right now, in these hours you are only his.
He dips his weight onto the bed and lays himself alongside you, pulling you tenderly against him as his lips graze your neck. Truly, he knows it is cruel to wake you, but he doesn’t know how he can manage to miss someone like this when you are right before him. It is as if his very soul yearns for you. He melts against the rhythmic flutter of your heart, and it sounds more like his home than the palace he has spent the last two hundred years in ever could.
Teeth graze against your carotid pulse, and you stir slightly. He hums into the soft warmth of your flesh, biting without intent to draw blood--- though the thought of it does cross his mind. He has never recovered from the taste of you. Cold fingers curl into your bare hip, dragging you slightly closer at the feeling of your waking movements.
Your pulse picks up against his lips. Astarion hears the patter of your heart in your ribs as his tongue drags up your throat towards your ear. Your breath hitches when his lips graze your jaw, but your eyes remain closed.
His lips twitch with mirth at your effort to have him do as he pleases.
“Quite the show, my little love, but I know you’re awake,” Astarion murmurs, slurred from the back of his throat like a man lost in thorough indulgence. Drunk with the scent of you on his skin, he leaves another faux bite on your jaw as you squirm beneath his assault.
“Shall you feed again, is that it?” yawning, your hand rubs at your eyes before you blink them open. When his hands run up your sides, your answering shiver reminds him of that first night he’d fed from you. Lit only by the campfire, you had allowed him to take too much before stopping him, even then.
He chuckles breathlessly, shifting the covers to invade your space more completely as you come back to your consciousness piece by piece, “As tempting as it is when you offer oh so nicely to be my treat, I hunger for something more satisfying this morn.”
“Ah,” you gasp from sleep-drenched shock, reacting on a delay as he brings his knee up to strategically push your legs open. Allowing you to feel the growing length of him through the thin linens between you, he levels you with his weight in a slow grind. Blinking up at him, your eyes focus in a darkness lit only by the dim glow of dawn beyond the curtains when he languidly rolls his hips against yours, “A-Astarion---!” He is watching you peculiarly, with a glint of some unreadable darkness in his eye that you can’t quite place. The breathless whimper at your lips sends that warmth of yours straight down his spine, “What’s gotten into you?”
He hasn’t had you since that night he had been so drenched with adoration that he’d taken you on his own grave and truly confessed how he loved you. Ever since then it had been battle and struggle, one after another, in your pursuit to stop the Absolute for good--- constantly ensnared in some new concern that stole any potential moment he could’ve used to steal you away from duty. After the final battle, Astarion had been so dejected by the return of his vampiric limitations, and you had been near constantly pulled away to assist the public---
There was the part of him that enjoyed indulging in the easy-going intimacy you offered him. The lack of pressure to perform was something he had not yet fully become accustomed to; a certain comfortability that has been cultivated between the two of you over the time you’ve been together. The sense of knowing that he is well and truly safe with you. Despite this understanding, he wished to freely want you in every way he was capable of.
And, oh, how he has come to want you over these last few days.
It was so mindlessly simple and immensely complex. He can barely put into words to describe the ways he wants this. Carnally, intimately, wholly, eternally--- nothing is a sufficient descriptor. Maybe in that vast library that your wizard, Gale, insists on boasting about showing him one of these days, Astarion will find an all-encompassing word for how he wants to have you forever.
As it stands currently, he settles on the comfortable seduction that has become second nature to him, “Actually, I was quite hoping to have gotten into you by now, lover.”
He’ll never get over how you melt for him; how you fall for every word. He watches the heat he stokes behind your eyes, the flex of your fingertips where they lay beside your head on the pillow.
Then, he descends upon you.
A practiced mouth parts yours as his cool hand takes the long route from your waist to your throat, indulging in the feeling of everything in-between. He sets your skin on edge in his wake, stirring a familiar feeling that he was entirely too good at urging from you to settle low in your stomach.
Gentle fingers find his hair and he feels the scrape of your nails against his scalp when he finally rests his hand on your throat to hook his thumb beneath your jaw, kissing you deeper. Passionately. As he always does, Astarion excels at unravelling you in every way, but you have no idea how much you manage to rebuild him with your every touch.
Your body welcomes him completely, urging him closer in ways he doubts you are consciously aware of. His hips rock into yours with each passing second that your heat spreads through him, feeling himself grow harder at your soft moans that meet his eager mouth. When you tug slightly at his hair, he lets a cautioning sound fall from his tongue onto yours, but you only nip defiant teeth at him in response.
And then he’s pushing your hands down, captured at the wrists by his. Pinning you to the pillows while he draws back just enough to catch the breath that is coming, labored, from the both of you.
“I’m sorr---” you begin, remorselessly.
“Telling a pretty lie won’t save you from me,” Astarion leans close once more, dragging his skin against your cheek as he kisses a trail towards your ear, feeling you test his grip at your wrists with a half-hearted tug. “I do believe all of this ‘Hero of Baldur’s Gate’ business has kept you from the more important happenings of our bedchamber. It would be a terrible pity if you continued to neglect your baser desires when I am in such a mood to indulge you.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about me?” you tease and he feigns a mild shock at the insinuation that his own behavior is the reason you’ve yet to bed him.
“I’ll have you know I am all indulgence, unlike you, darling hero,” but when he leans away, your eyes capture his. Reading him too easily, you know something is wrong as his carefully constructed mask falters, if only for an instant. It’s all you need, and Astarion regrets losing himself for the moment as he watches your softening gaze survey him.
“Is that so…?” You’re left guessing at what troubles him, “If you missed me, you could’ve just said so. The city can survive a few days.”
“Does the city know that?” it would be so easy to leave it there, to let you think you’ve figured him out once again. The anxiety in his veins won’t allow it, however, and his mouth speaks before his mind can instruct him to shut up, “Tell me, darling, that you won’t regret it someday… Of course, you won’t--- but I would like to hear it all the same.”
He looks down on you with growing vulnerability, confidence cracking. That detestable anxiety that has plagued him all evening coming to the forefront of his mind once more. Crimson irises swirl with a reckless uncertainty and it reminds you of how he had looked upon you when confessing his initial manipulations in those early days of your relationship.
“Regret what?” the confusion on your face nearly has him losing his nerve, but he chokes back the urge to dismiss you so quickly.
“I don’t want you to regret… choosing me,” his voice is clearly pained at the thought, cold hands at your wrists tightening like he is afraid you will run from him should he let you go. “Choosing us, I mean. I am well aware of all you shall endure if you spend each painstaking night of forever with me. It is a price I was willing to pay for my freedom, but you… I--- I know you have said that I am what you want, but I don’t want this to be one of your regrets. I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you here---”
Astarion was constantly preparing himself for the ending of all things; it is a part of his nature that you wish you could soothe with simple words alone. It will be much more difficult to satisfy than that and you know it, but you intend to spend all your years working towards earning his unwavering faith in you. This trust that he has so endearingly placed upon your soul, when every piece of his own screamed at you for doing the same. You doubt he knows how, if you were to someday break him in the way he so fears, you feel it would be as if you were destroying a part of yourself.
You cut off his rambling with a firm, “Astarion!” like it hurts you to hear him talk of himself in this way. His mouth snaps shut as you search him for the cause of this doubt, “Have I done something to make you think I will have these regrets you worry of?”
“Well, no, but---”
When you pull at his grip this time, he wordlessly releases you, only for you to reach up to him to drag him down into a tight embrace, “Then, why is your heart so troubled?”
“I---” he chokes on the word and how shallowly his lungs fill with you holding him so securely in your arms. Maybe it is better that you hold him so closely that you cannot see how he crumbles against you, dissolving into your grasp as if you are the only thing holding him together when he confesses, “I know what it is to live this life of darkness. You are so---! You deserve everything I can’t give you, starting with a life surrounded by the beauties of daylight.” His head turns, misty eyes catching your worried stare. He regrets the distress he’s caused you, but moreso he needs to hear your reassurances that his mind has gotten the better of him in this. He has never hoped so pitifully that he was wrong.
“Astarion,” heart swelling at the loss in his eyes; he looks to be mourning for you. As your thumb smoothes along the lines of his jaw, you come to realize the depth of his lingering sadness, “tell me, what good is the sun? The sun cannot care for me as you do or feel my love in return. A life of pure sunlight is worthless if it means living it without you.” You watch his breath catch in his chest, a stifled sob of his relief that he does not give into so easily.
His voice comes strained and nearly sounds like he’s on the verge of arguing with you, “You so obviously will miss it! You talk of finding a way for me to ‘walk in the sun again,’ but what if it’s impossible? What if we waste our lives searching for something that was never attainable? When you realize it, I wouldn’t have you look differently upon me.”
“Is that it? You think I talk about finding you a cure for my own benefit?” you scoff, before leaning towards him to place a soft kiss against frowning lips. He lingers in the middle ground as you depart just enough to demand he listen, “I only think of you, Astarion. Since the moment I first saw you, you’ve consumed my mind, body and soul. The sun was made for you--- and you’d know it if you ever had the privilege of seeing yourself in it. I only want for you to be happy.”
The arch of his brow tells you he still doesn’t fully believe you, despite his attempt at a half-hearted joke through the tightness in his throat, “I do quite enjoy when you call me beautiful.” It’s more than that, and you both know it, but if he were to ask you right now to name one thing about the light of day that you know you will sorely miss, it would be never seeing him in it again.
Rolling your eyes, you sigh at him with a lopsided smile, “Oh, my silly vampire, I love you much more than the sun. Without you, I would not want any of it. In fact, you can take the moon and stars, too, while you’re at it---”
He cuts you off with the eclipse of his mouth on yours, hands spread along your ribs to dig eager fingertips into your skin as he pulls you in as close as he can manage. The kiss is more languidly meaningful than the last; he intends on burning the feeling of you into his mind to replace the torrid thoughts there. If your words had not been enough to convince him, you hope the way you receive his body with your own can. Every part of you calls to him, blood and sinew, breath and bone, flesh and spirit.
Maybe it’s clear to him now, that you are as intertwined as the earth and sea. Should the tide of your soul ever depart from his shores, he can rest in the knowledge that your reunion is inevitable. As far as you are concerned, you are fated in such a way that not even the gods above or the devils below can alter the course of how your body fits beneath his--- how you shall always welcome him home.
You will have him, for as long as he will have you.
When he finally withdraws, he dares not go far, eyes blinking open slowly in a melancholy acceptance, “How can I be so fortunate?”
Brushing the mess of white curls behind his pointed ear, you hum at the shiver that runs through him when your fingertips graze the skin there, “I don’t know, but it’s about time things start going our way, don’t you think?”
“That it is,” his groaned agreement softens the worry in his eyes and he melts into the stroke of your hand against his temple.
“What you should be worrying about, Astarion, is whether you’ll regret choosing me when I’m all old, wrinkled, and grey,” it’s only half of a tease, and you hope he can’t see through the smile on your lips. The thought has been on your mind for some time after realizing that the two of you were going to somehow survive everything you’ve endured these past months.
“Darling,” he scoffs, nudging his nose with yours, soothing you as much as you do him, “knowing how well trouble finds you, we’ll both be long dead before either of us need worry much about that.” His lips graze yours, when he gives you his earnest answer, “For our sake, I hope to spend every moment we have left with you, watching every sunset and sunrise we are granted until the end takes us both.”
It's more complicated than that, but most real things usually are.
What isn’t complicated is how you feel beneath him, tongue tracing his teeth as he ravishes you. There is a completeness that comes in the way of his body fitting against yours. This reassurance in your touch will never falter. Even if your mind were to eventually escape you, he will know you were always his. If the world were to fall away in this moment and leave nothing but this room, Astarion would happily float out his days with you here forevermore.
He loves you. You love him.
He can scarcely comprehend anything else. Nothing else matters, he decides.
Nothing but your little shivers and whines when his fingers delve down the soft flesh of your stomach--- nothing but the arch of your body into the exploration of his touch. Nothing is worth more than his name whispered from your lips in that scandalous tone you reserve for these moments he sets your skin ablaze with teeth and tongue. You call to him like it were a prayer, but Astarion has hardly done anything so holy to warrant the way you say his name.
His sole inkling of faith is spent on the belief that he could live his whole life, his extended eternity, and never tire of loving you.
Soft and demanding partner within the thrill of his touch, you’ve learned, and his hands part you for him with that comforting understanding. Insistent and hesitant are your finger’s answer to him, digging into the nape of his neck as your head falls back against the pillows. Throat bared, it’s a wonder he doesn’t take another bite of you where he’s done so frequently before, but his attention is too acutely focused on the aching wetness between your thighs and his slender fingers.
Your lips part in an open moan of his name with how expertly he drags pleasure through your veins with each stroke within you, and he drags his teeth against your jaw in a growl, “You sweet, generous thing, always so ready for me.” Finally, he grants you some relief from his constant teasing, pressing the heel of his palm into your most sensitive nub. He allows you to seek your own pleasure with each desperate grind of yourself against the hand that continues to stroke pleasure from within, “Do you have any idea what the sight of you does to me? How dearly I long for us to never leave this bed?” The rasp of his voice has heat rushing up your spine, muddying your thoughts with each continuance of his lascivious tongue, “Leave the Gate to fend for itself, my dear, for I should have you like this always, stripped bare with me between your thighs.”
