#astarion/reader
Text
Unholy Desire
Pairing: spawn!Astarion x female!Tav (the reader is Tav)
Warnings: 18+, religious kink, breeding kink, innuendo, dry humping, mutual pining, reclaiming sexuality through kink, they talk out their feelings
Word count: 2.7k
Summary: Takes place in Act 3, pre-Cazador. You've finally made it to Baldur's Gate. You take time to offer prayers to your God after coming upon a small church on the outskirts of the city. You and your lover have grown closer over these long weeks, healing past wounds within your hearts, minds, and souls. Your desire has grown to become... sinful. You have a choice to consider: your Oath, or your lover?
This is the third camping spot you and your team find on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate. Rotating spots every few days was probably the best course of action, lest the Flaming Fists come to chase you away in the middle of the night.
You find an old abandoned church during your inspection of these latest campgrounds. It has been a while since you had a proper spot to sit and pray. Lathander has been kind in your journey, thus far. You hadn't offered thanks nearly enough for shining light in the darkest depths of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Despite the challenges you faced, you and your companions arrived safely to Baldur's Gate. You kneel down behind a bench within the church and fold your hands in prayer. You hang your head and close your eyes. The sun begins to warm your skin as it shines through a crack in the church ceiling. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth; Lathander is receptive to your prayer offering.
You don't recall how long you remain in that position, praying to the Morninglord. When your eyes lift up, you notice that night has fallen. You see a faint glow in the distance, surely that of the campfire. Faint bits of conversation travel along the night air. The conversation sounds jovial; it's probably fine for you to stay here a bit longer.
Astarion stands in the doorway to the small church, eyes fixated on you as you kneel once again in prayer. He'd come searching for you after your companions failed to reveal your whereabouts. He scoffs softly upon entering the abandoned structure. He thanks the tadpole nestled in his skull for affording him the luxury of waltzing straight into a church. Were this a few months ago, he surely would have burst into cinders upon the first step.
You hear a small 'crunch' off to your left; your head shoots up and your eyes settle on Astarion, who is frozen in place. You will your features to soften at the realization it was only your partner, your lover, who came to check on you. "Are you certain you're a rogue?" you speak to him through the darkness.
Moonlight pours through the ceiling and bathes his face as he comes closer to you, now within full view. He looks ethereal in the pale light. The moonlight reflects off his silver hair in a halo. His eyes glint like newly-polished ruby gemstones, his skin glows like the finest cut ivory. You find it challenging at times to believe he is your mate on this journey. Difficult to accept that the two of you had shared a bed on multiple occasions. The thought makes your mouth dry and your head swim. You shake your head slightly, clearing your mind of such perverse thoughts.
"My dear," he begins, his signature posh tone dripping from each word, "if you've truly forgotten just how deft I am with my hands..." Astarion sits next to your knelt form. He drops a hand to cup your chin, gently tilting your face up to meet his, "...then perhaps you need reminding."
You swallow thickly as he holds your face, and watch his eyes begin to hood. A smile graces his lips and he releases your chin. He scans the church briefly, snickering. "What in the hells are you even doing here? It's rather... drab, darling."
You stand up and brush yourself off. You proceed to then sit next to him on the bench. "I'm praying, Astarion." You take a deep breath in and meet his eyes. "Lathander has been most kind on our journey. I haven't given him nearly enough of my thanks."
Astarion audibly scoffs. "Ugh, I can clearly see that. But why, is my question."
"We made it safely to Baldur's Gate," you explain. "That's more than enough to be thankful for."
Astarion suddenly stands up and over you. A scowl graces his visage, "And you didn't think to tell me you'd be here?" He places one hand upon his hip. "No one had any idea where you'd gone!" His face falls and he averts his gaze to the side. "I was... concerned that you were still out in the city."
You chuckle. Astarion has a softer side to him that sometimes slips out of his otherwise gruff facade. It makes your heart sing with delight each time you see it.
"I'm Baldurian, my love. Remember? I know the city streets quite well." You reach out to hold the hand at his side, and his palm wraps around yours. "I also happen to be a Paladin."
You follow his eyes as they fall upon the floor. The grip on your hand tightens. "And it's not exactly a daily occurrence to have a blood-thirsty vampiric master hunting you." He sighs, soft eyes regaining their focus on you, "Please, darling, just give me some warning next time."
Ah, he's worried you may have been snatched by Cazador. You stand to meet him and wrap your arms around his neck. "My apologies, Astarion. It was not my intention to make you worry." You bury your face in his neck and breathe in. Bergamot, rosemary, and brandy; his signature scent. You feel your body slowly mold against his as the smell floods your olfactory receptors. There have been many nights you've fallen asleep dreaming of this scent. It was oddly comforting to you. It makes you feel safe and secure.
