#astarion comfort
Text
fever dream | astarion a.
genre(s): fluff, angst
warning(s): language, self-indulgent, sick!reader, astarion’s a little ooc
now playing: the night does not belong to god - sleep token
notes: very self-indulgent because i’m sick and needed some comfort and @nanaoise08squad inspired me to finish this. thank you for reading, lovelies! ❤️❤️❤️
Somehow, the sun shines brighter today. Glaringly so.
You hold a hand to your temple to shield your eyes from its brilliance. Your armor feels heavier, too. Like boulders stacked on your shoulders and chest, making it harder to breathe. You force out a groan that’s gritty like ash. Trudge down the steps leading outside the inn to join your companions, your limbs weighted and achy.
“I hate to point out the obvious, darling.” Astarion grimaces with his hands curled to his chest in revulsion. He ducks away from the sight of you. Winces as you take a labored step forward, your balance thrown to the hells.
“But you look like utter shit.”
You scoff, phlegm making itself known in your throat.
What a way to be greeted by the love of your life.
“You sure are a flatterer, aren’t you, Astarion?”
You’re sure to drag out the vowels of his name—or perhaps your words are a little slurred due to whatever ailment took hold of you today. Nevertheless, you jab a finger between his ribs, your face twisting into something haughty.
You wonder if it was worth the exertion as your vision and body sway along with the trees, and your head pounds something menacing whilst a wave of vertigo hurtles into you.
“Shit!”
Astarion catches you when you pitch forward, your legs unable to grasp the rhythm of walking. And there are suddenly two of him. Two little ‘starions calling your name, fretting over you, shaking you to keep you amongst the conscious.
You feel like lead. Feel yourself sinking below the surface, unable to return.
Your lids shutter as if weighed down by sandbags. The muddled shouts of your friends trickle in, each tinged with varying degrees of concern. You register hands all over you, patting and pulling. Register a strained voice yelling stop, and the frantic touching ceases.
Before you fully succumb to the darkness, there is the sensation of you being lifted up, followed by the earthy scent of bergamot flooding your senses, and it furls around your heart.
Then, there is nothing.
Something savory draws you from the inkiness of your sleep. It curls around your mind, luring you into consciousness.
You caution a sound, your throat rubbed raw from disuse. You slowly open your eyes, and the bleariness gradually morphs into discernible shapes and colors. Somehow, this place feels familiar.
You’re back in your rented room. Nestled in the plushness of a mattress with too many pillows and sheets soft as linen. You will yourself onto your elbows, wincing at the stiffness of your neck. The pain is manageable. Better than it was before, you note, leisurely ingesting your surroundings.
A lone candle flickers on the nightstand, swathing the room in its bronze glow. Moonlight seeps through the curtains lining the window across. The faint symphony of crickets accompanies the murmur of the inn’s other patrons and the groans of the floorboards beyond your doorway.
Bloody hell.
How long have you been out?
On cue, the doorknob rattles, and a slither of light leaks in. The swell of noise outside commands your attention. You stiffen, fingers instinctively twitching for a weapon. But your bones settle as a thatch of white creeps into your vision from the threshold.
“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” Astarion breathes. He toes the door shut, a steaming bowl of deliciousness cupped in his palms. Takes a few steps forward, rounded eyes flashing amber beneath the candlelight.
You recognize that aroma. The hearty scent which roused you from your sleep. Your stomach gnarls with life as Astarion nears the bed, donning that smug little mask.
“Hungry, are we?”
You nod enthusiastically, garnering a chuckle from the room’s other occupant. Suddenly self-conscious of how eager you are whilst he hands you the bowl, his fingers slinking away from yours as if he’s touched simmering coals.
“Courtesy of Gale,” Astarion supplies. “I can’t guarantee how good it tastes considering—well, you know. Undead and all that.”
His smile is tight-lipped. Guarded as he settles himself on a stool beside you, his spine straight and his ankles crossed. He helps you sit up against the headboard despite the unease permeating the air. Quickly retracts his hands to press them against the wood of his seat between his thighs, surveying your room.
You take some time to study him. Note that his eyebags seem more prominent than usual. Darker. Hair’s a little tussled, skin a bit paler. His shirt sits rumpled around his shoulders, the fastenings of it done all wrong. Worst of all, he has not looked at you for longer than a few beats. Like you’re made of glass and will shatter if he stares for too long.
A pang shoots through you, searing hot like lightning.
He was worried.
Worst of all, he was worried about you.
You’re no longer hungry, your stomach twisting as you gaze down at the stew bleeding warmth into your palms. You set it on the nightstand with a decisive clunk, quietly receding into yourself. Silently relenting to the smog of self-loathing draping itself across your shoulders.
“You scared me half to death, you know,” says Astarion, parting the tangled sea of your thoughts. As if he senses you berating yourself. It’s a soft drawl. An attempt at scolding you, but there’s weariness nestled in the undercurrents of it. “That’s saying a lot, considering I’ve already one foot in the grave.”
You peer up at him like a meager child. He watches you from his peripheral with crossed arms, his nose turned up, feigning disappointment. You see through the cracks of his façade, and your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.
He can be incredibly adorable when trying to shroud his feelings.
“I’m sorry,” you offer, your tone barely above a whisper.
Astarion releases a resigned sigh. And the weight of the world seems to pour from his shoulders as he angles himself towards you, reaching for one of your hands.
His expression softens, and he squeezes, his palm frigid yet reassuring. For the first time since he entered, he truly looks at you. Gaze swims through your features as if to commit every detail, every imperfection, to memory. As if he could lose you at any second.
“No need to apologize, my love. I was just…concerned, is all. I suppose we all were when you went down.”
The recollection makes your face blossom with heat. Poor little darling, taken out by a nasty cold. Causing hysteria among your friends, deterring your journey.
Astarion thumbs your cheek, smiling something genuine at the pout on your lips.
Your tongue burns with the ache of a question, and you shrink, not wholly prepared for the answer.
“How long was I out for?”
“Nearly two days.”
You blanch, evoking another guttural laugh from Astarion.
“Shadowheart did her best to heal you. There was only so much her magic could mend. So, we’ve been playing the waiting game while you caught up on your beauty sleep. Not like you need much more of it.”
You snort at Astarion’s cheekiness.
Leave it to your little star to find every opportunity to flatter you.
He examines your joined hands thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over your knuckles.
“It’s been centuries since I’ve dealt with mortal illnesses. Honestly, I couldn’t begin to fathom how to comfort you. Other than gracing you with my presence, of course.”
It’s refreshing to see his humor is still intact despite his beloved pulling a Snow White.
For a while, you sit like this. Basking in the moment’s serenity, holding hands. Grinning and laughing like two enamored fools when your gazes interlock. You can tell that Astarion’s lightyears away, however. At war with himself, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, reprimanding himself for not being your proverbial knight in shining armor.