“Have me then, Astarion,” you really did purr for him in times like these and as much as he enjoys teasing you for it, he truly does relish the tone you get when he has drenched you in lust. His reaction at your words is groaned against your throat; he’s so near, but his hand retreats from you all the same. Never to neglect you for long, your lover is soon tearing at your smallclothes with an impatience that was not wholly unexpected from him.
He pushes his weight onto his forearm beside your head, using his other hand to tug at the laces of his loose breeches while glancing down between you. His eyes, rubies in the darkness, snap to yours and it is as if he has dipped you in firewine and struck a match. You burn for him, from the inside out and in such a way that you know he has thoroughly ruined you for anyone else. You are dripping with it, onto the sheets and the new press of his length against your core. His indulgent rub of himself through your folds is punctuated by him grinding into you, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling for but a moment.
Hair disheveled, you watch the beauty of him as he swallows deeply before capturing you in that piercing gaze once again, “I think I shall have you, now--- how did you just put it?” He crowds you with his arms, and your breath hitches at the feeling of him catching at your entrance when he murmurs lowly, deliberately, “Body and soul? Isn’t that right, my love?”
The way you drag him down into your kiss as he pushes into you is a messy, desperate thing, but it only seems to urge him on. You simply cannot seem to get close enough, though not for lack of trying, as he fills you gloriously. Astarion gasps into your mouth, staggering the push of his hips against yours, devouring you until he is left seated so deeply within you that you can hardly breathe. Then, hands around your thighs push your legs up, and he fits impossibly further.
You sob a moan against sharp fangs, deliriously full of him as he begins a slow fucking that is just enough to drive you into madness. Clambering for something to ground yourself, your nails dig into his back, scraping against the scars that remain there--- his hips snapping faster into you at the feeling of it.
He smears saliva across your jaw and down your throat, understanding your breathless, “Please, please,” for what it is. Permission.
Pain is so fleetingly brief that it may as well not exist at all, because when he bites down hard enough to draw blood from your skin, you are met so suddenly with a lightheaded ecstasy that is compounded by the pleasure he pulses through your body. Only the raw stretch of his every thrust keeps you from dissipating into delirium entirely. You are left keening beneath him as he dissolves into the taste of your blood, feeling his moans against your neck and the way his thrusts begin to match the drum of your heart in your ears. Astarion’s fingers drag in the space between, stopping only when he has found the base of his seat within you.
You feel your heart skip in your chest before he ceases the meal he’s made of you, licking your throat of the sloppy blood that threatens to yet spill. The iron of it meets the smell of sex in the air and he strokes his fingers against where he continuously plunges so deep within you; the wet sounds of your coupling may have been embarrassing if you weren’t so disoriented with the raw need of it. Your every nerve has fiercer concerns than your fickle dignity when he is working to make such a wonderful mess of you as this.
“Delicious,” Astarion groans into your shoulder, nipping and groaning against whatever he may get his mouth on as he feels your increasingly erratic clenching with his harshening pace. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling him reach to draw tight circles at your clit as his own pace begins to falter. Neither of you will make it much further through this. He is left stained, begging upon your skin, “Come with me--- Hells, darling--- I need you to---"
Finding a grip in his hair allows you to drag his head sharply back to force his open-mouthed gaze to cast upon you once more, desperate to see him as he falls apart with you.
The sight of him is nearly enough for you to lose what little sense you’ve held to; while his complexion has turned slightly rosy with the assistance of your fresh blood, he still looks upon you with a consuming hunger all the same, “I love you.”
“Gods---!” dark eyes slam shut as he gasps out your name before all control leaves him in the mindless oblivion that he drags you down into alongside him. Scorching pleasure burns from the inside out as he loses himself in the trembling heat of your rapture, dissolving into a wild and erratic pace that bursts sparks of euphoria behind your eyes.
You are both left in the sticky aftermath of it, heaving mingling breaths as tension melts into you from where he collapses and lingers atop you. You hold him, content to have his softening length seated within you for all eternity as you let him continue his mindless caressing of your skin.
He has said it before, but it will never be enough, so he says it again in the hoarse aftermath of your lovemaking, “I love you, darling. You have made me so… happy.” Should you ever forget it, he is prepared to remind you for the rest of your days, “Thank you.”
Your own repeated declaration is sighed with a contentment that you hope will last a moment longer as your fingers take to stroking through his hair when he lays his head against your chest. Can he hear it from there, you wonder, how your heart whispers only the sweetest of sentiments for him? You like to think he can.
“Astarion?” you finally croak after some time, and he hums soft acknowledgement without much movement. “We should watch the next one together.”
“The next what, my treasure?”
“The next sunrise.”
There is a smile in his voice when he murmurs, “Always.”
#astarion fanfic#astarion ancunin fanfic#baldurs gate 3 fanfic#baldurs gate 3 female reader insert#female reader insert#newstuff female reader insert#fanfiction#gif not mine#nsft#smut#author meg#fanfic by me
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What did he do?
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 art#bg3 fanart#astarion#halsin#astarion ancunin#the druid halsin#astarion fanart#halsin fanfic#bg3 astarion#bg3 halsin#my art
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Astarion probably isn’t used to aftercare with all his trauma regarding sex / intimacy.
So imagine after the first time with you, almost immediately after you both finish, he gets up to re-dress. He expects you to do the same and leave, just like everyone has before you. But instead, you tug him back down into your warm embrace. He’s frozen, unsure what you’re doing but he likes the way you play with his hair. It slows down his erratic post coital heart, as his head relocates to your chest. Astarion comes to the realisation that he’s never actually taken a moment after sex to calm his body down before. It’s nice. You stay like this together for a while, relaxing after all the physical movement from earlier.
‘You okay?’ You mumble to him in a tired haze, ‘Did it feel good? You want some water?’ You begin to sit up, disrupting his position on your chest. For once he doesn’t reply, no flirty quips ready on his tongue. Astarion finds himself half shocked, half in awe that you care how he feels and what he felt like during the act. No one’s ever asked him that before.
You leave the bed briefly to the bathroom and return with a washcloth. You wipe yourself off then gesture towards Astarion, ‘Is it okay for me to clean you?’ You say softly, asking his consent.
He coughs, clearing his throat, ‘Of course,darling,’ he says, clearly covering up his confusion and rising nerves. ‘Are you okay?’ You ask again, repeating the question from earlier.
‘Yes, my love, I’m fine... it’s just no one’s ever done this to me before,’ he states gesturing down to where you carefully wipe his inner thighs. ‘Oh!’ You stutter ‘I can stop if your not comfortable with it—’. ‘I love it.’ he states, cutting you off. Eyes staring warmly into your own.
After this scenario happens I feel like Astarion will make the extra effort to learn proper aftercare for you, he begins to realise how important it is to check in after sex, he never wants you to feel used like he did in the past.
(Notes: sorry this is pure Astarion brainrot. Not proofread/edited. This man has crawled his way into my heart)
#fanfic#astarion#astarion x reader#bg3#bg3 tav#bg3 astarion#baldur's gate 3#brainrot#smut#angst#astarion smut#astarion ancunin#astarion angst#astarion and tav#fanfiction#x reader
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The pale elf has ruined my life
#I can’t stop writing fanfic about him#and having ideas about fanfic about him#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x mc#bg3 astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#baldurs gate astarion
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Lose Yourself 18+
Pic: @casualya (side note....hot 🥵)
Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x f!Tav
Summary: During a feeding Astarion gets worked up and a bit too excited. He's embarrassed, but it turns out Tav finds it incredibly hot.
Warmings: Smut MDNI, Premature ejaculation, dry humping, fingering, PnV Sex, overstimulation, comfort sex, blood
Word Count: 2.2k
Astarion's grip tightens against your jaw, tilting your head slightly more to give him better access to your neck. The initial chill of his bite has settled to a delicious icy throb. A moan rips from your kiss-swollen lips, relishing the feeling of your blood flowing into his greedy mouth. You scratch your nails against Astarion’s scalp, combing through his tousled curls. A smile streches you lips when a shiver runs down his spine, and the hand grabbing your thigh tightens.
The majority of Astarion’s body weight is blanketing you. His hips slotted between your parted legs, mindlessly grinding against the inside of your thigh, too consumed by your blood to be fully in control. You rub his back, shoulders, neck, any skin you can get you wandering hands on and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. This has him purring into your neck and rutting faster against your body, chasing more pleasure.
This night, you had made sure to stock up on extra health potions and lesser restoration scrolls so Astarion could have his fill without worry of any repercussions on your health come morning.
And gods, you will be sure to make this a ritual from now on because seeing Astarion so lost in your body’s comfort, so relaxed and focused solely on his pleasure. It has your heart pounding and arousal pooling between your thighs.
Feeling the telltale signs that it’s time for Astarion to stop, you grab tightly at his shoulder giving him a little shake. “Star,” you slur.
Astarion sighs through his nose, taking one last sip before unlatching from your neck. He’s still lost in the haze of his feeding, eyes glossy and unfocused, trying desperately to meet your gaze. Tiny trickles of blood fall down his chin and onto your chest, where he messily laps the droplets with his tongue. Astarion’s hips are still pistoning against you, and little breathless gasps of pleasure escape his mouth. You swear you’ve never seen a more gorgeous sight. Then Astarion tenses, and with a choked sob of your name falls from his mouth, and he comes spilling onto your stomach.
The room stills.
Only the sounds of rapid breaths fill the room. Astarion’s eyes are wide open, and his mouth is agape, looking down at the mess on your stomach. You’re frozen, glued to the beads of sweat trailing down Astarion’s chest, moving down the planes of his stomach.
“Shit,” he backs away. An embarrassed flush–only evident due to the recent blood consumption– floods his face moving all the way to the points of his ears.
“Fuck,” you whimper needily, clenching against the rush of heat that simmers in your stomach.
Then Astarion lets you go, and you finally notice Astarion’s distress.
“I-that…shit,” Astarion stumbles over his words and hands you a cloth to clean yourself with. “I’m so–”
You pounce, and he catches you in his arms, looking startled. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence?” You growl, claiming his mouth in a chaste kiss, chasing the metallic taste off his lips. “That was so fucking hot.”
He clicks his tongue and lets go of you again. Backing away, Astarion starts picking up his scattered clothes. “Yes, I’m sure watching me cream myself like a boy being touched for the first time was just so attractive.” Astarion huffs and rolls his eyes. “Spare me,”
Feeling annoyed, you huff, knowing you need a different approach. Moving closer, you grab the clothes from Astarion’s hand, throw them to the side, and cup his jaw. You draw him into another kiss and trail a hand up the smooth skin of his chest, stopping to circle your thumb around his nipple. Astarion signs into your mouth and runs both his hands down your naked sides, pausing to squeeze your hips.
“My love, that was by far one of the most sexy things I’ve ever seen.” Voice low and seductive, your lips barely pulling away from him. “Seeing you lose control, drunk on my blood, on my body,”
Astarion shudders when you scratch your nails lightly down his chest before taking his hand in yours. Smiling wickedly, you peck his lips and pull away, ensuring he can see eyes.
“Hells, Star,” Pulling him, you guide his fingers to your dripping heat. “I’ve never been so turned on.”
This has the desired effect. Astarion’s nimble fingers instinctually begin exploring, and you bite back a moan. He pulls away quickly to examine his slick, covered digits. When Astarion meets your gaze, all embarrassment seems to vanish, and he’s pushing you back down onto the bed. He rests his forearms on either side of you, cradling your head. Astarion trails a thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your hands snake around his neck.
You don’t think you’ll ever get used to having Astarion look at you like he is now. Like you hung the moon and crafted each star so he would never be alone at night. It overwhelms you with such love that all you can do is pull him down and capture his lips. The kiss has no urgency, just two lovers enjoying the soft embrace. It holds the warmth of a crackling campfire, its embers building to something that leaves you needing more.
Astarion coaxes your mouth open, and when you grant him access, he leads your tongue in a practiced dance. Feeling the tease of his razor-sharp fang, you moan, cupping the back of his head. You match the growing pace, hooking one leg over Astarion's hip to pull him flush against your body.
A groan rumbles through Astarion’s chest, and he gives a playful bite to your bottom lip, earning a squeak you will deny if asked about later. One of his hands moves down to delicately play with your breast, kneading softly before pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb. You break the kiss with a breathless gasp, tugging at Astarion’s roots, forcing a ragged groan from the elf. Astarion wastes no time to pepper kisses down the column of your neck.
“I don’t think I tell you enough, just how beautiful you are, darling.” He mumbles against your collarbone before sucking a bit of skin into his mouth and playfully teasing it between his teeth.
You chuckle, swing your other leg, and link them behind his back. “You tell me at least once a day, handsome,”
“You’re such a sap.” You tease and roll your hips up against Astarion’s cock, already swelling once again.
“See, not nearly enough.” He pulls away from the freshly marked skin.
“You, my love, are so breathtaking, exquisite, beautiful,” Astarion emphasizes each adjective with wet, open-mouth kisses down to your chest before beginning to suck another mark just above your heart.
He grunts, grinding back against you. “Only for you, my love.”
Astarion’s hand moves between your bodies to your neglected pussy. His deft fingers enter you with a wet squelch, and you instinctively buck into his palm. A whimper leaves your lips, and you dig your nails into the skin of Astarion’s shoulder. He set a pace that is both agonizing and toe-curling perfect.
“See what you’ve reduced me to, darling,” Astarion whispers sinfully, voice low and filled with temptation, his thumb finds your clit. He applies light pressure rubbing tight circles.