Astarion rests his hands upon your hips and leans his cheek against your temple. You stand together in the small ruined church, holding one another, bathed in moonlight from the cracked ceiling above. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me," a low rumble escapes his chest as he speaks. His hands begin to snake up your back, his palms resting on your shoulder blades, "Any clue what I think about when I'm alone in my tent at night?"
You slide a hand up into his hair, twirling the locks between your fingers. You litter featherlight kisses along his jawline, and he tilts his head back to give you better access. The hand in his hair tightens, holding him in place. A soft groan escapes his lips as you lick a stripe up the center of his neck. "I don't think you've ever told me," you say.
He shivers within your touch. You watch his eyes flit to the back of his head as you suckle at the scars upon his neck, "Hells, Tav, I've told you so many times..." his voice comes as a soft whisper into the night air. Astarion's hands slide down your back and to your waist, gripping your hips.
"Remind me," you insist as you watch a purple mark bloom on his neck. His hips stutter into yours, and you feel the hardening length of him ever so lightly brush across your mound. You tilt his head to gain access to the opposite side of his neck, and your mouth descends once more.
Another moan escapes his lips and he lowers his face to your ear. "I..." You feel his hands sink lower, coming to rest on your backside, "I think of you below me." Astarion’s breath is cool yet heavy in your ear as his hips begin to meet yours in a soft rhythm, "Or, bent over, with my cock splaying your darling little cunt."
Your hands drop to his biceps as a shutter passes over you. Your hips involuntarily grind against his, pleasured groans slipping free from both of your lips at the joint friction. His hands grip your ass and he holds you against him. You feel the outline of him press against your sex; your walls clench around the thought of him buried to the hilt inside you.
You lean back in his hold and he dips his face to your neck, nose tracing the outline of your pulse point. You shiver as Astarion begins placing chilled kisses against your carotid artery, and you once again lace your hands through his hair.
"I think about your greedy pussy milking my cock for as much of my spend as it can…" Astarion takes a hand off your behind and guides it to your clothed mound, pressing his fingers slightly upward as he swipes across the general vicinity of your clit, "...until you’re positively overflowing, and my seed weeps down your folds into a pool under us." You buck into his palm at the pressure of his fingers. Your hips grind down instinctively against his hand, and you mewl into his neck.
"Please," you beg, "what else do you think about?" Your voice is airy and ragged. You notice the door of the church is open, meaning anyone could see your current state, were they to come over. You feel a sensual twist in your abdomen, and your hands begin untying Astarion's trousers. You need this man stripped and bare before you, getting caught be damned.
His hands come to rest upon your own. "Oh dear, whatever could I have possibly said to put you in such a state?" he feigns coyness as he takes over for you, undoing the knots to his pants. “Are you certain you can handle knowing more?” You raise your head to meet his gaze and nod, slowly. Your eyes are hooded over in lust and you feel a warm blush begin to creep across your face.
Astarion raises a hand to cup the side of your face in his palm. His lips come to grace the shell of your ear, nipping at it softly with his blunted front teeth. The hand on your cheek begins to slide down to your throat and his fingers wrap around the column of your neck. His grip tightens into light pressure against your throat. “Do you truly want to hear…” his tongue traces the curve of your ear down to the lobe, “how I bring myself to completion…” his teeth tug at your earlobe, “...at the thought of you, swollen, with the ultimate consequence of our couplings?” His voice is a whisper in your ear, and you feel your knees threatening to buckle. You groan and extend your neck, a silent offering to the hand on your throat to hold tighter.
He guides one of your hands between the apex of his thighs and cups his swollen length in your palm. Even clothed, you could feel how hard he is. It sends electric shooting down your spine, resonating as a throb of your sex. He sucks in a breath at the pressure of your hand. A broken moan escapes his lips and he speaks into your ear again, “Have you any idea how terribly my body yearns to breed you?”
Your head swims, slowly losing all connection to this material plane of existence. To carry the child of an undead would be blasphemy; you would lose your Oath and fall out of favor with Lathander. Yet… you breathe heavily at the thought of being pumped so full of cum that your womb no longer has room for it. Your pussy throbs at the thought of falling pregnant from such a situation. You feel wetness gathering at the center of your thighs.
“Wouldn't that be the epitome of a holy offering to your God of life?” Astarion moves to press his forehead against yours, and kisses the tip of your nose.