Absently, you scoot over. Relinquish your love’s hand—much to his chagrin—to pat the space beside you. You affix him with a look that’s all too serious as you say, “For starters, you could try holding me.”
Astarion stares at you with rounded eyes. Mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, forming around words that he can’t quite conjure.
“Oh. A-Alright,” he finally musters. Dumbfounded, Astarion stands, maneuvering to sit beside you on the bed. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Never does, unused to being so vulgar, so unabashed with his feelings.
Though, for you, you know he would rearrange the stars in the sky if he could.
So you help him, tugging him closer and falling into the circle of his arms. You nestle against his chest with a pleased hum vibrating your throat. Tangle your legs together, ignoring the surprised sound that leaves him.
He’s a lovely contrast to your still-enflamed skin. Fits like a puzzle piece against you, soft and lithe. He relaxes gradually, tucking you ever closer against him as if you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke if he lets go. He pets through your hair before anchoring his chin to the crown of your head, surrendering a satisfied sigh.
“Well, I supposed this isn’t so bad, now is it?” Astarion husks, stroking soothing circles into the notches of your spine.
You nod offhandedly, your lids lowering, and your body feeling at ease.
Suddenly, your ailment seems more bearable as you sink below the depths of slumber, an unguarded smile cresting over your lips.
The shadows of your conjoined bodies dance along the walls as the candlelight dwindles, and you both surrender to the tranquility of the night.
masterlist
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#bg3 x reader#astarion fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#astarion fluff#tw: language#tw: angst#tw: self loathing#tw: sickness#sick!tav#sick!reader#astarion comfort#bg3#bg3 astarion
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OK OK you just gotta hear me on this one,, Astarion and gn reader where reader is little spoon and Astarion can *sense* just how relaxed reader gets. Instead of their pulse racing from his touches they slow down. Muscles relaxed. Happy little sighs.
^^ he can’t handle this btw he’s absolutely fucking bewildered
A Person to Hold
Synopsis: Fluffy post-game epilogue
Tags: fluff
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
He looks at you, unable to stop smiling.
"They deserve happiness. We all do. And I will forever be grateful to have found it with you," Astarion says.
You make a step forward with open arms. Astarion hugs you, closing his eyes like a content cat.
A mere half year ago these hugs scared him. It was weird. It was scary. What did you want? Did you want to hurt him? Did you want his body?
No.
None of that.
You taught him not to be afraid. You hug him daily and if he occasionally flinches you don’t let him go. You hold him in your arms when he has nightmares and kiss away his tears when it's just too much.
"I feel bad keeping you all to myself! After all, I get to see you every night."
"Are you sure? You won't be bored?"
You kiss his cheek and leave. In a few seconds, you look back, trying to see if he hasn’t changed his mind.
"Darling, I can spend some time with myself. Go on, go and mingle. And I will be there, when you’re ready. I will always be here, my love."
He hasn’t. Astarion sits down beside a campfire sensing its warmth.
He doesn't feel like talking. He didn't manage to make friends with the others and now can sense hostility from them. He is a vampire. His strength isn’t suppressed by the tadpole and apparently once the vampire's master is dead, spawns become lesser vampires. Astarion doesn't feel the difference, to be honest, but he knows people feel something is off with him.
Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he feels good. He has never thought his head might be so clear. He can make a working ambush plan in a blink of an eye and it won't lead to a disaster because he actually can think everything through. He can walk on ceilings and walls again, he regenerates before you manage to notice he is wounded.
He has the world to explore, places to see, things to do. He is going to make up for all these decades of misery, to bury them under the pile of happy memories.
And he has you.
Probably the weirdest thing that could happen to him.
You, who forgave his lies and manipulations, who gave him the second chance when it was the stupidest thing to do. Who made him believe the world isn’t an evil place.
You are the first person he sees when returns from his reverie. Your breathing soothes him, so does your heartbeat.
Astarion never had anything. Everything he had a right to was stripped away from him including his own life.
But now he has you.
To hold, to kiss, to talk.
To travel together, to hunt monsters, to be independent adventurers. You are there to save him from nightmares. And he is there to save you from death.
How could he become so happy?
“I am going to sleep, are you with me or do you want to hunt?” he feels a soft “pat” on his shoulder.
How come he has you?
You are a bit drunk and very sleepy.
“Let’s go to the tent.”
“Good, I got used to sleeping with you by my side.”
Astarion looks around as if ashamed of what he is going to do and, having made sure no one sees you, takes you in his hands bridal-style.
You are weightless to him thanks to the vampiric strength. He could walk many miles carrying you and not getting tired.
In the tent, you get to your bedroll and immediately cover yourself with a thick blanket. Then, you open it a little, inviting Astarion to join.
He takes his clothes off and crawls to your side. The night is warm, so are you. But since you have to share your body heat with him, you sleep under the thickest fur blanket.
You are his and he is yours. If a year ago someone told him that would be his future he would bitterly laugh.
Astarion presses your back to his chest, placing the chin on your shoulder.
Your muscles relax, the pulse slows down. You are falling asleep in his arms.
"My love, thank you" he whispers in you ear, tugging you closer
“Hm?”
“Thank you for finding me."
You squeeze his hand. “You were worth it.”
He doesn’t want to meditate. He wants to hold you like that until you wake up. Astarion concentrates on your breathing and heartbeat. You are already sound asleep.
“Sleep well, darling,” he kisses your cheek. “We still have plenty of things to do together.”
--
Tag list
@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion romance#baldurs gate 3#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion angst#astarion drabble#astarion short fic#spacebarbarian fics#astarion fluff#astarion comfort#baldur's gate post game
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More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)
Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.
Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism
A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:
Word count: ~3.2k
Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.
It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”
Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”
Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”
One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.
“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”
The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”
That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”
“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”
“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”
You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile.
Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.
Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.
“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.
There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”
“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"
There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.
You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.
“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”
The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”
“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.
Wait, is he actually inviting her?
You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”
There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.
__
That evening, Astarion slips away.
It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.
As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.
But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.
It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.
You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.
“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”
“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”
After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”
“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”
His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.
Almost as if…
“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.
“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.
“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.
He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”
You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”
Normally, such sweet words of unabashed flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.
“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.
You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”
He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.
“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.
“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.
You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”
Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.
When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.
“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”
“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.
“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”
“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.
Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”
Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.
“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”
“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”
“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”
Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”
You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”
“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.
“A fool for you.”
The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”
He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.
“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”
“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.
“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”
The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”
This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”
“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.
Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.
“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”
He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.
“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.
Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.
“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”
At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”
“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.
“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”
You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.
“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”
Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”
“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.
He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.
It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.
“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”
The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.
“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.
So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.
No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…
“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.
You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”
“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”
He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”
Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”
“Astarion–”
“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”
If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”
“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”
Oh great, she’d heard everything.