You throw your head, arching your back, clamping your thighs tighter around his waist. “Fuck, Star.”
Astarion picks up his pace just a notch; his mouth finds your neck again. “It’s all your fault.” He says before biting your ear.
You cry out his name, fisting the bedsheet, feeling the familiar coil building. You are so lost in your pleasure you barely notice Astarion is now rubbing his cock with his spare hand looking down at you with lidded eyes.
“M close Star.” You cry, bucking your hips against his palm. “Fuck.. don’t stop.”
“I am now merely a sappy, love-sick fool who just can’t control myself when it comes to you.”
Astarion is now pumping his fingers in and out of your sopping-wet cunt in a way that has your orgasm building quickly.
“That’s it, darling,” He groans, kissing you softly. “Let go for me,”
Electricity pulses through you, seizing every muscle, every nerve, and every cell of your body with blinding pleasure. You’re moaning and babbling nonsense and pulling him into a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue. Astarion continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm. Finally, when the heat simmers down, he pulls his fingers from your body, leaving you whining from the loss.
Astarion is quick to put your whines at ease. “Will you give me one more, my love, please?” Astarion practically begs, kissing you with the desperation of a starving man.
The tip of his swollen cock slides through your folds and teases your sensitive entrance. You barely have time to choke out a yes, please, before Astarion is plunging into you with a grunt. Instinctually, you clench around his length, loving the feel of the fullness Astarion always gives you.
“Shit..so tight,” Astarion groans and begins to thrust frantically into your heat. “Always so perfect.”
“Astarion.”
All decency, coordination, and softness was tossed away. Both of you were too sensitive, too desperate for the other, to care for anything but mindless pleasure. It was messy, feral, and perfect. Astarion devoured your mouth, groaning against your tongue. His hands couldn’t seem to stay in one place, constantly caressing, grabbing, and massaging any part of you he could hold.
You spread your legs wide and angled your hips, bucking against each one of Astarion’s deep thrusts. One of your hands cups Astarion’s jaw, keeping him close, and the nails of your other rake down his back, causing a violent shiver to run through Astarion’s body.
“M-more..ugh, please.” You gasp out between Astarion’s feverish kisses.
He nods in return and grunts into your open mouth. “Shit..ugh,”
With a strength you hope never to get used to, Astarion effortlessly switches your positions. Your hands are on his chest, knees framing his slim waist. He’s on his back, smirking smugly up at you. You giggle dumbly, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement. That giggle turns into a wanton moan as Astarion thrusts up into you, hitting a deeper spot inside of you.
“Yes... Star.” Using the hold he has on your hips, he moves your body to pick up the brutal pace from before. “Gods,”
You bounce on your knees in time with his thrusts, and the room is filled with the slick sound of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of ecstasy. The pleasure is almost too much, and you feel the pressure bubbling again. You try to say as much, but a wave of pleasure has you gasping mindlessly, head lolling to the side.
Astarion wants to feel you come undone around him. Lose yourself so he can lose himself with you. So you oblige his request and snake a hand between your legs just above where Astarion is fucking you and begin to rub your clit in time with his quick thrusts.
“Love, fuck..ngh,” he chokes on a moan. His thrusts are faltering and getting sloppier.
“T-touch yourself for me... I’m close.” He trails off grunting, but you don’t need words to know what he wants.
It’s all too much, the angle of Astarion’s hips hitting the sweet spot inside you over and over, the delicious grip of his hand on your body, the tenderness of your clit as you add more pressure. You’re so close and trying hard to keep looking at Astarion’s beautiful flushed face and wanting him to be your last image before you fall into black-out bliss. But it’s getting harder to keep your eyes focused. Your numb legs buckle, and you stumble forward; your orgasm is almost painful. It tears through your body, ripping pleasure from your trembling muscles and fried nerves. You bite into the flesh of Astarion’s pectoral to stifle your sobs of ecstasy.
“Fuck, darling, good girl.” Astarion praises, grinding your hips against his. “Shit... I’ve got you.” And with a few shallow, pitiful rolls of his body, Astarion is cumming with a deep guttural groan filling you with ropes of his warm come.
He drops boneless, and you pant against his chest, heart still pounding against your ribs. You both are like jelly melting into a puddle on the bedsheets. You feel the drag of Astarion’s fingertips drawing nonsense patterns on your back. Humming softly, you pepper kisses over his still heart.
“Shouldn’t be embarrassed ’round me,” you mumble, yawning against his skin, too tired to raise your head. The feeling of Astarion’s fingers felt like a sleep spell. “I love you. Nothing’s gonna change that.”
Astarion stiffens under you, hand stilling against your back, clearly taken back. It takes him a bit to respond, but you don’t rush him. Just continue to kiss his chest and melt further at the feeling of his hands on your skin. Content just being here with Astarion.
He clears his throat before saying thickly, “And I love you, darling.” Astarion moves slightly and pulls out of your tender cunt. In doing so, a gush of your combined juices spills down your thighs.
“Gross, now I feel sticky.” You puff, grimacing at the feeling.
“How about I draw us a bath?” You nod silently and he sits you both up. However you refuse to get off his lap, clinging to him like a sloth to a tree.
“Carry me?”
He kisses the crown of your head. “Always.” Astarion scoops you up and carries you along to the bath.
Heya, I quite like how this turned out. I love writing 'rougher' smut, but sometimes the tender stuff just hits ya know? Let me know what you thought. I hope Astarion didn't seem ooc.
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#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion#bg3 astarion#reader insert#astarion imagine#astarion ancunin#frantic fiction#bg3#astarion smut#bg3 smut#fanfic#smut#astarion fluff#fluff
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Astarion who likes you immediately but keeps being mean to you, because if he's mean, you won't like him back. And if you don't like him back, then you won't follow him and if you don't follow him, you don't die
Astarion who is so touch starved he shudders when you pat him on the arm after battle
Astarion who takes any armour you give him as a sign that you value him, that you like him, that you want him alive
Astarion who learns how to make everyone's breakfasts after a while because it's the first time he has friends and he wants them to keep liking him
Astarion who guards you with your life that first night, when it's just you two, before you meet anyone else. He's trying to tell himself it's because you're his ticket to salvation but really, it's because you're the first person of sort-of authority that trusts him without question.
Astarion who's afraid to ask to drink your blood because he thinks you don't actually want it to happen, only to be surprised every morning when you tell him he can.
Astarion who learns to love all over again, both romantically and not
#fanfic#baldurs gate astarion#baldur's gate 3#bridgerton#baldur's gate iii#astarion#astarion imagine#astarion ancunin#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you
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You'll stay still, won't you, little love?
Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav
Summary/Setting: Sometime in the beginning of Act 3; you and Astarion are exploring intimacy/sex
Rating/Warnings: M+ / 18+ only please/ Smut with little to no plot / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers / PiV / CW / fingering / teasing and overstim if you squint / not beta read or edited too much
Word Count: 2.2K
A/N: I'm a degenerate, idk what else to tell you guys. I’m shocked this came out of my brain, but here we are. Enjoy or be totally flabbergasted or avoid it entirely I don’t know about you all but I simultaneously want to do all three. 💀
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You suspected Astarion enjoyed exploring intimacy with you, perhaps more than he thought he would. The first few weeks after his confession at Moonrise Towers resulted in a rather chaste arrangement between the two of you. Days were filled with stolen pecks and occasional hand holding between missions; nights were spent mostly cuddling half-naked or sometimes simply making out.
When a situation became particularly heated, he would always break away, panting. The flush on his face and the thrumming of his undead heart told you he enjoyed these moments, and his erection pressing into you always became quite the distraction.
Gods, how badly you wanted more. But you had to force yourself to pull back and allow him to take the lead, never pushing further than he was willing to give.
For a few weeks, a bit of grinding and caressing above the waist was as far as Astarion would advance. But shortly after leaving the Shadowlands, something within the silver-haired elf changed. He’d become quite intent on exploring your body almost every night, putting his masterful fingers and tongue to work, almost desperate to watch you come undone.
“You don’t have to, Astarion,” You pant one evening, after a few weeks of nearly daily interactions quite similar to this one. The rogue was working his nimble fingers inside the edge of your small clothes, aiming to delve into your already soaking folds. The bulge of his cock, barely covered by his own underwear, pressed against your rear as he slowly rocked his hips into you.
“I know, my love,” He murmurs, removing his mouth from where it had been tenderly suckling your neck. The vampire licks along the fresh love bite, eliciting a little whimper of pleasure from you. And then he smirks as his fingers find the already engorged bundle of nerves between your legs, causing you to instinctively buck toward him with a whine, “But I want to. I quite like the pretty little sounds you make for me, you know.”
He continues his ministrations for a few moments, reveling in your desperate keens. Nothing else stroked Astarion’s ego quite like this.
“Darling, I’d like to try something different tonight, if you don’t mind.” He purrs as his fingers change their rhythm from the languid circles over your clit to gentle, teasing strokes between your folds. The rogue’s hand dips just enough to tease your entrance with two digits before he retracts again, leaving you mewling in frustration.
You need more. He knows it. And he aimed to give you more tonight, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to toy with you for a moment or two.
“What is it, Astarion?” You ask breathlessly, as he pauses his movements entirely. You whine again and then turn your head to look at the rogue, where he is smirking down at you, clearly enjoying the desperation he’s elicited from his lover. You are caught between his cock and his hand, slowly rolling your hips back and forth, practically begging the silver-haired elf to fuck you with his fingers.
“I want you to come on my cock tonight.” He responds, arching his eyebrow just slightly, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “If that’s what you want, my sweet.”
Your eyes widen in shock, and you swear you feel yourself grow more slick at the mere suggestion. You lick your lips, attempting to moderate your own excitement, trying to avoid making him feel obligated in any way. Astarion’s fingers have resumed their teasing movements, and the newly found wetness causes the vampire to chuckle in delight.
“Judging by the slickness of your perfect little cunt, that certainly is what you want. Am I correct, love?” He purrs into your ear, fangs grazing against your lobe as he rolls his growing erection toward your ass once again.
“Y-yes,” You gasp, and as soon as you do, Astarion rips your underwear from your body before tossing the ruined undergarment across the tent.
“Then you will get what you want on one condition, darling.” He continues, and you feel the engorged head of his cock stroking between your folds from behind. The sensation makes you shiver in delight; you desire nothing more than to have him buried inside you.
“What is it?” You ask, instinctively rolling your hips back against him again, moaning when his length rubs against your clit.
Astarion grabs your hip firmly, digging his nails into the side of your ass and ceasing your movements entirely. You whine and then he’s practically laughing in your ear, you can feel how entertained he is by your predicament. He places a tender kiss on your neck before he purrs, “You aren’t allowed to move one bit, sweet girl, or else I will pull out and leave you with nothing.”
You groan in dismay at this stipulation, “Astarion! I don’t- I don’t know if I can hold still.”
“Oh but my love, the choices are simple,” He continues, his voice playfully condescending as his other hand wanders up to lightly tease a nipple, ripping another little moan from you, “You can either be filled by my cock or by my fingers. So which will it be?”
You whine as the male elf uses one hand to stimulate your breast and the other to barely plunge into your sex again.
“Your cock!” You cry, unable to contain yourself any further, “I want your cock.”
Astarion chuckles, quite content with this response. He slides his erection between your folds again, using your arousal to lubricate his length, “And you’ll stay still, won’t you, little love?”
“Yes, I won’t move,” You agree, and this earns you a delighted groan from the vampire. He reveled in the power dynamics of your coupling, and your willingness to surrender control in the bedroom.
“Good girl,” He coos, and then he’s pressing himself into the entrance of your sex. You moan as the head of his rock-hard cock stretches your cunt; there is a bit of resistance at first; it’s been several weeks since more than two fingers have been inside you, after all.
He takes you inch by inch, slowly dragging himself along your velvet walls. Before long, Astarion’s length has filled you completely, and you’re basking in the sensation of being stretched by your lover.
His breath is ragged behind you as he struggles to remain in control, almost entirely overcome with the desire to simply have his way with you. But that’s not the game tonight, he reminds himself.
In one swift motion he’s rolled you both so that you are straddled over him, your back pressed to his chest. He uses his knees to spread your legs wide, fully opening you up for his seasoned hands to explore. His long fingers drag over your stomach and then travel down between your legs, where they easily find that sensitive nub.
“How does it feel to be sitting atop my cock, darling?” Astarion asks as he slowly, teasingly strokes his slender fingers up and down on your drenched folds. You are seeping arousal at this point, coating him with his well-deserved reward. His cock throbs at the thought.
“Wonderful,” You respond, honestly but breathlessly as you struggle to keep yourself from rolling your hips at all. Your legs are positively shaking with the effort to exert such control, and the little tremors running along your spine are urging the vampire on.
Astarion guides your own hand up to your breasts, where he urges you to tease your own nipple. He palms the flesh of the other breast in one hand as he continues to drag his nimble fingers around your throbbing bud.
You are instinctively clenching around him now, your body desperate to milk every ounce of seed from the vampire. Astarion himself is shaking with the amount of restraint it’s taking him to not lift his hips and fuck up into your warmth.
You cannot restrain yourself any longer, your hips buck and you’re instantly rewarded with the delicious sensation of Astarion’s length running against your walls. But then a sharp, stinging smack singes the side of your ass, and a shocked gasp escapes your lips.
“What did I say, darling? Be a good girl and hold still. Try that again and I will pull out.” The rogue warns while speeding up his efforts on your clit.