“He's…” you try to rasp out a reply, but your voice fails you. Your face is burning and your thoughts are a muddled mess.
“He's what, dear?” You can hear the amusement in Astarion's voice, knowing he has gotten you to the point where your mind can no longer form coherent thoughts.
“He's… also the God of birth,” you force out. You feel his cock twitch against your palm as the words leave your lips. A shiver passes through you at the thought of giving birth to an undead child, Astarion's undead child. Would it even be possible?
“My, my…” You manage to open your eyes and catch the devious smirk gracing his lips, “how entirely sinful that would be. Your holy womb, thoroughly disgraced by the planting of my seed.” Astarion's lips form into a pout, his voice taking on a soft mocking tone, “I wonder if your God would forsake you for such a thing?”
You often forget Astarion is an undead; he played the part of the living so well, would easily blend into any crowd. Yet, during times like these, he relished in his unholy attributes. He'd long teased you about your devotion to Lathander, went on long monologues about how the Gods were graceless and inevitably forsook everyone. He'd told you how he prayed to every God he knew of during the year he was sealed in a tomb by Cazador. None had answered him. He was bitter, you knew this. And yet… he was also enamored by your devotion. Jealous, even, that your attention was divided between him, and a God.
Your arms come to rest upon his shoulders once more, and you move your head slightly back from his. Your eyes find one another; you hadn't noticed before, but your chosen conversation is having an impact on him, as well. Astarion's pupils are blown wide, the reds of his irises becoming thin rings. “...Could we even do that?” you question, “Could we actually… could I… Now?”
A chuckle escapes his chest. The corner of his tips turns upward into a smile. “Now probably isn't the best time, my sweet. Unless you'd like an audience.” He nods his head in the direction of your companions sitting around the campfire.
Suddenly, your periphery vision returns to you. You recall you're in the small abandoned church within camp, with your companions mere feet away from you. You'd almost begged Astarion to take you within earshot of your companions… in a church, after having just finished your prayers. A scowl graces your lips at the thought.
“Oh, don't be so sour,” Astarion says, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, “We can always try to make this a reality later tonight?”
“Astarion, is it even possible for you to sire a child?” You watch his lips purse into a flat line with your questioning, obviously offended, “I mean, with your… condition.”
Silence stretches long between you. You watch his gaze fall to the laces of his trousers and he begins to retie the knots. The silence is uncomfortable, and you begin to fear you'd said the wrong thing. Yet, you genuinely did not know. Could it happen? You'd not taken precautions during your past encounters. Could it have possibly… already happened? You shift uneasily and remove your arms from his neck.
“...I read a book while out with Gale one afternoon,” he finally says, grasping your wrists before your arms return to your sides. His fingers weave between your own, joining your hands. “He'd been raving about visiting ‘Sorcerous Sundries’ again. Something about an old, dusty tome of some sort,” he scoffs. “I haven't a damned clue what he was talking about.”
Your eyes widen. “You went out shopping, willingly, with Gale?”
“I know,” he sighs, “rather unbecoming of me. Though, I often have reasons for my madness.” He raises one of your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand, “One being… us. And what our future could be.”
“Astarion…” It dawns on you: he took the afternoon with Gale to research this very topic. To find out if this could ever be a reality for you both.
He unlaces one of your joined hands and brings his palm up to hold the side of your face. “As it turns out, so long as you keep me well-fed, that of which you already do…” a genuine smile graces his lips, “this could very much be a thing between us.”
You smile and raise your hand to cover the one on your cheek, turning your face into his palm. You kiss the inside of his palm, “I think it's best we return to everyone else, lest we get tempted again to start.”
“Of course, dear. I would have to agree,” Astarion turns toward the doorway of the abandoned church, holding out a hand toward you. “Our chosen company of weirdos may turn up with pitchforks should I not return with you in tow rather soon.”
You place your hand in his and follow his lead toward the doorway. “Another night, then?” you suggest.
“No, my sweet,” he says, kissing the back of your hand once more, “tonight would make a lovely opportunity to start.”
#astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#astarion x female tav#astarion x tav#astarion smut#astarion/reader#astarion/tav#inspired by ruby#thank you ruby#your writing is always *chef's kiss*
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Firsts
Pairing: Astarion (non-ascended) x GN!Reader
Word Count: ~1200
archiveofourown: here
masterlist: here
Summary: Post ending of BG3, established relationship. GN!Tav/Reader having a bit of self doubt and worrying that Astarion fell for the very first person he met once he realized he was free from Cazador and that they would understand if he someday decides that he wants to go explore or meet new people or fall in love more then once. Astarion’s reacts to this worry.