“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.
“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”
“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”
“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”
You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”
“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.
With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.
When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”
#astarion#astarion x tav#fanfic#astarion fic#astarion x reader#rogue + rogue#astarion fanfiction#astarion fanfic#astarion fluff#astarion x gn reader#astarion x gn!tav#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion is bad at feelings#tadfools tomfoolery#astarion comfort#spawn astarion
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The Little Things
Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.
Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers
*
Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.
He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?
You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.
*
You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.
“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.
He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.
“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.
You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.
Blood. Of course.
His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.
“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”
*
One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.
It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.
You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”
He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.
“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.
“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”
You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.
Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.
“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”
His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.
“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.
You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”
You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.
“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.
He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.
“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.
But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.
You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.
*
That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.
“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.
He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.
His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?
“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.
“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”
Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.
“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.
You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.
He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.
He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.
“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”
You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.
One, two, three beats of silence.
Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.
Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.
You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.
When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.
He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.
#get loved loser#get fucking cherished#astarion fanfic#baulders gate astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x gn reader#astarion reader insert#astarion x f!reader#astarion fluff#Astarion feelings realization#act 1 spoilers#astarion romance#astarion pov#astarion comfort#astarion fanfiction#astarion fic#astarion x you#astarion x female reader#astarion/reader#Astarion/you#astarion x reader insert#x reader
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The breeze seems to whisper 'I love you' // Astarion x gn!reader / Tav
This is my first Astarion fic so I really hope I bring him justice; he deserves that and everything else which is good in life. It took me three days in total to fall head over heels for him, and this piece is dedicated to @ace-tarion for being such a sweetheart in this, as in everything. I love you, dude!❤️
I haven't played BG3, I know maybe 80% of the plot (tadpoles in brain = bad = travel to Baldur's Gate), I've watched a ton of Astarion clips, so apologies for any inaccuracies or inconsistencies. I'm just here for Astarion (though I'd love to play BG3, I don't have any technology capable of running it💔).
Content: You/Tav x Astarion (established relationship), canonical past for Astarion is hinted at and laced within narrative, cuddles, animals referred to as 'snacks' within mentions of Astarion (only a mention; no actual description of animal-feeding/mentions of anything pertaining to animals being fed on).
Summary: Night-time falls, your heart sinks into your stomach as surely as your body sinks into your bedroll, and you want cuddles from Astarion.
Word count: 1, 624.
I am accepting requests for Astarion ❤️ no smut and no pregnancy/birth/kids!!
You lay on the cold, hard ground. The earth is unforgiving, soaking up the day's sweat without offering any kind of reprieve. Stones and hard clumps of dirt dig into your back through the bedroll, the wind is slightly too cold and it penetrates your thin blanket, haphazardly thrown over you in an attempt to ward off the elements.
Everyone has a tent, except you, and you make it a point to lay as close to the fire as you can on the nights Astarion is out hunting; it wouldn't do to help yourself to his tent. He keeps his tent away from the others, though still adhering to the semi-circle layout chosen by the others around the campfire. He would not mind you letting yourself in to his tent, he would likely welcome returning to you there, and yet you cannot justify it even to yourself.
After two hundred years of shit, pure shit, he deserves every ounce of privacy and the security of knowing his tent is his own.
You sit up just enough to shuffle yourself closer to the fire, curling inwards as a shiver wracks your body. It isn't cold, necessarily, but your temperature is not conducive to a restful sleep. You lay on your back, gazing up at the stars which punctuate the sky, breaking up the inky black and blues with pinpricks of white, yellow, and some dull spots of grey from the stars which died many eons ago and are now fading from the sky.
You promise yourself you'll try to remember their placement in the sky.
Despite the best of intentions, you know that you won't.
Your vision goes blurry at the edges as you continue staring up at the night sky, looking for any constellations you recognise by way of finding yourself a bedtime story to recount as you try to fall asleep. The leaves on the trees sway gently in the breeze, and your mind wanders, as it so often does, to Astarion. Your sweet vampire, who simultaneously breaks your heart and put it back together in the same moment every time you uncover more of who he is, more of his past.
Oh, but you love him.
Of its own accord does your body take a long, deep breath in, your heart sinking into your stomach as surely as your body melts into the bedroll. All of your thoughts of Astarion and all of your feelings for him are safe inside yourself, and they serve you now in warming you from the inside out.
Your eyes slide closed, and if you press your forehead closer into your blanket, you can almost tell yourself that you can feel Astarion lying down beside you, you can smell bergamot and feel his silver hair tickle your cheeks, you can feel his fingers intertwined with yours, your legs tangled together, his crimson eyes upon your face so intently fixed like he's scared to blink in case you disappear before his eyes, leaving him clutching only the cold night air, his equally cold body pressed against every line of yours...
You smile to yourself and burrow deeper into your blanket, feeling sleepier, warmer and closer to your rest by the second. Thoughts of Astarion flood your mind and you curl up tighter, as if to keep all these thoughts right where they are. You know if you open your eyes that you'll be alone; you know not where Astarion is this night, but you know he is trying to sate his hunger with the snacks which live in the forest.
So you keep your eyes shut.
As you allow yourself to slip further into your threshold consciousness, you wonder what Astarion would say to you if he returned at this very moment...
"Hello, sweet. Gods, you are beautiful."
You smile again and squeeze your blanket ever tighter to you. Yes, he would probably say something like -
Wait.
Wait.
Was that - ?
With great caution do you open your eyes, ready to slam them shut again once you see that Astarion isn't there, that he didn't just speak to you. But instead of the cold hard truth slamming into you, flowers bloom in your heart because Astarion is here, looming over you, his silver curls seeming to be glowing in the soft moonlight. His crimson eyes seem black, his charming smirk soft at the edges as he gazes down at you with obvious fondness, vulnerable such as it is.
Of all the stars above me, this one's the prettiest, you think to yourself, and you open your eyes wider to better enjoy the view.
Astarion's smirk melts until it becomes a smile as he kneels down beside you, one of his arms reaching out to brush a leaf away from your face. His fingers ghost across your skin, and you shiver. "Thank you, darling. I know I'm beautiful. Not enough people mention it." His joke fades into vulnerability, as it so often does around you.
But it is no matter. You always meet him where he is, and right now it is no exception.
You smile at Astarion, all of the love for him shining in your eyes until they look like molten galaxies, and he swears he feels his heart, which stopped working centuries ago, skip a beat. You are unguarded where you lay in your threshold consciousness, not embarrassed to have spoke aloud your thoughts, and Astarion wonders if the old saying, that love makes fools of people, is true. You lay at the foot of a vampire, at the foot of a predator, smiling at him, physically and emotionally vulnerable, completely unguarded. Most others at the camp are asleep, Astarion can hear, and yet here you are...
Wait. Why are you awake?