You sharply pinch your own nipple, trying desperately to keep yourself from moving any more. But gods, how badly you want to. You’re so close. Your walls are clenching tighter and tighter, and the sensation is causing Astarion to grunt in response. He’s trying just as desperately to hold back as you quiver around him, tempting him to do the exact opposite.
His hips buck just once before he regains control and stills himself, but gods the walls of your tight pussy wrapped around him felt divine. The sharp thrust made you moan loudly in delight, and your entire body was shivering from the self-control you were using to hold still. He felt you standing on the precipice of pleasure, so close to the edge. You just needed a little push to fall into a world of ecstasy, and that, he could provide.
“Let go, little love. Come for me,” He whispers hoarsely, and the command sends you tumbling over the edge. You feel the wave crashing over you, rippling through your sex and up to your spine. You clasp your hand over your mouth as you whine, signaling your release.
You are mid-orgasm when Astarion roughly grabs both sides of your hips and hisses, “Fuck it.”
And then he’s thrusting upwards, repeatedly burying himself inside you, intent on fucking you through the second half of your orgasm. You cry out in pleasure as the vampire moans into the side of your neck, continuing to piston himself into you as he chases his own release.
Once again, his fingers find their way to your over-sensitive clit and he’s working at it frantically, in the practiced motion he knows to be your favorite. You keen and try to clamp your legs shut; the sensation is almost too much. But Astarion growls and forces your legs open with his knees as he quickly brings you to the edge of another orgasm.
Your lover is panting with exertion as he holds back his own release. Through gritted teeth he urges you on, using the hand not playing with your clit to grab your hip and slam you down to meet his thrusts.
“One more, darling. You can do one more, can’t you? Let go, I’ve got you.” He coaxes, his voice near breathless but filled with gravel.
“Oh, fuck!” Is all you can respond as the second orgasm rips through you, stronger than the first. You’re seeing stars as your pussy throbs around Astarion’s shaft, rewarding his efforts with a deliciously tight grip and another gush of your delectable juices. The high-pitched, uninhibited whine that escapes you while you’re drowning in ecstasy is music to the rogue’s ears.
As your greedy cunt clenches around him again during that second wave of pleasure, Astarion emits a strangled moan of his own.
He buries his face in your neck as he soon struggles to buck forward, shakily dragging his sensitive, swollen length in and out of your walls just a few more times before he buries himself balls-deep. Thick ropes of his spend shoot up into your warmth as he groans, consumed by his own euphoria behind you. His cock continues to pulse for a few moments longer, urged on by the relentless spasming of your sex around him.
Both of you are heaving and shaking slightly once he finally relaxes his legs. You’re still laying atop him as he slowly roams his hands over your body, idly stroking your curves in soft, soothing motions.
“I thought you said we couldn’t move,” You finally say, voice completely hoarse from the cries of ecstasy you uttered moments ago.
“I said you couldn’t move, darling. I didn’t say anything about me.” The vampire responds with a self-satisfied smirk as he playfully nips at your earlobe, “Are you truly complaining that I did all the work?”
“No,” You respond, finally pulling yourself off of the vampire, releasing the slick combination of your respective arousals as it drips between the two of you. “But at some point I’d like it to be me making all that effort to bring pleasure to you.”
He pulls you down beside him with a little hum. You pull the blanket over the two of you. No other words are exchanged as you drift to sleep, thoroughly exhausted by the events of the day and this satisfying but unexpected evening. Astarion watches you sleep, and for the first time he allows himself to acknowledge that he might also like to let you have a bit of control in the bedroom… perhaps next time.
#astarion fanfic#astarion x tav#baulders gate astarion#baulders gate 3#astarion fic#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 fanfic idea#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion reader insert#astarion x f!reader#astarion x f!tav#astarion x female tav#astarion x female reader#astarion smut#astarion x reader smut#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion fanfiction#astarion#spawn astarion#soft dom astarion#soft astarion#dom astarion#smut
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Unfamiliar Waters
Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral.
Content: Bathing, kissing, hair washing, fluff, comfort, slight conflict that gets resolved immediately, no sex, minor mention of torture. 1500 Words.
Summary: You were in dire need of a bath after a harrowing fight outside the inn you were staying at. Unfortunately you find the tub already occupied by Astarion. In an attempt to bond with and get him out of there, you offer to wash his hair.
Another short Astarion fic I started a while ago. Wanted to do something fluffy and intimate without any sex. Thanks again to Suri for edits and help with lines and the title!
You flung open the wooden doors, uncaring as wood chipped against lavender painted walls. Just as you were halfway through discarding your shirt, an indignant cry caught you off guard.
“What in the sweet hells, do you mind?!” The towel and toiletries fell from your hands. You’d never been very perceptive and today was no exception. Already fully submerged in the tub was Astarion; chest bare slumped over the side, a dripping copy of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette in hand.
“Astarion?! I haven’t seen you in hours, is this where you’ve been?” You spluttered. “We really could have used your help. There was a fight right outside the inn. There’s absolutely no way you didn’t hear the commotion.”
“Some of us take pride in our appearances and besides, I needed time away from that festering group of ingrates.” As if to emphasise his point he shuddered. “You know, you could all learn a lot from me, starting with regular bathing.”
“And how exactly are any of us meant to bathe when you’re in the bathroom four hours every day?”
“Oh I don’t know, Baldur’s Gate has plenty of scenic rivers and lakes. I’m sure the bear has no problem leading each of you to nature’s finest bathhouse.”
You rubbed your temples with a freehand. As much as you loved this man, he could really start to grate on your nerves after a while. You scooped up your belongings and made your way over to him, arranging your towel neatly on the floor beside you.
He looked up from the paper disinterestedly. “As much as I love your company, dear, I hope you’re not planning on joining me. I hardly think this,” he gestured disapprovingly at the tub, “can fit us both.”
“Astarion, if there’s anything I can do to cut this exceedingly long bath short, I would be more than happy to assist.”
His eyes widened momentarily. How stupid of you, you hadn’t considered the implications of what you’d said.
“No, no, that's quite alright. I’ve still got my hair to wash and that’ll take at least another half an hour.”
Perching yourself on the edge of the tub beside him, you began rolling up your sleeves.
“Then allow me.” You smirked.
He flung the sodden paper to the floor and stared at you dumbfounded. “You mean you- wash my hair. I’m sitting here naked, dripping and gorgeous and all you want to do is ‘wash my hair’?”
“Couples do things for each other. Things outside of sex and combat, I might add,” you sniped back. Using your fingers, you began combing through his dampened locks.
“Without the sex, I suppose that leaves only the one thing we do together then.”
“That’s true.” His body tensed. “No, no wait- '' Flustered, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your forehead against the back of his head. A feeble gesture, intended to soothe him and buy you enough time to explain.
“Just kidding,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you knew it wasn’t genuine.
“I like doing other things with you,” you mumbled into his curls. “I don’t care about the sex.” You relaxed your hold, allowing him to turn around to face you. Delicately, you reached out and wiped a stray piece of hair from his forehead. As you did so, his unnaturally pale cheeks took on a darker hue, perhaps from the heat or from your touch, you weren’t sure.
He cleared his throat and turned away again. “I see then. Well, this is as good a time as any to try something new.”
“Really?!” your head perked up. “I’m so excited, haven’t washed anyone else's hair since I left home.” You began swirling a hand in the tepid water, carefully choosing a spot faraway from where Astarion sat. “Did you and your siblings ever do this for each other? Like my family did,” you asked without thinking.
He shot you an incredulous glare, which soon contorted into sarcastic glee. “Oh, of course we did! And then in between our torture sessions we’d paint each others’ nails! What good fun it was.” His smile dropped and he fell backwards into the bath, splashing you in the process.
You scratched the back of your head. “Sorry I-”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave it, my love. No use dwelling on all that now.” You nodded your head in agreement, not that he could see you. “Come now, we don’t have all day.”
You hummed in agreement, looking over the various bottles that sat on a shelf beside the bath. Astarion was a very particular man and you didn’t wish to upset him by, god’s forbid, using the wrong fragrance. You gestured towards the selection of shampoo. “What’s your poison?”
“Hmm, I think today I‘m in the mood for jasmine- no wait- night orchid and ginseng- actually, that honey shampoo sounds positively delicious.”
“Might net you some unwanted attention from our camp bear,” you joked, hands sifting through the knots in his hair.
“Fair point. Alright then, I think I’d like to try that raspberry one, the one you got from that dear little market stall.”
The same one you liked to use.
With a gentle firmness you cupped the sides of his head. You hoped it was enough to stop him from turning around and seeing the pure glee etched onto your face.
“Alright, I need to get it wet, lean back,” you instructed, as you scooped up a handful of water.
He did as he was told and reclined backwards, eyes closed and squinted, anticipating the stream of water. Doing this for your brothers and sisters had been easy. Hells, you could get away with lobbing them in the river and they’d be just fine. Astarion, on the other hand, required a more delicate touch (even if he’d never admit to it) and you were more than happy to cater towards him.
With slow precision you poured the cooling water over his scalp, immediately pushing back any stray drops that threatened to drip down into his eyes.
Gods, how was it possible for such a man to be so beautiful and how was it that such a man had chosen you as his partner? Your hands stopped and your gaze lingered, as you took in his picturesque features.
An eyelash heavy with steam peeled open, giving you an inquisitive look.
“Enjoying the show, darling?” A thick, humid heat bloomed across your cheeks. “By all means, keep admiring me.”
“Shut up and close your eyes!” You grabbed the bottle from the side and began lathering it in your hands. The familiar fragrance filled your nostrils and despite having grown accustomed to having it as your own scent, you were looking forward to how it smelt on him.
You rubbed the foam through your fingers, fully enveloping his hair in a thick mousse. As your nails dragged across his scalp you heard him moan.
“That feels positively wonderful.”
“Oh yeah, like this?” you asked, repeating the same motions as before. He mmm-ed softly, sinking further into your hold. You paused for a second, this might be the most satisfied sound you’d ever heard coming from his lips, not a bad thing of course, given his past experiences.
His eyes were open again, staring up at you, face awash with bliss.
“Itching for a taste are we?” he goaded lightly.
There was no use dignifying that with a response. You brought your lips down upon his, his head still clasped in your hands. It was brief and sweet, reminiscent of those first kisses you’d once shared with young lovers. Unthinkable that such innocent yearning could be reclaimed so late in life.
Reluctantly you broke the kiss and pulled away.
“I do rather like that, you know…”
“I know and so do I.” You beamed. “Okay now can you please hurry up so I can have a bath,” you pleaded, peppering his mouth with more kisses.
“Always so demanding,” came his curt reply (the audacity). Nonetheless, he complied and finished up.
A deep sigh of relief escaped your lips after finally lowering yourself into freshly ran water. About halfway through wetting your hair, a freezing pair of hands on your shoulders caught you off guard.
“Astarion!” you shrieked. The little rogue had snuck up behind you.
“Oh, do be quiet, and don’t splash me. Wouldn’t do to get me wet again.” You watched as he rifled through the shampoo bottles disapprovingly. “We must go to the market together again soon, darling, just the two of us. I know just the product that’s perfect for your hair type, might do something about that helmet musk too.”
You opted to ignore that last dig, instead choosing to relish in the satisfaction of a warm bath and your lover threading his fingers through your hair. “I’d like that,” you hummed happily.
A contented silence descended over the room. You felt at peace and when you saw him hovering above you with that serene grin on his face, you knew he felt the same.
#astarion#astarion ancunin#tav x astarion#astarion x tav#reader x astarion#astarion x reader#bg3#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate#my fic#bg3 fic#fanfic#vampire
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Something to care for
Astarion x f!Reader
Summary: Astarion seeks comfort when he is terrified of losing you to his former master.
Word Count: 2,1k
hurt/comfort, angst and fluff
[ AO3 ]
Fleeting glances across the tavern, jovial laughter followed by a touch to his arm, and Astarion has exactly what he needs. Your trust builds fast over his charming words, so you agree to accompany him to the mansion without doubting his intentions.
Astarion dissociates, follows his usual routine as he has done for over hundreds of years by now, while you remain blissfully unaware that you are already caught in his trap.
The scene feels painfully familiar, and yet it doesn't at all.
Uneasiness spreads over him.
No, this doesn't seem right.
Why are you here?
The next moment you lie on his old master’s bed, your eyes closed and shallow breaths emitting your lungs. A dark silhouette is bending over you, its mouth glued to your neck.
Cazador.
Panic creeps down Astarion's spine.
No, this isn't right at all.
His thoughts start to race. He needs to free you from this monster's claws - now.
Cazador looks up as his lips form a hideous grin, blood running from his chin and spluttering on your motionless body.
“A very pleasant bouquet you have brought to me, boy. But you know of that already, do you not?”
Astarion freezes.
The malice in his voice shatters his ribs with the blow of an axe.
He wants to scream, to get you away from here, but his body doesn’t respond.
Suddenly the whole scene shifts and Astarion finds himself with his fangs buried deep inside your neck, warm liquid pouring in his mouth while your hand rests loosely on his nape.
An unbearable dread rises in him.
He desperately tries to tear himself away, to stop feeding on you, but an invisible force holds him down, leaving it impossible to let go.
He must be going mad.
“You sought out to drink from thinking creatures, did you not? Go on then, lavish yourself on her blood! Bleed her dry.”
Cazador’s command unleashes like a fist to his skull.