Note: I haven't posted any BG3 fics yet, but I just couldn't resist writing this little scene that's been bouncing around in my head this past week! I wrote it originally for my Tav named Olympia, a tiefling bard, but I changed it to second perspective for this post.
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Astarion’s eyes were trained on your fidgety movements. You were picking at the blanket as you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand shifting anxiously back and forth as your brow was crumpled in thought.
Something was eating away at you. He just wasn’t sure what. You two had a seemingly normal day, not starting until well past sunset (your new adopted routine just for him). The both of you had done some research and shopping before returning to the tiny rooms you were calling home for the time being to relax for the remainder of the night.
But now that he thought about it, you had barely touched your meal tonight. And were much quieter than usual, not as optimistic or positive during the research that had once again been futile. Perhaps you were being plagued by nightmares again — images of the horrors the party had faced just a couple months ago were resurfacing.
A flash of anger coursed through him at himself for not noticing sooner. Taking a breath he didn’t really need, he strode over to you and joined you on the edge of the bed — the mattress sinking slightly with his added weight.
“Copper for your thoughts, my sweet?” He asked with a tilt of his head, before tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.
“I— I was thinking…,” You were quiet, and stumbled as you opened your mouth. He’d very rarely seen you like this — you always had a way with your words. You could be more poetic and flowery than even him. “And— and I understand if you do end up feeling this way.”
Confusion spread across all of Astarion’s features, “What in the hells are you talking about?”
You finally looked up at him, your eyes big and crinkled with worry, “I was the first person you met when you realized you were free… from him.” The pair of you had silently agreed to never mention that name again. “The first person you’ve been with. If you… if you decide you want to go see the world, experience new things, new people… I would understand.”
His jaw clenched together, “What?”
“I feel selfish keeping you all to myself. When there’s so much of the world you’ve not seen, so many other people you could be with that I—“
His red eyes blinked at you, before his lips turned downward, “You’re being serious.”
“I—“
He cut you off abruptly, waving his hand dramatically and pressing it into his chest, “Do you think that’s what I want? Have I told you that’s what I want?”
You shook your head, lips creasing, “No, I just want you to know that it’s ok if—“
“What, if I want to leave?” He stood up from the bed, looming in front of you as he spoke, “If I want to go galivant around to meet mysterious strangers, have a tryst or some torrid affair? I know that I am capable of making my own decisions. I know that darling, and I chose you. I choose you. And you reciprocated that.”
“I did. I do, I choose you. But I’ve—“
He interrupted you again, “Let me ask you something. Do you love me?”
“Of course. With all my heart.”
His heart still swelled with your answer. It did every time you admitted it to him. To hear it put out into the universe. That a tiny corner of it was indeed intended for him and you.
He pursed his lips before asking, “Have you loved people before me?”
“I—yes.” You admitted, looking down to your fingers that had become a twisted knot on your lap now.
“And did it feel the same? The love you shared for those other people.” He asked quietly, stepping closer and leaning down to undo the knot of your fingers. Instead threading them through his own pale, cold ones. “Did your love for them feel the same way you love me?”
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, squeezing his hand in confirmation. “No. Not even close.”
“Exactly. You explored and experienced… and it still led you here, to me now. To your version of a first, yes?”
You nodded, the bottoms of your beautiful eyes starting to form with water as you tried to keep your tears at bay.
“I don’t need anybody else, or anywhere else.” Astarion sank to his knees in front of you, keeping his hands intertwined with your own. He dipped his head so he was looking up at you, his red eyes soft and tender. “Look… yes, you may have been the first person I stumbled upon after that damn ship. The first person I met once I realized I was free from his grasp. But you are also the first person to treat me with kindness and compassion. Respect. You’ve fought for me, protected me, fed me, been patient with me. You were the first person whose touch doesn’t make me feel ill, the first person who’s brought me to a blissful euphoria. You’ve given me peace. Autonomy. Safety. And love. No one has ever done that for me, not in my whole existence.”
His half dead heart was thundering in his chest. He had already declared himself to you once before, yet his whole body was shaking with emotion right now.
“And how dare you think so little of yourself. You aren’t just some notch in my belt, not a stepping stone in my life. You are everything.” Astarion used his thumb and finger to push your chin up, forcing your eyes to stare up into his. “I love you. No on else. And there will be no one else.”
The tears that were welling in your eyes finally broke free, rolling down your freckled cheeks. “I love you too. Irrevocably so.” Your voice was a raspy whisper.