"Darling," Astarion's voice is a hush and you strain your ears to be able to hear him. He bends closer to you to accommodate, anticipating your needs before you fully register them yourself, "Why aren't you sleeping? No harm shall befall you when I'm here." Long ago, he had sought your protection, but now he wanted you both to be safe. If this is how the mighty fall, then Astarion must admit that he is happy he lost his balance. He quite likes the view from down here.
You shake your head and shuffle closer still, unable to get close enough to your most beloved vampire. "Can't sleep without you." I just want to be held.
Oh, help him, but this is devastating in its simplicity. His undead heart bleeds and words have brought Astarion to the point where they run dry. Instead, he stands, and reaches a hand out to you. The message is clear - he wants you to accompany him to his tent, he wants to carve a piece of heaven out with you amongst all the chaos unleashed, he wants to hold and to be held.
Astarion just wants you, and who are you to deny him?
One of your hands slips into his while the other pulls the blanket away from you and Astarion's smile widens as he effortlessly pulls you up to stand beside him. You bend to scoop up your bedroll, and follow Astarion into your tent. The door flap flutters in the wind as Astarion releases it, and it settles in place like a butterfly finding a flower.
You find yourselves easily, your bedroll dumped next to Astarion's, pushed up close until his bedroll becomes a double. It's a well established routine for the two of you, with you spending more nights here than you don't. You never enter his tent if he isn't here, and you certainly never come in without his permission. One day, Astarion will find the words to convey his appreciation for your concern, but until then, he will remind you at every chance he finds that you are always welcome. He finds it greatly ironic that you seek permission to enter space and he, a vampire, does not. He knows he is welcome, wanted, cherished, loved.
It took some work for the both of you to get here, but his months with you are the counterweight to the hell he escaped from.
He'll never be able to thank you enough, he has no idea what he is doing, but perhaps this is a start.
Somehow, through the fuzziness of denied sleep, you end up back in bed, your blanket around you and Astarion's still chest under your head. He lays beneath you like he is patiently waiting for you to make yourself comfortable, and you take the opportunity to wind both of your arms around his waist and squeeze, pulling yourself up just enough to be able to bury your face in his neck. One of your legs slips between his, anchoring the two of you together.
Slowly, like he's afraid to move too quickly in case you disappear within his grasp and leave Astarion holding nothing but the cold empty night air, his hands settle upon your back and a sigh which seems to come from deep within him spells peace for the both of you. "This is nice," Astarion's voice rumbles through your ear and you press yourself ever closer to him, unable to get close enough. Your arms constrict around him again and you feel yourself smile as all those sleepy dreams you were having earlier are now here, beneath you, wrapped around you. As you hold on tighter, so too does Astarion, until the two of you are so completely intertwined that the elements cannot reach you. He has no body temperature and yet you are the comfiest and the warmest you have ever been.
Safe.
This time, Astarion doesn't tell you that you accidentally spoke your thoughts aloud.
#astarion x reader#astarion#baldurs gate 3 astarion#baldurs gate 3 x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#astarion comfort#astarion fluff#bg3 x reader#bg3
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Hello! May I request an Astarion x reader?
Reader is a happy girl who likes to help others. However, they help others because they feel inadequate. Astarion notices they slip into a depressive episode (which at first, they hid well), and comfort ensues. If possible, could s/h or s/h scars be included? In need of some comfort. (No suggestiveness, please).
Thank you!
Moonlight - Astarion x Reader
summary: You meet Astarion at night while the others are sleeping, and he quickly realizes something is wrong. He was been observing you rather closely, which makes it hard to hide your pain from him, but you quickly realize that perhaps you do not need to hide from him after all.
pairing: Astarion x Reader
word count: 1.3k
warnings: mentions of self-harm, scars
a/n: Thank you so much for this request <3 and I hope that you are well, anon. I hope that this story gives you some comfort.
Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info
The sky had long turned dark, illuminated only by the stars and moon, their distorted reflections staring back at you from the surface of the river. Around you, crickets chirped, and a handful of fireflies danced underneath the soft glow of the moon. You turned your head to the side, staring at the dark grass beneath your feet as you exhaled deeply.
Your party had set up camp nearby since the river was a good source of food and fresh water. Now, everyone lay asleep in their tents. You had tried to sleep, feeling it tear at your eyelids mockingly, yet your body had never allowed you to drift off, keeping you awake for reasons you could not fathom. After what felt like hours, you gave up and decided to seek solace by the water. It often calmed you when you were nervous or sad, but tonight was different.
“Did you want to go fishing? I fear it might be too late in the night for that.” a voice behind you said, causing you to tense. You turned to find Astarion, an amused smile on his face. You averted your gaze, wrapping your arms around your upper body.
Astarion clicked his tongue and took a step toward you. “Silence? Come on, darling, you’re more interesting than that.”
“I’m in no mood, Astarion,” you said hesitantly, hoping your words wouldn't anger him. Before he could respond, you turned on your heel and brushed past him, leaving the riverbank. Perhaps some fresh air would help you fall asleep easier now.
"Hey, wait," he said, his voice more serious than before. When you didn't stop, he continued, "(y/n). Please."
Your steps faltered, and you breathed out, turning your head in his direction. Astarion stared back at you, letting the silence between you stretch for an awkward moment as you looked at him expectantly. Mentally exhausted, you didn't attempt to initiate conversation, keeping silent until he spoke again.
"I didn't want you to feel like you have to leave," he said, any hint of teasing playfulness from earlier vanishing from his voice. A firefly circled behind him, and you kept your eyes locked on it until it flew away, meeting his gaze only when it did.
"It's okay," you replied with a raspy, quiet voice and a dry throat. A shiver ran down your spine as a breeze enveloped you both, too cool for your simple garments. The nights were getting colder, a sign that you were moving further north.
"You do this a lot, you know," Astarion remarked as he lowered himself to a fallen-over tree trunk, sitting down and observing you. You furrowed your eyebrows as you studied him, arms crossed in front of your chest.
"Do what?" you asked.
He made a gesture in the air that pointed to you from head to toe, an elegant twirl of his fingers. Yet, his serious gaze remained fixed on you. "It's like you fall into this void sometimes. Your eyes become empty, and your face paler." He paused, seemingly trying to find ways to put it into words. "It seems as though you stop feeling for a moment."
You swallowed, blinking away the threatening tears as you noticed him pat the empty spot next to him. His eyes found yours again, pleading. Once, you had thought his red irises to be menacing and fearful, but now you realized that after spending all this time with him, having him save your life again and again, you found comfort in them. It calmed you to look at him, the way his gaze softened when his eyes landed on you, no matter what kind of enemy you were fighting. The way he had made you feel safe when you kissed first, and you had done the same for him.