Astarion knows that he is enjoying this, and it makes him sick.
He concentrates back on you, frantically looking for a way to get you out of this.
“It's alright, Astarion…” you whisper. “I know this isn’t… you.” You seem on the verge of fainting, the hand that rested in his hair slipping, your pulse weakening.
The fondness in your words almost breaks him.
He wishes to plead, to offer himself - to give Cazador everything he demands, if only he would allow you to leave unharmed, but he can’t speak.
Instead, he feels Cazador’s violent grip push him down, ramming his teeth deeper in your neck.
Astarion’s eyes wet and his body trembles while he’s obliged to swallow more of your blood. The thick liquid spills over his lips onto your neck, drips to your hair and paints the collar of your blouse.
Astarion knows that he’s hurting you, killing you, yet he has no control over his own doing. He can't stop, even if his whole body longs for nothing more than to release you.
His senses start to dull, colourful dots exploding before his eyes, while he’s unable to form a single coherent thought anymore, entirely helpless to this monstrosity he inflicts on you.
“What’s the matter, boy?” his former master taunts with a malignant chuckle and positions himself so that Astarion has to look at him. “Isn’t this what you craved? To be free of me, to do as you please?"
His laugh evolves to a gruesome crescendo, echoing through the dreary halls that Astarion once called his home - mocking him, a punishment for his disobedience.
Astarion summons his remaining strength to banish Cazador from his mind and fixates back on you.
He must save you, now, otherwise you will -
*
Astarion's lungs are on fire. His fangs ache, and his chest is bursting.
He grasps his throat and chokes as he remembers the taste of your blood in his mouth.
Gods, what has he done to you?
He takes a moment to perceive his surroundings.
This is not Cazador’s mansion, he realises, but your shared tent in the camp you made near Rivington.
The essence of his nightmare returns with agony: his fangs piercing your neck, Cazador’s order to bleed you dry, while you were completely defenceless against his torment. The image is almost too much to bear.
With haste, he begins to fumble the woollen fabric of his bedroll in search of your warm body. He has to ensure that you are alive - that he didn’t hurt you.
Then his hand finds your wrist and he stops in his motion. He pushes the fright that shrouds him aside and feels for your pulse, careful not to wake you. There it is - a constant throb at his fingertips.
Despite the evidence that the violent scene was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, he can’t bring himself to fully accept that there wasn’t an actual threat - that you are safe. Yet he has no desire to worry you with his musings, so he starts to slowly pull his hand away, before he notices that it’s already too late. You sit up beside him, rubbing sleep from your tired eyes.
You look so adorable that his chest grows tight.
“Astarion? Are you alright?” Your brow furrows when your gaze meets his, concern lingers in your voice.
Astarion opens his mouth, only to press it shut again as he feels hot tears forming in his eyes. He swallows hard. He wants to reassure you that it’s nothing, to tell you that you should go back to sleep, but the ferocity he committed in his nightmare robs him of any speech.
You give him an understanding expression and lift your blanket. “Do you want to come over here?”
He nods and shifts towards you.
You wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. Astarion sinks his head onto your chest and listens carefully to your heartbeat - to make sure you are truly unscathed. That he didn't kill you, didn't bleed you dry - that he has not become like Cazador.
The pulsing sound flows in a soothing rhythm.
He closes his eyes and inhales your familiar scent. The weight that is crushing his lungs slowly begins to dissolve.
You are so warm, he thinks, so comforting, always so affectionate.
“It’s alright,” you breathe and rest your lips at his temple. “He can’t hurt you now.”
There is no need to ask how you know what haunts him, you simply do, and Astarion buries his face deeper in your chest, grasps the fabric of your tunic and lets out a deep sigh. A few silent tears he has tried to hold back spill from his eyes, dampening your clothes.
Your hands draw circles on the small of his back, up to his shoulder blades, until they move to his hair and tenderly stroke along his ears.
He concentrates on your touch. You are here, with him, unharmed - he didn’t hurt you.
A calmness enfolds and for the first time since he woke he allows himself to relax.
Astarion suddenly wonders if he ever had something like a home, a real home, somewhere he felt safe - not Cazador’s mansion, the place from his nightmare, where he endured nothing but torture and cruelty.
Something he could choose for himself - willingly. Not something he was forced to, but something he wanted.
For centuries he was used to the pain he suffered under Cazador’s rule, but you've proven how different his life can be. Through the time he spends with you, he's learned that he is valued as a person. You make him feel seen - show him compassion and patience, despite him missing the words at times.
You give him honest, loving affection, without any vile intent or in expectation of getting something in return.
You are the only one who is like that. Who genuinely cares for him, who loves him. No one was ever kind to him, only you. No one has a heart like that.
Maybe a home isn’t a place, he thinks, but a person.
He feels your fingers twisting gently around his curls, while he listens to the sound of your beating heart, and wishes to never let go of you.
But there is still Cazador and the Rite of Profane Ascension to overcome, and his mansion is barely a tenday away from now.
Astarion wants to shove the thought aside, but knows he can’t. Not when there is so much at stake - when you give him so much to care for.
He envisions the ancient ritual Cazador has planned.
If he was to complete the rite himself, would he become even more powerful than his old master? Would this newfound power offer you protection - keep both of you safe?
But what if you came to harm once you entered his residence? Hells, what if it would be his fault?
The fear of losing you clings its relentless hooks back to his core.
Astarion sinks deeper into your arms and sighs.
No. He cannot lose you - not to the Absolute, not to Cazador or any other madness you have to encounter along your way.
His shoulders tense, leading you to squeeze them fondly.
“He won’t win, Astarion,'' you vow with the determination that Astarion knows too well by now. “We will beat him.”
At first he wants to scold you, point out how naive you were to think it would be an easy task to confront his past tormentor, but instead he pauses to consider.
He remembers the foes you've come across on your journey. There have been gruesome, vigorous creatures among them, and yet you were able to vanquish them in the end.
Have you gathered enough strength to destroy a powerful enemy like Cazador, though?
For a second, Cazador’s liveless body appears in front of Astarion’s inner eye.
Maybe, there was a real chance…
After all, to ensure that both of you will be safe - truly safe - Cazador must be ended, one way or another.
“Is that so?” Astarion clears his throat and frowns. “Well, when you sound so resolute I find myself actually imagining us succeeding.”
Your features soften as you lean forward and put a kiss to his brow.
“I know we will,” you reply confidently. “Besides, for some reason I was declared the leader of our little group, so I'd suggest you better put some trust in my word.”
“I’m afraid being the leader of this group full of weirdos is hardly something to be proud of, love,” Astarion murmurs against your neck.
“That’s rich, coming from the weirdest of the bunch,” you tease as you tousle through his curls. “You’re a rogue who’s terrified of clowns - shall I go on?”
Astarion snorts at your remark. “I'm not terrified of them!” he protests with a pout. “It's just.. They make me uneasy, alright? And they're not original - or funny. Honestly, I’d rather witness a goblin mating ritual than any of those wretched clown shows again.”
He removes your hand from his hair to intertwine your fingers with his. Then he recalls the image of the clown you visited at the circus the other day and his face turns into a grimace.
“Keep telling yourself that, but I know for a fact that you were absolutely petrified the moment you saw Dribbles.”
“That wasn’t even a regular clown - that beast was also a shapeshifter!” Astarion exclaims in feigned bewilderment.
You raise an eyebrow and wait for a moment, leaving Astarion curious, until you pin him down to tickle him all over.
“Stop it, you cheeky thing!” Astarion presses between his laughs while he tries to shelter his most sensitive parts from your ruthless fingers.
When he eventually manages to roll on top of you and grab your wrists, you look at him lovingly and catch your breath. He feels the remaining knots in his chest come loose.
Then your face turns serious again. “I promise you, we will beat him.”
“Stubborn as ever,” Astarion states and clicks his tongue, before his lips curl up to a genuine smile. “But perhaps I’ll remind you of that promise when the time comes.”
“By all means, I hope you do,” you assure and return his smile, your thumb softly brushing his cheek.
You have a rare talent to relieve the tension, he notices. To make him feel light - to make him laugh even, a real, honest laugh, despite the horrors that linger on his mind of late.
Astarion kisses the tip of your nose and lifts from your chest, resting his body against your back and draws you in a close embrace. Then he buries his face in your hair and presses a kiss to your neck, relishing your pleasant warmth.
A sudden fire rises inside him.
The thought of facing Cazador remains scary, terrifying even, but somehow with you, he senses there is a viable chance to defeat him at last.
You give him something to care for, and he will do everything in his might to protect you - both of you, his home.
He won’t lose you, and he won’t lose this.
Masterlist
#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x tav#astarion oneshot#astarion x female tav#astarion imagine#bg3 astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion romance#astarion x mc#bg3 x reader#baldurs gate x reader#astarion fanfic#reader insert#astarion x female reader#baldur's gate 3#astarion fic#astarion x f!tav#astarion x f!reader
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Postgame!Spawn!Astarion…
Postgame!Astarion who outright tosses out all the letters from across Faerun requesting the great hero of Baldur’s Gate for their own problems. Any letters addressed with anything other than your name is immediately chucked into a trash bin sitting idly by the front door just for that purpose. You’ve given up on telling him it’s okay—that you're alright with helping out once in a while. But he’s adamant, fussing as he refuses to allow you to drag yourself back into another insufferably long adventure when you deserve to rest. He drags you away from the bin back to your shared bed that he finds awfully comfortable.
Postgame!Astarion who takes up a lot of hobbies with his newfound freedom from his master—some of which escalate into full blown businesses. His hobby of perfuming, for one, alongside his skills in sewing. He only makes things for you in the beginning, but when other ladies begin to take notice of your alluring scent and beautiful garments of clothing, they rush to ask you of its source. But since he can't stand out in broad daylight, you take down note of everyone’s measurements and act as the middle man. He never actually meets his customers, but he likes to give each of them personalities in his head based on what they want. They're scary accurate.
Postgame!Astarion who still sleeps with his dagger close by. He doesn't need it to be under his pillow as it used to be, but he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed. He knows he has no use for it anymore, but knowing he has some form of defense lets him sleep a little lighter.
Postgame!Astarion who practically clings to you on mornings you have to leave for daylight, hoping you'll give up on whatever plans you had and just come back to bed. You do listen more often than you'd like to admit. But on days when you manage to pry him off your waist, he's extremely dramatic about it. When you return home, he has a frown on his face, arms crossed and perched on the couch like a mother waiting for her teenage daughter to return from a late night party. He huffs for a couple minutes as you change into something more comfortable. But when you kiss his forehead, asking if he wants to go out on a walk, he’s all grins and smugness again.
Postgame!Astarion who never falls asleep before you, opting to watch your breathing instead since it's not like he needs to sleep anyway. He confirms you're here. He confirms you're real. He confirms he’s not dreaming, and that he won't snap awake in a few moments to the cell in Cazador’s palace.
Postgame!Astarion who adopts/cares for the cat you bring home one day. He says he hates the damn thing, but you can tell they're the closest of friends just a few months in. He makes his newfound friend a fresh wardrobe to match his own. When you question him about it, he gets flustered and scoffs, spitting out nothing but hatred for the cat but having them sit on his lap.
Postgame!Astarion who worries. He worries that you'll be taken away from him. He worries his past will come bite him in the ass and take the payment for his crimes in the form of his very lover. He knows you'll die, while he continues to traverse the realms as a faceless entity. But he doesn't even want to think about that right now. He's more concerned you won't have as much time as possible at his side. When will you leave? When will you tire of him? When will the universe decide he no longer deserves you—or maybe he never deserved you in the first place. Does it even matter? Maybe—maybe this was all just temporary, and—
He feels you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. And here, he decides he doesn't want to spend the time he does have with you worrying over something that hasn't happened. That's a bridge to be crossed some other time. And by then, he's sure he’ll do anything to keep what remains of the sun in his life.
#astarion ancunin#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate astarion#astarion x tav#bg3 astarion#astarion x reader#astarion#bg3 x reader#astarion fanfic#astarion x you#astarion x oc
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Pegging Your Vampire Boyfriend: A Beginner's Guide
A/N: This is exactly what you think it is.
Kudos to @kittenintheden & Shaurbox for teasing this pegging idea with me over a month ago. It hasn't left my head since.
Rating: E, a very hard E
Words: 5.3k
Pairing: Spawn!Astarion/Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+, pegging, bdsm- soft!Dom Tav & sub!Astarion, bottom!Astarion, praise kink, ear play, size kink if you squint, inappropriate use of magical scrolls, oral sex - fellatio, anal fingering, anal sex, trauma mention, intimacy issues, verbalized consent, blood warning
Summary: Astarion has been on the receiving end before, but not since he's gotten with you. Wanting to try it again, he propositions you in a rather intimate way.
“Darling?”
A soft, questioning voice calls out from the living quarters of your shared home.
“I'm in the kitchen, love,” you respond. You're standing before the countertop, fileting a roast of beef into smaller portions for easier storage.
Wisps of bergamot fill your senses as the inquisitor reveals himself, arms wrapping gently around your waist. His nose dips into the crook of your neck, cool lips planting chaste kisses upon your skin.
“Oh, that smells divine,” he comments. Of course it does - it's a blood-soaked slab of beef. You laugh and lean your head into his, carefully slicing another steak from the meat. He covers the hand holding your knife and brings it carefully to his face, tongue lolling out to drag across the flat of the blade. He sighs in contentment as the blood soaks into his tongue, lavishing the flavor.