“Oh my lovely moon, I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” Astarion’s voice was a gentle whisper.
He pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, both of his hands moving to grab the sides of your face. His pale thumbs wiped away the tears. “I surely hope these are somewhat happy tears now?”
You nodded profusely in his hands, a breathy laugh escaping you. “Happy, relieved.”
“Good. Now, no more of this talk alright? There is only room for one person to be filled with self doubt in this relationship and that position is currently filled by me.”
You frowned, “Starry, don’t jest about things like that.”
“Old habit.” His smirk pulled up enough that his fangs poked out. “No more stewing with your anxious thoughts. You’re going to come and join me on the balcony. Come on,” He stood up and held out his pale hand for you before he gently tugged you to the small balcony attached to your rooms.
The pair of you looked up at the inky black sky, glittering with the sprinkling of stars you could still see in Baldur’s Gate. They were blinking and swirling around the glowing, full moon. A sigh of contentment left you both as you stood in comfortable silence and basked in the light.
“What would the stars be without their moon?” He whispered in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist as he gathered you into him.
#bg3 astarion#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion fanfic#astarion x reader#astarion/reader#astarion x tav
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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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Request for Ren! Could I request a scenario for Astarion to react to his gender neutral crush said they would sleep on the couch while he sleeps on the bed when both of them had to share a room with one bed? Even though the bed is big enough for both of them!
I woke up at like 3 in the morning (don't worry, I went back to sleep), saw this, and spent like 20 minutes thinking about it. I think I even dreamt about it! Thank you so much for the ask, and I hope you like what I wrote!
~*~*~
While you wouldn't necessarily complain about sleeping in the wilds, with the stars above your head and the sound of creatures going about their business, you had to admit having a roof to block out the rain and a comfortable bed to cushion your back was a nice change of pace.
"We don't have enough rooms for everyone in your party, unfortunately," comes the innkeep, flipping through her books. "Hopefully you aren't against rooming up."
"It would be cheaper that way," voices Wyll with a shrug.
Karlach laughs. "I don't care if I have to sleep on the floor. Give me a nice fluffy pillow and I'll sleep like a babe."
You catch the innkeep's eye and smile. "I think that answers your question."
Setting four keys down on the counter, she motions to the stairs to her right. "Well then, breakfast will be ready in the morning if you're interested. Enjoy your night."
As you grab the keys and turn to your companions, you grin as everyone eyes each other up. Shadowheart and Lae'zel would have to have separate rooms lest you wake up to one of them dead. Maybe the druids wouldn't be against wild shaping into cats that could sleep at the ends of the bed to free up space. Astarion--
Is staring at you with mischief in his eyes.
The moment he sees your eyes lock on his, he sidles up next to you. "What was that, darling? You want to share a room with me?" He puts a hand to his heart. "I'm honored, of course I'll agree. You needn't even ask."
Fighting the smile and giving him an eyeroll, you wave the remaining keys and set them back on the counter. "Figure it out, you guys. I'm tired."
"I would be too," you hear Gale mutter, eyes darting between you two with a raised eyebrow.
Slipping an arm over your shoulders, Astarion turns you toward the stairs. "I wouldn't bother trying to add yourselves to our room. We'll be...busy."
You hear Lae'zel scoff while Wyll laughs, "We know."
Letting him lead you up the stairs and to your room, he leaves you at the door while he sets his pack down on the bed. A single bed, large enough for two, yet... Glancing about the room, you spot a small fainting couch and make your way to it.
Rifling through your pack and grabbing up your nightwear and blankets, you start undoing your clothes. "I can take the couch."
His ruffling stops, and you turn to see his shirt half off, a confused look thrown your way. "What?"
"I can take the couch," you repeat, motioning to it for good measure.
Furrowing his brow, he looks between you and the bed. "Are you blind? There's enough room for both of us, darling."
Raising an eyebrow, you study the bed. While there was enough room to stretch out comfortably, and the thought of cuddling up against Astarion all night makes your heart flutter...
"You'd be comfortable with that?"
He gives you an incredulous look, then you watch as it morphs into a confused look once again, then shifts into one of surprise. Tossing his shirt onto the bed, he approaches you slowly and doesn't stop until your chests are mere inches apart.
The emotions you see in his eyes closes your throat.
"My love," he starts softly, quietly, feathering his fingers down your arm before gently wrapping them around yours, "you always continue to surprise me." Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he places a soft kiss upon them. "I wish for nothing more than to wrap my arms around you, feel you pressed up against me, and keep you all to myself."