Still, you hesitated, before you sat down next to him, resting your hands in your lap as you stared out at the water. You hadn’t shown him your vulnerable sides yet, and today was one of those nights where everything weighed heavily upon your shoulders. You watched as dragonflies created small waves when they touched the surface, distorting the image of the moon further. Pressing your lips together in a fine line, you dropped your head.
"I know what it's like to feel like you're not enough, you know," he whispered, his gaze settling on the faraway trees behind the river. Their crowns blended into a large, dark wall of leaves that occasionally rustled in the wind. You did not look up but listened intently.
"You try to fill these gaps by giving to others what you wish you could receive yourself," he said, not in an accusatory tone but a calm, observing one. There was resonance in his voice, too. You dug your fingers into the hard bark of the trunk you were sitting on, your breathing becoming more shallow as you continued fighting tears. A hand on your shoulder made you tense.
You turned to look at Astarion, his gaze soft as he observed you with empathy. It was a side of him you didn't see often. Your hand pressed against your chest, where your heart was located. It was as if it was physically aching, causing your upper body to cower in defeat.
"I sometimes feel like no matter what I do, it's never enough," you said through sobs, not caring about the tears falling from your cheeks anymore. "I can't make anyone happy, and everyone leaves me. It's like I'm cursed."
Raising your arm to wipe your tears, your sleeve fell, revealing several thin lines of elevated skin on your forearm. They differed in color from your regular skin tone. Some were old, almost faded, while others still had dry blood on them.
His jaw tensed as his eyes locked on the scars, his hand reaching for yours. "(y/n)," he said in a low voice, placing a hand on your cheek to turn your head towards him, capturing your eyes with his.
"You are possibly the most remarkable person I have ever met. You have a kind heart, the kindest I know. Those who do not recognize your worth do not deserve to stay in your life. You give so much of yourself to others, but don't forget that you need some gentleness yourself. You—" His voice broke for a second, and he averted his gaze as he seemingly looked for the right words. Then, he looked at you again, his eyes determined.
"You are the hero I always wished for. My only regret is that the Gods have kept you from me for so long."
You sniffled, cupping his cheek for a moment before pulling him into a tight hug, burying your face in his neck. You inhaled his scent and felt his protective arms around you. He was not ready to let you go.
"I will not leave you, (y/n)," he said, as if to underline your thoughts. "Loving others is always easier than loving oneself. Perhaps we can teach each other how to do the latter."
You hugged him more tightly, enjoying the moment for a second before pulling away to meet his eyes; they were filled with worry. Lips curling up into a soft smile, you stroked his cheek gently, nodding at him.
"Yes," you said finally, your voice hoarse from having cried and barely talked, yet your words were not any less significant. "Yes, I believe we can." Your hand brushed over his back, feeling his own scars beneath the thin fabric of his tunic. He had shown you them before, and opened up to you about their origin. You had been there for him then, much like he was there for you now.
The night continued, and you and Astarion sat by the river, holding each other. The silence that followed was comfortable, despite both of your scars lying bare. The moon hung low, still casting reflections on the water as the rustle of the leaves whispered to you. Astarion held you tightly, and you finally felt safe enough to close your eyes and lean your head on his shoulder. Sleep took you soon after, and your spirit finally seemed at ease, even if just for tonight.
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Introspection
Summary:
Astarion trying his best to work out his inner turmoil, and the growing genuine feelings he has for Tav.
MY AO3 - Luna-Noya-Na
In the soft glow of the campfire's dancing flames, Astarion sat perched upon a weathered log, his figure partially cloaked in shadow. The flickering light cast intricate patterns of illumination upon his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the elegant curve of his collarbone. His normally aloof countenance bore the weight of contemplation, a trace of vulnerability evident in the furrow of his brow and the slight downward tilt of his lips.
He couldn't help himself... Astarion's gaze lingered on Tav, his thoughts swirling in a tangle of emotions he hadn't quite anticipated. It was all too unfamiliar, long forgotten… like the smooth rhythm of a beating heart he once had. Now dead and unmoving in his chest.
He had always prided himself on his detachment, his ability to keep his distance and protect himself from getting too close to anyone.
But Tav was different, and that scared him more than he cared to admit.
The nights spent together, the battles fought side by side, and the moments shared in the quiet corners of the camp had all woven a connection between them that he couldn't ignore. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt his walls crumbling, brick by brick.
As he watched Tav, he couldn't help but marvel at the strength and determination that seemed to radiate from her. She was unlike anyone he had encountered before, a captivating blend of courage and vulnerability. He found himself drawn to her presence, her laughter becoming a melody that resonated deep within him. Yet, with each tender moment they shared, a surge of panic gripped him. The vulnerability he felt around her was unsettling, leaving him exposed in ways he had always avoided.
Astarion's internal battle raged on. There was a shadow of doubt that whispered in the back of his mind. The curse that bound him, the thirst that gnawed at his insides, it was a reminder of the darkness that dwelled within him.
His chest clenched with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He yearned to confess his feelings, express his remorse, and articulate all the emotions wriggling havoc in him. He wanted to bridge the gap that seemed to widen with each passing day, yet the fear of rejection and the fear of hurting her held him back.
He feared that by letting himself fall for Tav, he might also expose her to that darkness, to a side of him that he desperately wished to keep hidden. That side of him, tainted, abused, tortured by years of servitude to Casador.
Yet, as he observed the way Tav interacted with their companions, the kindness she extended to even the most unlikely allies, he couldn't help but wonder if she might see past his affliction. Maybe, just maybe, she could be the light that tempered the shadows within him.
It was a battle within himself, a struggle to come to terms with his emotions and to decide whether he was willing to risk his own heart, and Tav's, for a chance at something he had never allowed himself to have.
Astarion knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger, for them and for their entire world.
Lost in his thoughts, Astarion's gaze remained fixed on Tav. At that moment, all he could focus on was the person before him and the unspoken connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.
The campfire's dance continued, a silent witness to his introspection, as he navigated the delicate thread that connected his past to an uncertain future.
#baldur’s gate 3 fic#astarion fics#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#astarion bg3#astarion romance#bg3#baldurs gate 3#astarion comfort#astarion hurt#astarion fic#astarion x you#astarion x reader#astarion gn!reader#astarion fanfic#astarion x female reader#astarion x tav#astarion ancunin#astarion x f!tav#astarion x female tav#astarion angst#astarion pov#astarion fluff#coffeeanddonutscafe fanfiction
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Blog Information!
I decided to create this post for all readers and blog viewers, just some information.
I mainly write headcannons and fics with my Tavs Ocs the twins Calamity and Carnifex.
I have a fanfic project where I will focus on both and their respective romantic peers, but for now I’m just writing headcannons with fun ideas. f you have any requests feel free, my inbox is open! I accept requests from f!Tav and Ocs, if you have any specific class and gender please let me know. I accept requests nfsw this is both Hots and delicate subjects that generate triggers principally traumas, we all agree we love a little anguish, right?