You wince as he releases the grip on your hand, gently placing the knife off to the side. I’ll need a new one, now, you comment to yourself.
“Is there something you needed, Astarion?” you ask him.
He hums low in his throat. “Hmm, yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.” He peels himself away from your back and stands straight. His hands are still on your hips and you feel his forehead fall against your back.
In a whisper, he asks, “How do you feel… about taking the reins?”
You turn your head to the side, cocking an eyebrow as you ask, “What do you mean? I was on top last time.”
Astarion laughs against your back, a puff of cool air passing over your clothed skin. “I know, love,” he begins. “I mean to suggest that… you play the part of me. And I… well, you.”
It takes your brain a few seconds to interpret his words, but once it finally comes together, you feel a blush beginning to creep up your chest.
“Oh!” you exclaim, now with full understanding. “A-are you sure? I'm not opposed to it, but I have to admit… I've never done it before.”
Astarion chuckles lightly, tightening his grip around your waist, placing soft kisses along the side of your neck. “Neither have I, my dear.”
You peel yourself out of his embrace, turning your whole body toward him. A scowl lines your face; you know of his history.
“Well, I-” he stammers. “I've been with men, yes; laid on my back a number of times for them.” Astarion casts his eyes to the floor before continuing, “I have never done… this, though. With a woman.”
Expression softening from his explanation, you turn your body again toward the counter, moving yourself over to the sink to begin washing your hands. “Are you sure you want to explore this?” you ask, concern evident. “That it won't bring back… memories?”
He leans against the opposite end of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “There's no way to truly know unless we try,” he explains. “Though, I must admit, it's been on my mind incessantly, as of late.”
It's your turn to laugh, grabbing a hand towel to dry your hands. “Really?” you ask. “You've been thinking about me fucking you?”
Astarion scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. “Must you be so vulgar?”
You smile, moving toward him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'd be your first?”
He sighs with an eye roll before saying, “Proverbially speaking, yes, you would be my first.” Astarion's hand comes up to hold your chin fast as he captures your lips in a chaste kiss. “My second first.”
You hum in satisfaction, wrapping your arms around his waist. He releases your chin and you rest your head against his chest. “So, how do we do this?” you inquire. “I wouldn't even know the first place to start.”
Leaning his cheek against the side of your forehead, he replies, “Not to worry, I've taken care of that already.”
“Astarion!” you exclaim, lifting your head from his chest.
He smiles as he meets your gaze. “I already told you I've been thinking about it!”
You lightly tap on his chest in a scolding manner before asking, “How did you know I'd even be okay with this idea?”
“I didn't,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “But even if you weren't, I'd still have something to play with later.”
Your face burns at his bold admission, images of him sinking said something into himself flooding your vision. You've never thought of him in that way before, but you quickly admit to yourself just how much it excites you.
“Hello?” Astarion asks innocently, waving his hand over your face. “Are you still with me? Have I given you too much to think about?”
“You're terrible,” you tease, peeling yourself from his embrace in a huff once again. Your face is as red as hot coals, head swimming. “When did you want to try this?”
Astarion cocks his head to one side in thought. “I was thinking tonight?” he answers. “Or sometime soon. Whatever works for you, love.”
Nodding your head in agreement, you say, “Alright, then. Tonight it is.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Evening has fallen and you're fresh from the bath. You walk out into your shared bedroom, bathrobe wrapped snugly around your form as you dry your hair with a towel. Astarion bathed earlier as you cleaned the kitchen, telling you he would use the opportunity to prepare for your night ahead.
“Ah, there you are!” he exclaims in joy. “I've been waiting for you.” Dipping down into the drawer of the end table next to the bed, Astarion says, “There are a couple options we can choose from, darling.”
Astarion is dressed in nothing but his ruffled white shirt with the front laces undone, and his favorite pair of baby-blue and gold underwear. The hem of the shirt covers his underwear, giving off the illusion of wearing nothing underneath.
Standing up straight, he's now holding a tube of rolled parchment in one hand and a phallic toy in the other. “We have a scroll of Mystical Phallus,” Astarion explains, “or, your more traditional approach.”
You smirk as you run the towel through your damp hair, letting your bathrobe fall to the floor. Lifting your chin toward the direction of the parchment, you ask, “What's the deal with the scroll?”
Astarion clears his throat as the robe falls off your form, eyes quickly roaming over your newly exposed skin. He turns to place the toy back in the drawer, returning to meet your gaze before saying, “The shopkeeper explained it as ‘granting the caster a temporary phallus that's as close to the real thing.’ Not quite sure to what level it goes, but I'll admit - I am curious.”
“Alright, let's go with that one, then,” you decide, walking over to take the scroll from his hand.
You're not too familiar with magic, being a soldier and all, but you've used scrolls before. Opening the paper tube, you're relieved to find that the spell is a rather simple one.
As you recite the incantation etched within the scroll, a faint blue light envelops the room for a mere moment. The light fades, the scroll disintegrating, and you can't help but notice an unfamiliar heaviness between your thighs that wasn't there before.
“Oh,” Astarion comments, shifting his weight onto one hip, accompanied by a hand. “Well, that's rather generous.”
Looking down, your eyes drink in the source of your discomfort. Glowing blue, and well endowed, lay a cock. Your cock, at least for tonight. It juts up proudly in the air from between your thighs, seeming like an extension of your clitoris. Other parts, thankfully, have remained unchanged.
“...Oh,” is all you manage, continuing to survey the mystical length. “This… this is mine?”
Astarion walks over, lowering himself onto his knees in front of you. “It would appear as such,” he states. “And my, oh my, how beautiful it is.”
You scowl, meeting his gaze. You're suddenly uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between yours and your newly summoned appendage. “I don't know what to do, Astarion,” you admit in a hushed tone.
He chuckles lightly. “Touch it, love,” he says, reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. It's your cock.”
Nodding your head, you bring a hand up hesitantly to brush over your new addition. “Ah!” you exclaim in shock, your fingertips passing over the bulbous tip. A familiar pulling sensation in your groin begins to stir as you bend slightly inward.
Astarion, looking up at you with wide eyes, asks, “So? How does it feel?”
You can feel everything, as if this has always been part of your anatomy. Each feathered touch sends sparks of electricity up and through you, snagging behind a peculiar spot in your lower stomach.
“Real, Astarion,” you sigh in disbelief, giving yourself a few more tentative touches along the shaft. “I feel like this is my cock.”
“Do you, now?” he quips in a sultry tone. “Is it okay if I do this, then?”
Your mind barely has time to register what he might be implying before Astarion drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of your ethereal summon. Your vision blanks from the sensation, nearly toppling over had Astarion not been bracing you.
“Wh-what was that?” you yell, nearly breathless.
Concern outlining his face, Astarion asks from below you, “Too much? We can stop, if you want.”
You shake your head in disagreement. “N-no,” you respond. “No, that's not it.” Placing a hand on his head, you brush his fallen curls out of his eyes, meeting them with yours. “If this is even remotely close to how you feel when it's me doing this,” you explain, “then I appreciate the level of self-control you maintain over yourself.”
Astarion hums in satisfaction, placing a quick kiss along your shaft before rising to his feet. “It's a lot, I'll admit,” he tells you. Your length jumps in response, and he smiles. “Especially how you suck my cock.”
You're barely able to respond before Astarion’s kissing you; soft, but passionate. His hands grab hold of your hips, drawing you in closer until your centers meet. You moan into his mouth as he repeats the motion a few times, your jaw going slack under his ministrations.
His arousal is evident through the fabric of his undergarments, though not quite there just yet. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you roll your hips into his with vigor, a bolt of pleasure pulling behind your pubic bone. He groans, tangling his tongue with yours, and begins walking you back until you hit the wall behind you.
Astarion asks, “Do you want me to do that to you, darling?” breathily, breaking the kiss. A hand winds in your hair, pulling your head to the side as he licks a stripe up the side of your neck.
You shudder under his touch, grinding your length against his clothed erection again, searching for friction. “O-oooh-nly,” you groan, “i-if you want.”
Astarion pulls himself back entirely, tapping a finger lightly on your chest. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, “I asked you. I already know what I want.”
You close your eyes in frustration, hips involuntarily lurching forward in an attempt to catch more contact. You feel how heavy your cock is - painfully hard between your legs, desperate for release. It throbs in time with your clit, and you feel the wetness of your arousal beginning to gather at the apex of your thighs.
“Y-yes, please,” you gasp, thighs rubbing together in a hopeless quest for relief.
Satisfied, Astarion plants a kiss along your jaw, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders. “Good girl,” he purrs as he begins to kneel again. Tracing a line of kisses down your body, starting between the valley of your breasts, his hands move down to cup each within his palms.
Rolling the sensitive peaks of your nipples between his fingertips, your body jerks again, cock brushing ever so lightly against his chest as he continues kissing down the plane of your abdomen. Astarion, now sitting on his heels, braces his hands against your thighs.
He looks up to meet your eyes through full lashes. “Please tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he tells you, genuine concern lacing his tone.
You hum in agreement, a hand coming up to tangle within the silver locks atop his head. Watching as he closes his eyes, Astarion licks again at the underside of your cock, base to tip. You shudder as his hand wraps delicately around your shaft, peeling the foreskin back. He takes a few tentative passes with his tongue along your frenulum, meeting your eyes momentarily to gauge your reaction.
Your hips buck and stutter under his tongue, a string of pleasured gasps and guttural moans slipping past your lips. The hand in his hair tightens as he takes the head of you past his lips, suckling softly on the sensitive gland.
It takes a world of restraint not to shove the rest of yourself into the inviting cavern of his mouth. Astarion must know this, however, as the hand still planted on your thigh moves to your hip, holding you still. He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, passing as much of your length into his mouth as he can manage, his hand following you down to the base. He flattens his tongue on the way back up, hollowing out his cheeks as he reaches the tip, only to do it all over again.
Knees growing weak, you push your back into the wall behind you to hold yourself steady. The hand in his hair slips, pads of your fingers passing just over the tip of his ear. Astarion moans at the faint touch, the vibration shooting up through your cock and spreading like wildfire throughout your abdomen. You perform the same motion again, and Astarion begins craning his head into your touch.
“A-ah-” he gasps, pulling himself off of you. “Darling, if you keep doing that, I-”
His mouth falls open in a delicate pant, eyes flitting closed as he works his spittle over your length with his hand. You continue toying with the outer shell of his ear, intrigued at this new discovery, and he rests his forehead against your hip.
“I never knew you had such sensitive ears,” you comment as you look down, watching him rub his thighs together as his hips buck up and down into the air.
With a drawn out groan, Astarion explains, “I’m an elf, my love. We all have sensitive ears.”
“Noted,” you respond, shakily bringing a hand down to join him along your shaft. You softly peel off his touch, lacing your fingers together. “I-I think I want to try something else, now,” you admit.
Smiling, Astarion slowly rises to his feet, cradling your jaw within his hand. His lips, swollen and soft from his prior activity, find yours; his kiss is desperate - hungry. “What do you have in mind?” he questions between quickly stolen breaths.
A fire swells within your core, and you're suddenly met with the same raging intensity and desire displayed in Astarion's kiss.
Hand tangling within his mess of moonlit curls once again, you pull Astarion’s head back, exposing the marble column of his throat. He groans when you drag the flat of your tongue over the apple of his throat, hips jerking into yours.
“I want to try fucking you,” you whisper into his skin, grinding your conjured length against his concealed erection to punctuate your intent. The coiling in your core winds tighter, but not enough to snap just yet.
As his weight presses into you, his hands grip your biceps for stability. Another roll of his hips and he sighs, dropping his head down to catch your eyes. “Are you sure?” he questions, breathless. “Because I'd really like that.”
With a nod of your head, your hands travel up under the hem of his shirt to settle on strong, narrow hips. Your lips meet again, the kiss just as ravenous as before, and begin walking you both toward the bed. When Astarion’s knees hit the edge of the bed, he gently falls back, with you quickly closing the distance above him.
“You needn’t worry about preparation,” he reveals as you lavish attention on his neck. “I took care of that earlier.”
He shudders beneath you as you mouth his scars. “Isn’t that part of this whole process?” you ask while hooking your hands into the waistband of his underwear, slowly tugging them down.
Astarion lifts his hips up and laughs, providing enough space for you to slide the cotton fabric down and off his form. “It is, but I figured it was gracious enough of you to entertain this idea,” he explains. “Prep for this is… well, intimate.” He averts your gaze for a brief moment, drawing a large breath in before continuing, “I would understand if it didn’t appeal to you.”
Removing yourself from his reach, you sit back over your legs. His face shifts uneasily at your sudden withdrawal. “Astarion,” you begin to tell him, “I’m not ashamed of your body. I want to explore this as a couple.” He’s drawn his legs together in a likely attempt at covering himself. You place a hand atop one knee, rubbing soft circles as you say reassuringly, “All of it, together. So, please. Let me?”
Astarion sits up with a smile, and rests his forehead over yours. “If you keep being this nice to me, I may just return the favor,” he says, light-heartedly.
“You already do, Astarion,” you tell him with a laugh. “Always the gentleman.”
His kiss is a quick peck over your lips as he tells you, “There's a bottle of oil in the bedside drawer. Grab it, and I'll show you what to do.”
You nod, sliding off the mattress and doing as instructed. Astarion moves himself higher into the center of the bed, sinking into the comforter and pillows. The bed dips below him as you climb back on, bottle of viscous liquid in hand.