Feeling your cheeks burn, you squeeze his fingers and give a smile. "How long have you wanted to tell me that?"
He grins with a wink. "I'll leave that to your imagination. Now!" Pulling you forward, he tugs on your shirt. "Get dressed so we can cuddle and be mushy and gooey and make myself want to throw up."
Laughing, you pull your hand out of his and do exactly as he demands.
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To Hold Me Like Water
Pairing: Astarion/GN!Reader or Astarion/GN!Tav
Word Count: 1.4k+
Notes: This fic was completely inspired by this post by @skitpost. It's just a little fluff piece exploring Astarion's ears. It's my first fic ever, and it the first time I’ve written something that wasn’t a research paper in years. I was just really inspired to write something for Astarion. A huge thanks to the incredibly talented @redrocketpanda for editing this for me and making amazing suggestions on how to fix it up!
You had always been intrigued by Astarion’s ears.
Though you would never dare admit your fascination to him or anyone else in your party, you routinely caught yourself watching how his delicately pointed ears subtly twitched whenever he was listening intently to his surroundings. In fact, the way his ears moved ever so slightly when he became particularly emotive was one of the first things that endeared him to you after he made your acquaintance by throwing you to the ground and holding his blade to your throat.
His ears were irritatingly distracting to you, and you longed to touch them. Partly because you were curious how they would feel against your fingertips, and partly because you yearned to see his reaction. You had never touched an elf’s ears before, and you had heard rumors that they were particularly sensitive.
Your relationship with Astarion had progressed in an altogether unpredictable manner over the past few months. What had begun with flirtatious banter and trysts in the woods had developed into something much more profound and intimate. Yet no matter how close you felt emotionally and physically to Astarion, you could never quite convince yourself to reach out and caress his ears. The thought perplexed you. It didn’t matter that you had shared your body with Astarion and known the feeling of his skin against yours - the sheer act of providing a gentle, comforting touch to what you assumed was a particularly sensitive part of his body felt far too intimate.
You assumed your daydreams would remain simply that, until one evening in camp.
The evening had started as typical, with your party enjoying a simple dinner. The day’s battle against an Absolutist stronghold had been particularly bloody, and your friends were exhausted as they sat around the campfire, barely sharing a word. They had all retired early in preparation for the fight ahead, and you and Astarion had withdrawn to his tent to perform what had become one of your nightly rituals.
There had been subtle changes in Astarion’s character since he defeated Cazador and gained true freedom. Rather than hiding his true emotions with sarcasm and charm, he had gradually become more sincere in his interactions with you. Despite this, there were certain parts of him that you assumed would never change, one of the most irritating being his vanity. What had started as a joking offer to pick the remnants of battle from Astarion’s perfectly coiffed locks had become a near nightly routine for the two of you.
Astarion lay languidly between your thighs, his weight resting entirely against your chest as he read through another one of his countless tomes. The two of you sat in silence as you meticulously began removing the gore from his still nearly perfectly wavy hair. He occasionally hummed in appreciation or made a stray sarcastic comment about your hands being too rough for his liking, but the two of you were relatively silent during this time, simply enjoying one another’s company and the dimming glow of the fire.
Tonight, Astarion’s hair was caked in some particularly dense patches of dried blood, and your typical routine was simply not enough to cleanse him to his liking. You had aided him in bathing in a nearby stream prior to this, your hands massaging and tracing his muscles as you removed dried blood and dirt from his skin. He had been unwilling to completely submerge himself in the water, and thus you had resorted to using a damp rag to lift the small amount of remaining blood from his hair and scalp. He appeared at ease against your body as you gently scrubbed with the rag. As the exhaustion of the day set in, your hands became sloppy in their movements as you rushed to finish the task so that you could sleep. Your eyes felt heavy, and you weren’t aware of your proximity to his ears until it was too late.
Your fingers delicately grazed the tip of Astarion’s ear for just a moment, your boddy immediately tensing in response. Astarion’s breath hitched in his chest, the muscles of his back tense against your chest. You couldn’t see his expression from this angle, but you assumed it expressed discomfort.
“I’m sorry, Astarion. I didn’t mean to,” you practically whispered, a sudden fear taking root in your chest. Astarion remained silent, but he did not immediately move to leave you. Your mind began racing, trying desperately to figure out how to fix the situation.
“It’s…quite alright, darling,” he stated. He slowly turned his head to face you. The first thing you noticed was the uncertainty in his eyes as they cast downward - then the slight blush to his cheeks. As his eyes returned to yours, you began to piece together what had happened - Astarion had enjoyed your gentle touch.