I also design and will post more comfort in the future drawing, for now I will leave marked here the posts I made and as it increases will create a masterlist.
Fanfic
Fate written in blood
Calamity Posts
OC Questionaire (Calamity)
OC Tav Questions (Calamity)
Why Did Astarion Fall For Your Tav
Who is the princess in the relationship? (Drawing)
Carnifex and Calamity’s parents.
Calamity flexibility
Carnifex Posts
OC Questionaire (Carnifex)
OC Tav Questions (Carnifex)
Carnifex and Calamity’s parents.
Headcannon's
HC Tav accidentally turns back into a child.
If you want to read more about my Tavs just search the tags # oc tav calamity, # oc tav carnifex and oc tav maira.
#baldurs gate 3#astarion x tav#astarion x oc#astarion romance#astarion x f!tav#astarion/tav#astarion x mc#tav x astarion#information#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 tav#my tav#oc tav#tav bg3#astarion angst#astarion baldurs gate#astarion fluff#astarion comfort#astarion hc#astarion fic#astarion ancunin#astarion and tav
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I slapped these two together when the comfort characters meme went around on Twitter :3c
#astarion#bg3#baldurs gate 3#fanart#vampire#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#hatsune miku#vocaloid#comfort character#meme
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Worry not, Galemancers and Astarion brain rotten goblins, for I've got you cuvr'd
#cake#my two comfort themes 🤝#bg3#bg3 astarion#astarion#gale of waterdeep#bg3 gale#lae'zel#karlach#halsin#shadowheart#bg3 fanart
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please continue with dadstarion if you want to. we lov him
don’t worry i don’t need to be asked
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#astarion#tavstarion#karlach#dadstarion#parents are incapable of noticing that their child looks weird and then there’s astarion#you can tell this is a while post brain because he’s so relaxed that he can’t run 60ft in 6 seconds anymore#i think he deserves to laugh more. and have lots of comfortable loungewear#also i love the person who tagged the karlach wip with ‘lots of love not lots of gentle’#i feel like she thrives during that stage of baby where they stop being fragile and you can just toss them around
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Fever
Summary: During your post-game adventures, you get sick and Astarion takes care of you.
Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav
Tags: hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
Thanks @tragedybunny for being an amazing beta!
It's bone-chilling cold. So close to the Spine of the World, the snow and winds prove as merciless as demons from the Abyss. Tears freeze on your cheeks. Even Astarion, wrapped in his fur cape, shivers; the cold seeping into his undead body. He starves. The dark forest is silent, with no animals around to prey on.
"Astarion," you muffle through the thick scarf, "take a small sip, I beg you."
"No," he refuses yet again, unwilling to risk your life. Hunger and cold torment him, but he stands on his feet. Meanwhile, you, a fragile mortal, teeter on the verge of death in this frozen forest. Your back aches despite Astarion carrying most of the load. Your feet are numb as if submerged in icy water, and your throat burns with pain.
Astarion grabs your hand and lets you lean back on him. The nearest village is still miles away, and there's no chance you'll make it till sunrise. Nights are long, dark, and unforgiving. You need to set up the camp; it might be warmer in daylight.
But Astarion desperately holds on to his sanity, which he might lose if he doesn't feed soon.
"Astarion, please. We need to put up the tent. Sunrise is soon. I will just lay by the fire, and you can eat."
"We still have time, darling, and save your energy," he grits his teeth. The starving monster within him looks at you through Astarion's kind crimson eyes.
"Astarion, take my blood!"
He doesn't reply, leading the way through dark woods. If only there was an animal, even a rat. Looking up, you see the dark skies filled with prickly stars.
"What is it, my sweet?"
Suddenly, you realize you haven't been cold because of the snow and winds. You are cold from within. Your heart, lungs, and bones are freezing, much like what Astarion feels every moment since he died.
"Oh, fuck!"
You realize you now lie in the snow, unable to move, as the air in your throat burns with ice.
"Wake up, gods damn you!" Astarion's voice is desperate, betraying that he' is scared to death.
You hear the loud thump when his travel sack drops in the snow. Then he works on your belts, releasing your burden. A moment later, and you rest in his hands.
"Love, I need you to stay awake. You hear me?"
But you can't say anything. The cold rips through your muscles, turning into ice, and you lose consciousness, drowning in cold, dark waters.
So cold, so cold. It's a freezing grip of death on your heart, killing you. You think of Astarion, imagining him beside your lifeless body.
… You hear muffled talking and open your eyes. You aren't dead, that's for sure, but there is complete darkness around you.
And you lie under something weighty.
You try to move but can't, your. whole body shivers. You are almost naked, tucked in animal fur like some barbarian child.
The smell wood and herbs comes to you. And fire.
Then you remember the sun. And how Astarion carried you in his hands. Horror pierces your mind along with cold.
He is dead. He didn't make it till sunrise. It burnt him; he is gone. And the village people probably found you alone in the snow and brought you here.
While you think, you realize there are people in the room. Two people, to be precise.
"It's a freezing fever," the female voice says. "You two would have been complete idiots if you'd decided to put up a camp. She would have been dead by now."
"But now—is she ok?"
Astarion.
You have never felt so much joy in your life. He is alive and here, beside you. You can't comprehend how much strength he had to pull to make it with you in his hands by sunrise.
"She needs to take the potion. And then sleep in warmth."
You feel the familiar weight beside you. Then, two hands get you out of the blankets and make you sit up. Your head is spinning, and you shiver, though you notice sweat on the healer's face.
Astarion smiles at you and brings the bottle with the potion to your lips.
"Drink, love," he says.
"The taste is nasty," the healer shrugs. "Make her drink every last drop."
The potion is genuinely awful, burning your mouth. You start slipping away again, and Astarion tucks you in thick blankets.
"And people say vampires are soulless creatures. They should meet you two.”
When the healer leaves, Astarion lies beside you over the blanket. You wish to hug him but are afraid of his cold skin.
"Are you hungry?" you ask.
You hear a chuckle. "You are at death's door, and you ask about me?
"Take mine," you insist.
"Tav, darling, I ain't taking a tiny drop from you until you fully recover. There is prey in the woods. I will find it."
You want to say something else, but the freezing hand of the sickness grips your throat. You feel like you’re naked on ice, in the howling wind.
"Love?"
"It's still… cold…"
Astarion sighs and stands up. You want to cry, to beg him to stay, but you can't say anything as he leaves the room, closing the thick wooden door.
You feel like crying, alone, and freezing. The healer curses, "You, idiot, stay inside!"
You hide under the blanket in the fetal position, trying to save warmth. However, it's difficult since the core of your suffering is still within. What if you are dying? And you are dying all alone in this village without a name in the middle of nowhere.