“Pour some into one palm and rub your hands together, love,” he instructs. “This helps warm the oil.”
Popping the stopper off the bottle, you pour the cool, thick, opaque fluid out into your hand. You reapply the cork, placing it face up on top of the bedside drawer, rubbing the palms of your hands together. It takes a bit, but inevitably your body heat begins to seep into the oil.
Astarion lay before you, eyes beginning to hood over as he follows your hands. His legs fall silently open as his breath hitches for a mere moment. “Good,” he says encouragingly, his voice an octave lower. “Now, come here. Between my legs.”
You move in closer and note how the hem of his shirt is obscuring his cock from view. You can just make it out, though - it pushes against the fabric of the shirt, tenting it slightly and you swear you see a small darkened spot right where the tip of his cock lay hidden. Looking up, your eyes drink in how his collar has fallen to one side, sliding down and off his right shoulder, exposing his collar bone. Astarion normally wears this shirt with the sleeves rolled up tight, yet today, he's chosen to wear them loose.
His hands, half covered by the cuffs of his sleeves, envelop yours in a gentle embrace as he guides your slickened fingers to his core. Astarion stills for a moment, and you look up to find him staring back at you.
There's an expression on his face that you’re not immediately familiar with - it's not fear, excitement, or lust, really. Yet, the longer you study him, recognition begins to dawn over you.
It's the same look you've given him countless times before on this very bed, having thrown caution to the wind as you entwine the very fabric of your souls together.
Astarion is… submitting himself. To you.
Something majorly delicate, knowing his past.
You know of what he was forced to endure while being compelled into submission.
The barrage of lovers who cared not for the person below them; who saw him only as a means to an end. A quick pump, a cheap lay, a tool to scratch a nagging itch.
“Some people refer to the moment of climax as ‘a little death,’” he’d once told you. That was before you knew just how many he'd lead to their actual deaths.
True to form, Astarion's words are often double-edged blades. His mind dances constantly on the edge of pleasure and shame. You see it in his face, now. He’s standing on that precipice, knowing not whether to jump head first or step back.
You swallow thickly and stare back at him, unblinking, before saying, “You can always tell me if it becomes too much, and I will stop.” You pause for a brief moment before adding, “Pleasure is my only intent, Astarion.”
A smile graces his lips as he welcomes your fingers to make first contact with his entrance. “Oh, my dear,” he says with a sigh, “I’ve never doubted that about you.”
Leaning over him as you press the pads of two fingers teasingly against his tight ring of muscle, you kiss him. Astarion groans softly into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup either side of your face as he arches into the kiss. He’s grinding down lightly into your fingers, meeting each of your chaste touches against him.
“How many should I start with?” you ask softly, breaking the kiss for a brief moment.
“Two,” he answers, voice but a whisper against your lips. “Whichever ones you want.”
Humming into his mouth, you begin pushing your fingers into his entrance. Astarion’s breath hitches as you breach the perimeter, shoving his head back against the pillows. He instinctively tries closing his legs around you, though you hold one open with your free hand.
You still your movements, giving him a chance to adjust to the intrusion. “Is it alright?” you ask him.
Astarion nods his head as he moves a hand under his shirt to toy with a nipple. “Yes,” he huffs out. “I'm more than fine, love.”
Emboldened to the task at hand, you move, gently pushing and pulling your fingers within him. You feel his muscles contract around you and you briefly wonder if this is what he feels when he's inside of you. The thought sends a bolt of pleasure to your cunt, reverberating as a twitch of your cock.
You look down to watch your fingers as they work him open, and finally see his cock laying against the plane of his abdomen. Compared to the pallor of the rest of him, his length is flushed pink and red, and you can make out the labored beating of his undead heart as his cock thumps softly against his stomach. Pre-fluid seeps from his tip, gathering in a small puddle just below his navel. Bending down, you catch a small rivulet rolling off his hip with your tongue, tracing it back to the source. Astarion shudders under you, threading his free hand through your hair as he pushes down onto your fingers.
You're beginning to understand that this isn't too different from your usual sexual encounters with one another. It's truly just a mirroring of your typical positions. Out of curiosity, you curl your fingers upward in one particular pass, and his entire body spasms beneath you.
“Fuck, darling, yes… You've found it,” Astarion groans out, labored. The grip in your hair tightens and he begins fucking himself in earnest on your fingers, a string of moans falling from his lips as he passes that same spot over and over again.
Your cunt aches and your cock throbs watching the scene before you. To see him unraveling before you, submitting himself to the pleasure of the moment is intoxicating. His legs have fallen open again and you watch, diligently, at how easily your fingers glide in and out of his core.
“I- I need more,” Astarion suddenly chokes out. You meet his gaze and through lust-hooded eyes, he says, “Please… let me ride you.”
He's pleading, you notice. Begging. Your eyes travel down his form again, drinking in the wanton display of him splitting himself open over your fingers. Your cunt throbs; you think of nothing else in that moment but pulling out your fingers and replacing them with your cock.
To hear the delicious whines, the sobs, the cries that would surely tumble freely from Astarion's lips as he came undone around you. You want this, just as much as he does.
Pulling your hand free from his entrance, Astarion sobs as you crash your lips into his. “I'd love that,” you tell him, honestly.
Astarion begins to sit up, concentrating on never breaking the kiss you share as he aids you both in switching positions. You lay back, him straddling your lap mere moments later. He grinds his taint against your conjured appendage, your shafts brushing, and he cries out in a gentle moan against your lips. He breaks the kiss, reaching for the bottle of oil on the bedside table, dribbling some onto your cock.
With a few languid strokes of your mystical length to spread the oil and he lines himself up over you. Your eyes meet and you hiss through clenched teeth as your tip kisses his entrance, feeling the pressure slide over your glans as he slowly begins to take you.
“A-ahh,” Astarion pants from above you, still holding your cock steady in one hand. You sigh as you feel yourself push past the first ring of muscle, throwing your head back against the pillows. Your hands grip at his thighs as the sensation threatens to overwhelm you, fingertips likely to leave bruises that will be gone come morning.
Once he feels confident that you're nestled far enough inside, he releases his hold on your shaft, resting the palms of his hands against your lower stomach. He continues to slowly take you further in, words in a language you're unfamiliar with spilling from his mouth, until he's flush against your thighs.
Both of you freeze in that moment - you struggle to control your ragged breathing as he flutters around you, Astarion taking a moment to adjust to this foreign, but not unpleasant, sensation.
“H-how do I feel?” he asks in a hushed voice.
Truthfully? He feels… astounding. Tight, wet, and warmer than you would have thought for a vampire. When he lifts his hips, you feel the air being pulled out of your lungs. His walls drag deliciously along your shaft, and a nagging pull starts to build behind your navel.
Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as your eyes meet his through hooded lids. “A-amazing,” you pant out. “You feel so good, Astarion.”
He moans above you, his head falling to one side as he rolls his hips over your cock. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, the hem obscuring his cock again from view. Though, you feel its weight slap against your stomach with each lift and drop of his hips.
Astarion’s voice comes out strained when he says, “Tell me again… please.”
You feel your cock twitch within him; he clenches around you as he locks eyes with you, waiting patiently for a response. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stick to his face, and on one particular stroke of his hips, you brush up against that place inside of him that forces his vision to blur at the edges. His mouth begins to salivate.
“Please, please, please,” he begs impatiently, voice an octave higher now. He's practically sobbing, spearing himself over your cock so each roll is angled to hit his prostate. You meet his thrusts from below, coil winding tighter within your abdomen as his walls continue to massage your cock.
You're not going to last much longer.
“You're so good for me, Astarion,” you say, obliging him. “You're being such a good boy.”
Astarion's mouth drops open as he bows his head forward, his entire body dipping down over you as a shudder passes through him. “Yes,” he whines, rocking back on your hips with renewed vigor. You feel his cock lay flat against your abdomen in this new position. It drags over your stomach, pre-fluid dripping from his tip and onto your skin providing an easier surface.
I am! And beautiful - not enough people mention that.
His words from long ago echo in your mind as you drink in his expression. He's gorgeous above you; handsome to begin with, but as he slips further toward toppling over the Cliff's edge, his beauty is quickly becoming amplified as he continues to lose composure.
“You’re beautiful like this,” you coo to him, lifting a hand from his thigh to rub over an ear.
Astarion's body is wracked by yet another tremor as he cries, “Darling, if you don’t-, I will-, I'm going-!” His head nestles into the hand toying with his ear and his hips pump erratically over your cock, having lost his prior rhythm.
You suck in a sharp breath, jaw clenched as Astarion becomes impossibly tighter around your shaft, and you groan. You're so close, so very close that all you need is one more thing to push yourself over the edge.
“Let go, Astarion,” you say, somehow finding the rhythm in his desperate rutting. The sound of skin slapping roughly fills the room as your hips meet his on his downstroke. You wrap a hand around the outline of his cock tenting his shirt, and jerk him in tempo with your thrusts.
He’s sobbing, loud and unabashedly. With one particular pass of your fingers over the outer tip of his ear, Astarion suddenly unwinds. He yells his pleasure above you, collapsing onto your chest as wave after wave overcomes him. You feel his spend seep into the fabric of his shirt and onto the skin of your abdomen in a small warm pool.
It doesn't take long for the involuntary spasming of his core over your cock to send you spiraling into your own completion. Moans slip freely past your lips and you feel your folds become soaked, drippinh down the cleft of your ass as your relief washes over you. You bury your face against Astarion's hair, breathing in his soft silver curls and the signature cologne you know so well.
As you both begin to come down off your highs, you wrap your arms around his back and hold him tightly against your chest. You feel the spell of the phallus lift, Astarion whimpering softly as it vanishes from within him. You both lay on the bed, panting, trying to catch your breath for what feels like ages.
Astarion is first to lift up his head and say, “That… that was amazing.”
“Mm,” you hum in agreement. You can barely open your eyes as fatigue begins to set in.
Taking a finger, Astarion traces circles absentmindedly into your skin as he rests his head back down over your chest. “Darling?” he asks softly. “May I tell you something?”
Sleep almost has its claws in you when you jolt back awake, forcing your eyes to snap open and find Astarion. “Hmm?” you groan in question.
With a quick huff, Astarion says, “I just wanted to thank you for doing this with me.” He places a quick peck below your jawbone before adding, “It was really nice.”
You sigh audibly, and say “It was, we should do this again.” Your eyelids are impossibly heavy; sleep is threatening to claim you and will do so in mere moments. “I love you,” you manage to mumble out before slipping gently out of consciousness.
Astarion smiles into your skin as he says, “I love you, too,”
I love this, he thinks.
I love us.
#astarion smut#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#astarion x female tav#astarion x tav#astarion x oc#astarion x female oc#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion fanfic#bg3#fanfiction#writing
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Three times you get cuddly Astarion and one you do not.
“Don’t look at me like that. With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it. I can’t be what you want to see in me.”
Based on this comment!
[ao3 link]
The first time it happened, you had been sleeping together for a few weeks. It seemed like there was an unspoken rule that you would leave soon after sex, giving him his space. You could sense his reluctance to be vulnerable and intimate, so you respected that boundary and didn't push him. But on this particular night, as you lay tangled in each other's limbs, there was a subtle hesitation from him. It was like a whisper of doubt, lingering in the air between you.
"Everything alright, Astarion?" you asked.
He seemed to get startled at this, as if caught off guard by your question.
"Wha- oh! Of course, darling. Everything is perfect."
You nodded, even though couldn't help but feel skeptical about his words. Maybe he needed space again.
"I guess I'll be going then," you said with a heavy heart, slowly rising to your feet.
You got dressed and began to make your way towards the door. Astarion followed closely behind you, his hands twitching nervously.
"Wait." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You turned to face him, seeing a hint of vulnerability in his usually cocky expression.
"I...I don't want you to go just yet." He admitted, looking down at his feet.
You could see the internal struggle within him, and your heart ached a bit for him. You walked back towards him and slowly reached for his hand, not wanting to startle him.
"What do you want, then?" you asked, softly.
He looked up at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was a raw emotion in his crimson eyes, and it felt like looking into his soul.
"I...I want you to stay the night. If that's what you want, of course." He said, hesitantly.
You could sense the vulnerability in his voice, and you knew that this was a big step for him. Astarion was not one to open up easily, and you were honored that he was willing to share himself with you.
"Okay." You replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
Astarion wordlessly guided you back to his bedroll. This was new territory for both of you, but it felt just right. Hesitantly, he climbed into bed beside you and wrapped an arm around your waist. You couldn't help but smile at his nervousness; he was always so confident when it came to flirting and seduction, yet it was cuddling that seemed to make him flustered.
You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the cold softness of his body against yours. It was a comforting feeling, being this close to him. He hesitantly reached out his hand, his fingers trembling as he gently combed through your hair. As you both lay in silence, Astarion's movements became more confident and soothing, his fingers carefully untangling any knots or snarls. You could sense the tension in him slowly dissipating as he allowed himself to open up and connect with you in this intimate way. It was a moment filled with vulnerability and trust, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for it.
"Thank you for trusting me," you murmured.
Astarion stayed silent for a few seconds, before responding. "Thank you for staying."
Another significant moment was when he finally confessed his feelings for you. You had both agreed to take a break from physical intimacy, which you were completely fine with. However, you weren't sure if this also meant giving up your now nightly cuddling sessions together.