“I’ve never been touched like that before.” His words were quiet and tinged with an uncertainty and lack of confidence you rarely witnessed.
“Did you like it?” you asked, a blush beginning to creep onto your face against your wishes as you began to hope against hopes that Astarion would allow you to touch him again.
Astarion thought carefully for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “You know I love your touch, pet,” he attempted to smirk. You knew him too well - this was an attempt to hide his apparent embarrassment and confusion with his usual sarcasm. Yet he seemed to know the charade was no use with you. He sighed. “I did enjoy it,” he stated plainly, allowing himself to lean back against you in defeat.
“Would you like me to do it again?” you questioned, waiting with bated breath.
Astarion’s eyes met yours again. Despite the conflict you could see within his eyes, you also saw the inherent trust he had in you and your relationship. “I think I would like that,” he whispered.
You smiled reassuringly at your lover as you gestured for him to lie back against your chest once more. He quickly complied, closing his eyes as his head rested against your chest once more. You could still feel some residual tension in his muscles as you prepared your hand. You started by gingerly running your fingers through his mostly cleaned hair, faintly scratching his scalp with the edges of your fingernails. Astarion began to relax against you once more as you massaged his scalp. Once his breathing slowed and he began melting to your touch, you allowed yourself to carefully begin tracing the outer shell of his ear with your index finger.
Astarion kept his eyes shut, his head turning toward your touch, as if seeking it.
As your fingers began to trace the pointed tip of his ear, you heard him release a sigh. A smug smile began to pull at the corners of your mouth as you watched the normally ever-composed man melt into your touch. This is what you had desired for so long, and you now realized that you had admired Astarion’s ears not because they were so different from your own, but because they were his. Pride swelled in your chest as you realized you were the first to touch your lover’s ears and make him feel this way. This was uncharted territory for the both of you, and you were not going to let the moment go to waste. The outer shell of his ear felt firm and strong against the gentle touch of your fingertips. You admired the subtle variations in Astarion’s breathing as your index finger danced from his lower ear to the tip. You lavished particular attention to the tip of his ear, staring in near wonder as it twitched against your hand in response. Once you were certain Astarion was comfortable with it, you allowed your second hand to begin tracing the shell of his other ear. The elf looked at ease in your hands.
It was then that you realized you were probably the first person in centuries to see Astarion in any state of vulnerability.
Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you continued your gentle ministrations. After a few minutes, he gently reached for your hands, letting you know that his sensitive ears were beginning to feel overstimulated by your touch. When he turned his head and observed your soft features and the tears you attempted to hide, he repositioned himself to kneel between your thighs. His deft hands carefully clasped your cheeks, and he pressed his forehead to yours.
“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it,” he whispered, then slowly pressed a gentle, yet firm kiss to your lips.
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My God's Bane (Astarion x F!Tav)
Tav no longer recognizes herself while Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings towards her.
AKA I wrote my own leadup to Astarion's confession scene :3
CW: LOTS of angst, religious conflict/crisis, mentions of past physical, emotional, and sexual abuse (Astarion), mild depictions of gore
Word Count: 9,437
He liked to think that he had a talent for reading people at this point. Most wear their emotions clearer than they believe. Even when they hide behind a quiet, joyful, or indifferent mask, everyone slips, shows their hand so to speak, and that’s when he strikes.
However, when it came to the leader of their ragtag band of weirdos, she was easy. She slipped the moment they met, when he cornered her about killing one of those brain creatures outside the nautiloid crash. She all but ran to his supposed rescue, not thinking twice that the man before her could pose harm. It was as simple as breathing back then, to betray that small boundary of trust when he held his blade to her throat.
Her heart was on her sleeve, and she extended it to every wayward soul they encountered. With remarkable speed, she was able to secure new adventurers for their mission. She made vows to the tieflings and druids alike, intent on restoring order despite the limited time they had. Whether foe or ally, she sought the safety of all involved – such is the way of a valiant paladin. It was an inconvenience, honestly.
Ever since they arrived at the Shadowlands, though, Tav’s personality changed.
Their first day in the darkness brought them to battle between the Harpers and their arachnoid escort. The towering bastard had to go and cast Sanctuary constantly, leaving the rest to pick off the weaker cultists until they could find an opening past his defense.
Tav had swung the final blows, her blade illuminated in a holy light that was nearly blinding against the shadows. The drider fell, and joined his fellow Absolutists as bloody road markers.