It's been years since you left Baldur's Gate together, and you can't fall asleep without him by your side. Astarion is safety. Astarion is protection. Whatever enemy is out there to threaten your life and freedom, Astarion is always there with his fangs and daggers. He doesn't sleep—only meditates a bit—and he is your guardian when you are most vulnerable.
But now you are alone. Your mind grasps consciousness with the last bits of strength you have. The thick blankets don't let you move, and you lie like you’re in your very own coffin of ice. It's been a long time since you were left alone, but you know it's still dark outside.
And then you realize you aren't alone anymore.
Astarion crawls under the blankets and covers your body with himself, placing his head on your chest. He smells like blood, the hunt, and forest. He has already pulled off all his clothes, and you feel his skin against yours, unexpectedly flaming hot.
You can only wonder how much blood he has drunk. Sure, his body gets warm after feeding, and the more living blood he takes, the more alive he seems. But this is different. You can't see him, but you are somehow sure his skin has temporarily returned to its natural living color.
You wrap your hands around him and stroke the scars. Astarion groans and adjusts himself a bit.
"I've been hunting," he says, sounding drunk. "The healer told me there is a bear attacking villagers, starved and angry. I found and drained it."
"You shouldn't have risked it."
"I wanted you to be warm. I know how it feels to have a freezing grip on the heart. It hurts. All the time."
You press him tighter and kiss his forehead.
With him in your hands, you finally fall asleep. You have a strange dream—a summer day in the beautiful mountains.
And there is Astarion beside you. He smiles, exposing his face to the sunshine. You want to tell him to hide, to run away. But he opens his eyes, and you stare at him in disbelief.
They are green, not red.
… When you wake up, you feel hot. Sweat runs down your back, and the blankets suffocate you. You get out of them like a kitten squeezed by its mother.
"Hello, my sweet. You are so adorable with this bed hair," Astarion sits on the floor with a needle and a thread. You recognize his own shirt in his hands.
"How awful do I look?"
"You look like someone who finally got better. But I suppose you could scare away some kids in that village. Maybe I should tell them you are also a vampire. Food or bath?" he asks.
"Food. I am dying of hunger."
"My sweet, don't tell me about hunger." He mockingly kisses you.
He returns soon with a soup bowl. You try to take the plate in your trembling hands, but Astarion forces you to sit still like a baby and starts spoon-feeding you.
"Good girl," he chuckles. "The healer said it would take you weeks to recover, and you made it in three days."
"And you have been here?"
"Don't offend me with such questions."
"Oh, don't be angry."
With a full stomach, you feel much better and lie back on the bed, letting your body fully recover. Astarion studies your face as if seeing it for the first time. Then he lies beside you, allowing you to place your head on his chest. His skin is cold again, but it feels more like him.
"What is on your mind, Astarion?" you ask.
"I want to stay," he says. "Not exactly here, but I can't live like that anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Living on the road. I can't do that anymore. You obviously can't either. I... listen… I've never had a home. Never had a place to call my own. I want one. I want one with you."
"Didn't you tell me it would be tediously boring?" you inquire.
"I wanted to see what life has to offer beyond the city walls."
"Astarion, it will be dangerous. No one would want a—"
You bite your tongue. "Sorry."
"Dealing with a nosey neighbor doesn't sound more dangerous than getting some weird sickness in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we can prove to people it's better to have a vampire of their own rather than be threatened by some unhinged vampire lord.”
"Astarion, I am afraid for you. People hate vampires!"
"And I am afraid for you."
You are both silent. You turn to him and nuzzle his collarbone. He wraps his hands around you. Vague memories return, and you suddenly realize you heard the voices while in fever.
"Don't die. Please, don't die. I need you."
A scared voice of a healer. "You are a vampire!"
"Please help her. I won't come inside. I will stay in the woods. Please, please, help her! She is mortal; she is dying!"
You remember being carried to the bed and a strong smell of herbs.
"How did you two end up together?", asked the healer.
"She saved me. From myself. Showed me I have a chance to be something different from what I was turned into. Tell me what I can do. Do you need herbs? Ingredients? I will bring you anything."
And then the face of the healer standing above you. She came to check on you in Astarion's absence, and the feverish mind remembered that.
"You are a lucky to have him, girl."
You caress Astarion's cheek. "Would staying in one place make you happy?"
He nods.
"Then, me too."
--
Tag list
@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#astarion romance#bg3#astarion bg3#baldurs gate 3#astarion x tav#astarion fluff#astarion ancunin#astarion fics#astarion x f!tav#astarion x reader#nurturing astarion#astarion fanfic#spacebarbarian fics#astarion angst#astarion hurt#astarion comfort
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Alone in a Crowded Camp
Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Summary: A short Astarion reflection, where he realizes that company isn't so bad.
Tags: Astarion POV, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings
A/N: My ~mood~ persists and I wanted to make this real angsty, but even I couldn’t do that to myself hah. A short little oneshot to try to get me out of my funk!
Word count: ~1.1k
Alone.
Astarion has gotten quite good at being alone.
For two hundred years, he's been surrounded by people– their faces, their bodies, their sickly sweet words and insincere affections. But all along, he has been deeply, achingly alone.
He's had his siblings, ugh, if that's what you could call them. They’ve been a constant, annoying, and at times cruel presence in his life. They’ve felt like a growth he could no more remove than he could ignore. And, through the misery and the pain, he somehow still managed to feel gods awfully alone.
It’s difficult to pinpoint the source of his loneliness. After all, he has nary a moment to himself. But no matter how many people, no matter how frequently he’s with them, something is missing. There is no connection, no kindness, no caring. He simply is alone.
As such, Astarion has grown downright skilled at solitude. A practical art form, he's certain– someone else may call it a method of coping. Either way, it’s not a skill he's comfortable to admit.
Especially not when he suddenly finds himself surrounded once more, veritably drowning in the same disgusting familiarity and the startling newness of companionship. Because this time, he's free. Or as free of Cazador as he's willing to believe for the moment. And his companions don't expect much from him. At least not more than he's willing to provide.
So when he settles into the motley crew, he’s prepared to face the same discordant discomfort of isolation, all while being a hair’s breadth from falling into someone’s bedroll.
Instead, what he finds is an unconventional, at times chaotic, symphony.
The loud sheering sound of weapons being sharpened.
The heat of bodies surrounding a late night campfire.
The beautiful, desperate joy on the faces of those who may not live to see another day.
Astarion soon discovers that, despite the dirt, despite the tentacled doom lingering over his gorgeous head of curls, the boisterous mundanity of daily life is oddly… welcome.
For so long, as long as he can remember honestly, he’d dreaded meeting someone new. Meeting someone new meant as much a death sentence for them as it meant a detestable evening for him, a night lost to his inevitable withdrawal into the deepest darkness he could muster.