Your answer came when that night, as Astarion appeared at the door of your tent, pacing back and forth. You chuckled under your breath as you approached him.
"Do you require my services, Astarion?"
Astarion's eyes fixated on you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "My dear! I've only come here to see you." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "But perhaps we could have a more... intimate discussion?"
You raised an eyebrow in surprise. You thought you had left matters clear that same evening.
"Of course," you replied, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter your tent. Once inside, Astarion settled onto your bedroll while you sat beside him. He looked at you with a mixture of nerves and determination in his eyes.
"I wanted to discuss what we talked about earlier," he began cautiously.
You nodded, encouraging him to continue. He cleared his throat.
"I... ehm. I know we agreed we wouldn't be intimate, but I was merely wondering if we could keep up..."
"Our nightly cuddle?" You filled in the gap for him.
"Err... yes," he grimaced awkwardly. "That."
You smiled warmly at him, finding his bashfulness rather endearing. "I'm glad you brought it up, Astarion, because I would kind of miss it if we didn't."
Relief shone in his eyes as he gazed at you with genuine gratitude, causing your heart to skip a beat.
"That's...I mean, it's only natural that you would miss it," he responded. "After all, how often do you get the opportunity to cuddle with someone like me?"
You rolled your eyes at his cocky remark, but couldn't hide the small smile on your face.
The two of you sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other's company. Finally, you broke the silence again.
"I think it's time for me to call it a night," you gave him a pointed look. "Care to join me?"
Astarion's eyes widened in surprise at your invitation, but he quickly composed himself and grinned wickedly. "I would be honored to share a bedroll with you, my dear."
As you settled down into your bedroll, you patted the spot next to you, inviting Astarion to join. He eagerly complied, curling up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His touch was both gentle and possessive, making you feel loved and protected. He nuzzled his nose against your hair before placing a soft kiss on the nape of your neck. It felt like a promise, and brought a sense of peace as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace.
The third remarkable time happened just before reaching Baldur's Gate, when Astarion was gravely injured in a brutal fight. Your heart raced as you tended to his wounds, frantically trying to heal him as the blood pooled beneath him. As night fell, you collapsed onto the ground next to him, gently pushing away sweaty strands of hair from his clammy forehead.
You felt a wave of relief wash over you before settling down next to him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, burying his head in your chest. Your fingers traced soothing patterns through his soft ivory curls as he drifted off into a meditative state. After a while, you felt his usually tense muscles relax over your body. He was asleep, or at least in a state of deep meditation. You continued to stroke his hair gently, not wanting to wake him. In this moment, he looked completely peaceful – a stark contrast to the dashing rogue always ready with a witty retort.
"Are you feeling any better?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you gazed at him with concern.
He looked up at you, a weak smile on his lips. "I owe it all to your care."
As you lay there in the quiet darkness, an unfamiliar sentiment rose within your chest, filling it to the brim. You weren't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, Astarion had become more than just a companion or a lover. He was your partner in every sense of the word – someone who understood and accepted you for who you were. And even though none of you could still put a name to whatever you shared, you knew for certain that this bond was something precious, something to be cherished. You realized in that moment, it was love.
A couple of days later, he met his sibling at a pub in Rivington and you had a disagreement that left a bitter feeling in your mouth. That evening, you waited for him in your sleeping bag, as was customary. But as the minutes ticked by, it seemed like he wasn't going to show up. You began to wonder if he wanted you to seek him out instead; so, you got out of your bedroll and crossed the short distance between your tents.
"I am in love with you," you murmured into the silence. The admission took your breath away as you shivered slightly under Astarion's touch, your heart pounding against his ear. Would he feel the difference in your heartbeat? Could he sense the shift in your feelings?
"Astarion?" you asked upon entering.
He was sitting on his cushions, staring blankly at the wall. At the sound of your voice, he turned to look at you with a distant expression, and you immediately knew something was wrong.
"Are you still mad at me from this morning's fight?" you asked, sitting down next to him.
He let out a sigh and shook his head. "No, it's not that," he replied.
You frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What is it then? You know you can tell me," you said softly.
Astarion hesitated, his inner turmoil evident in the clench of his jaw. After a long moment, he finally spoke. "I can't...not tonight. I need to be alone," he rasped out before turning away, unable to meet your gaze.
Your heart dropped at his words, the worry and concern evident in your expression. You knew that Astarion wasn't one to push you away, at least not without a valid reason.
You didn't want to leave him like this but knew that he needed this space right now, so you gave him a small smile and silently went back to your tent.
BONUS
The next day, you tried to focus on other things, helping the group with their tasks and keeping your mind occupied. But as night fell and you lay in your bedroll, you couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at your insides. What if this was about your confession? What if you had overstepped ahead of time and he couldn't reciprocate?
You turned over restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you got up to go to Astarion's tent and at least get some answers. But just as you were about to open it, the flap of your own tent was pulled back and Astarion stepped inside, a conflicted look on his face. Before you could even utter a word, he spoke first.
"Forgive me for my odd behavior last night," he began, his voice low and hesitant. "I've been trying to figure out everything."
You sat down in your bedroll again, giving him your full attention as he took a seat next to you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, unsure of what was coming. He let out a sigh and leaned his head against your shoulder.
"What's wrong?" you asked gently, placing a comforting hand on his cheek.
"I just...I've been thinking about what you said that night," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What did I say?" you asked, not wanting to assume anything.
He took a deep breath before answering. "That you are in love with me."
Your heart skipped a beat at those words.
"Did...did I misunderstand?" Astarion asked hesitantly, looking up at you with uncertainty in his eyes.
"No," you replied firmly, cupping his face in your hands. "I meant every word I said that night. I'm in love with you, Astarion."
He seemed to take a moment to absorb the weight of your words, his eyes blinking slowly as he searched your face. A myriad of expressions flickered across his features — surprise, fear, and finally... sadness.
"I... I am sorry, but I can't fully reciprocate right now, with everything going on," he confessed, his voice strained with an unfamiliar vulnerability. His admission made your heart clench, but before any words could escape your mouth, he continued.
"I've never been in love before. I'm not sure what it's supposed to feel like, what it's supposed to be. But I know I have this...this feeling that keeps me close to you, that keeps my thoughts wandering back to you no matter where I am or what I am doing..." he paused, turning to look at you with a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter wildly in your chest, "and I hope that is enough for now."
A wave of relief washed over you at his confession and all the worry you have been carrying seemed to disappear all at once. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, a warmth spreading through your chest.
Astarion returned the hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, just holding each other tightly. It was a mix of emotions, knowing that Astarion was not yet able to return your feelings in full, but at the same time, you felt grateful and content knowing you had each other.
"Thank you for telling me," you whispered against his hair, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "I will wait for you, all you need."
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you couldn't help but mirror it. Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a gentle small kiss. It was soft and sweet, sending a warmth spreading through your body.
You both curled up in the bedroll, Astarion enveloping you with his arms in a protective embrace. And at that moment, you were certain - if the vampire still had a heart, it would be beating for you alone right now.
#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion x reader#bg3#bg3 fanfic prompt#bg3 tav#astarion x tav#baldurs gate 3#astarion baldurs gate#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 prompts#astarion prompt
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first in my heart
Astarion Ancunin x Reader
Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.
A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.
Word count: 4,7k
Masterlist
"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.
To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.
And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.
Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.
He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.
Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.
It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.
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The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.
The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.
You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.
With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.
"What are you up to, my sweet?"
The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.
The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.
You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.
Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."
You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.
Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"
The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."
Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."
He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.
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Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.
You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.
Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.
He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.
And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"
A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.
You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.
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It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.
The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.
When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.
You didn't.
You said you cared for him. You hugged him.
There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.
Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.
He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.
Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.
Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.
There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.
With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.
It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.
With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.
But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.
The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.
Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.
Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.
"Astarion?"
With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.
"Is everything okay?"
Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.
Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"
The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.
You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."
But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?
Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.
He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.
Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.
He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.
Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.
Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.
And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.
He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.
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You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.
You could only hope he would adore it just as much.
It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.
Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.
You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.
Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.
You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.
With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.
You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.
"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.
He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.
You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.
"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.
You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."
His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.
"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.
A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.
You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.
"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.
For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.
You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.
"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.
Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.
"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"
You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."
A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.
You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.
Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.
The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.
A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.
He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.
People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.
Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.
Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.
You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.
Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.
"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.
"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."
Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.
There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.
Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.
You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.
When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."
You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."
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Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3
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Astarion smiles when he kisses you. You can always tell as you feel his lips rise up against yours and his fangs start to graze against you, that he’s smiling. And when you pull apart you’re met with the same toothy, lovesick grin that was just shaped against your lips.
#astarion x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion#astarion fluff#astarion x tav#astarion x you#bg3#bg3 tav
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Back with another bout of plotless smut. Read at your own discretion and take note of the tags. <333
Like my smut writing? Find more here.
We Have All Night
Rating: MATURE
Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader x Halsin
Word Count: 800
Warnings/Tags: Oral sex (fem!Reader receiving), praise kink, hand kink, threesome technically?, mentions of alcohol, pure plotless smut
Summary: You'd been wondering for some time what it would be like to have Halsin and Astarion share you.
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You could have easily blamed the events that ensued on the bottles of Blingdenstone Blush you all had passed around camp that evening. But if you were honest with yourself, the position you found yourself in was one you had been fantasizing about for some time.
“That’s it, darling,” Astarion coaxed as his fingers slipped gently through your hair, teasing and massaging your scalp. Your head was pillowed in his lap, pupils blown wide with lust as you peered up at him. He smiled down at you, a wicked, hedonistic sort of grin.
“You so desperately want to hold still for him, don’t you?”
You whined your assent, trying your best to keep your hips from bucking – an impossible task considering the relentless way Halsin’s tongue was licking and circling that sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs.
“Such a good girl. You’re doing so well” Astarion cooed, while Halsin groaned in agreement. The vibrations it created against your skin felt like electricity surging through your limbs.
Your mind was a disjointed haze of lust and alcohol. Totally uninhibited, you keened loudly as the druid suddenly gripped the softness of your thighs and plunged his tongue inside you.
“Shh, shh, shh” Astarion hushed, moving a hand to cover your mouth. “We don’t want the rest of the camp to hear our fun, do we?”
You groaned and shook your head slightly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join in?” you rasped, your lips moving against his slender fingers.
He gave a mischievous little chuckle. “I’m certain. I’m having a wonderful time just watching,” Astarion returned.
“The night is still young,” Halsin persuaded, pausing his feasting on you to meet Astarion’s eyes. The absence of his mouth left you wanting, aching for contact once more. “If you change your mind, there’s plenty of fun to be had.”
“A tempting offer, indeed,” Astarion smirked. “Let’s see where the evening takes us, shall we?”
You moaned against his hand as Halsin dipped his head to begin circling your clit with his tongue once more. You fisted his gorgeous auburn locks in your hands, eliciting a groan from his mouth that felt absolutely delicious against your hypersensitive skin.
“Our sweet pup has an oh-so-difficult time keeping quiet, doesn’t she?” Astarion crooned, tracing his fingers against the seam of your lips. “You’re trying so hard, darling, I know you are.”
His silken, sinful voice felt almost as euphoric as the deplorable things Halsin was doing between your legs. In a bout of unbridled lust, you opened your mouth to capture Astarion’s index and middle fingers in your mouth.
You sucked down on them, circled them with your tongue, as you imagined having his hard length sheathed down your throat. Your bawdy move drew a sharp breath from the vampire, followed by a quiet groan.
You paused your ministrations, lifting a hand to pull his fingers from your mouth before asking, “Is this okay? Is it too much?”
Astarion chuckled darkly, and you watched as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.
“You wicked thing,” he purred. “Yes, it’s okay. And it has the added benefit of keeping you quiet.”
You were beyond laughs and jokes. Hearing his consent, you drew his fingers back down to your mouth and resumed your sucking. You moaned your approval as Astarion pistoned his fingers deeper into your mouth at the same time Halsin inserted two fingers inside you.
You knew you wouldn’t last long. Not with the way the druid was fucking you with his fingers at the same time his tongue was circling your clit. Not with the way Astarion was trailing one hand delicately across your exposed skin while you worshiped the fingers of his other hand with your tongue and lips.
Every nerve within you was alight and thrumming with barely-restrained energy. You could feel yourself climbing higher and higher, your body preparing for the sweetest freefall that would soon ensue. Your heels dug into Halsin’s muscled back as you tensed, one hand still clenching his hair while the other held desperately onto Astarion’s thigh.
“Yes, darling, yes,” Astarion kept coaxing as your body drew more and more taut. A bowstring desperate to be released.
“Let yourself come, you know you want to,” he added in a soft whisper.
It was too much.
Those words, and a final flick of Halsin’s tongue, had you shattering into a thousand pieces. Your cries were barely restrained by the fingers still occupying your mouth. You were lost in pleasure, awash in the tingling aftermath of your release.
Chest heaving, mind reeling, you could barely find words.
“That… that was…” you wheezed, before letting loose a giggle. “Everything I’d imagined it would be.”
“You’d thought about this before?” Halsin grinned, wiping his mouth clean against his forearm before leaning down to plant a reverent kiss against your lips. You could taste yourself on him. It gave you more satisfaction than perhaps it should have.
“My, my. What other sort of depraved carnal pleasures are bouncing around in that head of yours, I wonder?” Astarion added, helping you sit up so that you were lounging between the two of them.
You shared a conspiratorial grin with both elves. “We have all night, if you’d like me to show you.”
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