But here, in the warm glow of firelight, the darkness abates.
Against all of his efforts, he actually learns about the group.
How Lae’zel single-handedly took on her entire crèche while training, how many rooms Gale’s tower boasts back in Waterdeep, how far Wyll’s travels have taken him along the Chionthar, how Shadowheart didn’t need her memories to remember she hated bad wine, how Karlach once defeated a Pit Fiend in the hells themselves. None of them are things he expected to learn, nor care about. But he finds himself listening, chortling along all the same.
And then there’s you.
At first, he’d kept you a careful arm and knife distance away– an asset surely, but just as surely a dangerous one. He’d learned early in his time with Cazador that anyone who could wield both blade and charm was not someone to be trifled with.
What he hadn’t expected was the way that you made him feel: Distinctly not-alone.
Whether it be catching the mischievous twinkle in your eye from across the room or finding himself wrapped in your arms, feeling your body heat slowly seeping into him– he simply can’t understand how you make the world feel so full.
Astarion isn’t sure if he loves this new feeling of overwhelming closeness or misses the solitude. He wonders if he’ll ever feel alone again, and the idea that he may not both thrills and terrifies him.
Because there is something soothing about being alone, a type of insidious succor only his own thoughts provide.
The ache loneliness has carved in his chest is as lingering as it is deeply rooted within him and, like a plant desperately trying to survive, he finds the roots digging deeper and deeper in an attempt to stay grounded.
His moments of actual time to himself have been scarce, of course. So, in his fear, Astarion has gotten used to finding his solitude among the chaos, sequestering himself away from any who might hurt him before such a chance could arise.
Retreating from their kindness, reciprocating with sharply worded barbs, shooting utterly underserved glares in every direction. Their wounded looks mean nothing to him– why should they? They are just another group of strangers, one vampire lord away from becoming another pile of corpses.
However, much like every other of his carefully thought out plans, you are ready to thwart him. For every attempt he makes to withdraw, you’re right there, proving time and again that you are no stranger. Not anymore.
“Astarion.”
It’s a simple thing, his name. The last remnant from a mother he no longer remembers. It sounded wretched upon Cazador’s lips, a curse he could never break. Upon yours though? It may as well be a blessing.
With that one, simple name, his loneliness is allayed. The roots embedded within him pull back, if only for the moment.
Despite his best efforts, he remembers that he is not alone. Astarion feels at ease.
His heart opens, little by little, and not just to you.
Living hundreds of years as he has, faces had begun to meld together, names began to lose their meaning, voices their distinct candor. But for the first time in a long, long time, he finds himself seeing, listening, connecting to others in a way he no longer believed himself capable of.
It’s… nice. Not that he’ll ever tell the others.
Naturally, his past doesn’t simply up and vanish. His mind still drifts, and he finds himself retreating into the damning safety of solitude from time to time. But each and every time, a hand reaches out– at times jovial, sometimes tentative, other times caring– ready to pull him back to the present.
“Astarion?”
One such hand comes into his field of view, and he takes it instinctively. It’s warm, comforting, and scarred with the beautiful history of an adventurous past. He could get lost in the look and feel of this hand.
“Astarion? Are you alright?”
Your voice is soft, tone gently questioning– yet still worried. Adorable, but you needn’t worry about him. He doubts he’s ever been better.
“Mmm, yes, darling. Quite alright.”
“Good.”
Your hand squeezes his as you respond and he’s certain that, as long as you’re next to him, he may never feel alone again. Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing after all.
#astarion#astarion x tav#fanfic#astarion fic#astarion x reader#rogue + rogue#astarion fanfiction#astarion fanfic#astarion x gn reader#astarion x gn!tav#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion is bad at feelings#astarion comfort#spawn astarion#hurt comfort#sort of a character study
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Aaaaand more very quick stream doodles. This one shot was so fun to watch, it’s so sad that it had to end already. But oh well, let’s not dwell on that and let’s enjoy the good time we had, like disguised tiefling gale being both Karlachs and astarions type, wyll and gale having a spa day, bing bong in general (rip king, you will be missed), and of course the 8 strength fight for magic items <3 thanks to the cast for the chaos, I enjoyed it thoroughly
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#astarion ancunin#gale dekarios#shadowheart#wyll ravengard#karlach#lae'zel#bloodweave#bc I say so#>:3c#I also refuse to draw gale without the beard sorry#I’m so happy we got to see more Tim being chaotic. he’s like the eye of the storm. calm and unassuming while commanding the chaos#around him#the gale wine mom moment was literally so real I nearly cried from laughter when Tim mimed eating the cucumber slices from his face mask#god I wish they could do a whole campaign I would watch that back and fourth#everything I draw that includes them is bloodweave bc I love them dearly. same goes for shartzel (still love that ship name)#I just have not yet drawn actual ship art outside of this of them so I feel less comfortable tagging it as such 🥹
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until I come back alive
summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.
warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings
pairing. Astarion x GN!reader
a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏
“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”
Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.
“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.
“The what?”
“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.
He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.
“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”
She appears puzzled. “Why not?”
He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”
“You love each other, don’t you?”
At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”
A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.
Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.
And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.
Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”
“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”
“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”
He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.
“Did you call me?”
Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.
“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”
“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”
“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”
He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”
You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.
Easy, he thinks. Too easy.
He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”
“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”
You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”
“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”
“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”
He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”
Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”
He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”
There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”
He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.
Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.
“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”
You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”
His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.
The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.
He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”
Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”
A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.
He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.
He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”
“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—
“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.
He stops.
Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.
“Astarion?”
He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”
“But you didn’t even feed?”
“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.
He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.
Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.
“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, my dear.”
And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.
And he hates it more than he expected.
——
By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.
He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.
He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.
The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.
There are no third pair of footsteps at all.
Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.
He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.
You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.
His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.
“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.
“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”
Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.
Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.
“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”
He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.
“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”
In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.
All he cared about was your life.
Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.
You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.
“Quite the nap, darling.”
You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”
“You nearly died.”
“…how?”
“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”
You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”
“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”
“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”
He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”
Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“
He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.
You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”
“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”
You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”
“For getting poisoned?”
“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”
His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.
You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“
He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”
He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”
You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”
Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”
He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”
As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.
You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.
“I love you.”
#astarion ancunin#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate astarion#bg3 astarion#light angst#angst with a happy ending#fluff#comfort#bg3 x reader#bg3 x tav#astarion
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spending a lot of time thinking abt lux’s tattoos (which I’ll probably have to scrap or redesign when i remake them as a durge)(is there a lore-friendly reason for the dark urge to have a hideous beholder neck tattoo they definitely got while drunk and spend the rest of their life insisting is cool)(asking for a friend)
#lux#astarion#bg3#baldur's gate 3#my ocs#my art#happily adding details to my oc design comfortable in the knowledge i will never draw them on model again#nox
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