She was an excitable kind of person, cheering and hollering with the smallest of victories, giddy with triumph whenever her enemies fell. Add Karlach into the mix, and Astarion was positive that sleep would evade the camp that night, the two warriors whooping into the night, drunk off wine and adrenaline.
But, as she had stood over the vanquished drider, Tav was silent. He could not make out the emotion that crossed her face; reverence – or perhaps mourning, as he watched Tav kneel to close each eye the spider possessed.
Astarion knew he was the only one to witness it. The others were engaged in conversation as the Harpers so graciously invited them to their little hideout, in the form of an abandoned inn. When Tav stood from the ground and turned, she froze upon seeing him standing there, eyes wide with panic as she fumbled for words to say.
All she managed was a desperate, “Please don’t tell the others.”
He didn’t understand why, at the time, he had allowed her to place such trust in him.
The same night, when everyone was gathered around the campfire, joking and sharing stories over whatever meal Gale managed to throw together, she stared into the flames until one of their companions pulled her mind back to the present.
“An actual drider,” marvels Wyll, “It would have been magnificent if it weren’t so grotesque. Wouldn’t you agree, Tav?”
“Hmm?” She hummed, eyes transfixed on the bowl in her hands.
“The drider,” Wyll tried again, almost in disbelief that she had not heard him the first time, “What did you make of it?”
Her spoon circled the bowl for the umpteenth time, the sound immensely grating to Astarion’s sensitive hearing.
“Him,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry?” Wyll asked.
“What did I make of him? He’s a person, not an ‘it’,” she corrected with a huff of offense. “That poor man...”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to pity the creature,” admonished Shadowheart, “It is only fitting that one be punished for failing their Goddess. Really, we were doing it a favor.”
There’s an unwon arrogance that Shadowheart tends to mince her words with. Usually, he would find her quips amusing, but he wished she would have read the obvious tension.
“He’s not a creature!” Tav slammed the bowl into the dirt in front of her. The metallic clang of the spoon against ceramic rang out into the stunned silence of those around the fire.
“He was hurting! Desperate to be seen after Lolth’s rejection... and all it got him was a tadpole from another cruel Goddess!” Tav’s hands clenched into fists, brow furrowed as her eyes focused once again on the flames, “He didn’t deserve to die. I could have-- I mean, we could have done more!”
“I do not understand,” said Lae’zel, “Why do you show such sympathies for the weak?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” chimes in Karlach, and though Astarion assumed she would start on another lecture about friendship and unity, Tav did not let her finish.
“I’m afraid I lost my appetite. Good night,” she said, her meal abandoned as she stomped off to her tent.
Karlach sighed, shaking her head at Lae’zel. The githyanki had not moved, still perplexed by the situation around her. An uneasy quietness quickly descended upon the group, broken only by Wyll bidding them goodnight. A chorus of muttered ‘goodnights’ followed as they began to disperse.
Considering it an outburst of exhaustion, Astarion left Tav to stew in her tent. He wished he hadn’t, for she was no better the next day.
It was normal for her to seek their thoughts while exploring. She’d ask Karlach or Lae’zel for tips after combat, banter with Gale and Wyll, show Shadowheart every damn “pretty” flower she found, and insisted on directing as many vampire jokes as she could at Astarion. It didn’t matter how dreadfully unfunny they were, she always laughed.
Adventuring was quiet now, as she ushered them from place to place, battle to battle, without a break. They found various victims of the curse, most a century old, but some new and with unfortunately familiar faces. It did not matter how long the bodies had been there, Tav grieved each one, tears streaming from her face as she read letters of their last words. While she bawled at their corpses, Astarion brooded, wondering when he had started to miss her laughter.
She was praying more often as well, sequestering herself alone in whatever corner she could find and frantically whispering. Once, when she ceased her incessant prayer, Tav appeared to be locked in some kind of trance. She did not react to sound or touch, the whole of her eyes overtaken by a ghostly, lavender hue. She stayed that way for two hours.
Everyone saw the tears that streamed from her eyes when her mind had returned from its journey, but she refused to answer their questions.
Karlach approached him one night, nearly a tenday after Tav’s original outburst, telling him he needed to figure out what was wrong. He had scoffed at the tiefling; after all, it’s not like he cared about whatever mental issues shared rent with her tadpole. Right?
“She likes you the most, fangs. If there’s anyone she’s willing to open up to, I'm bettin’ it’s you.”
He laughed then, loud and boisterous, to hide the rising tide of excitement and anxiety that Karlach’s words had caused.
“Trying to use me to pry into Tav’s life, are we?” He tsk-ed. Though he smiled, his anxiety had given way to anger. It poked and taunted his deepest fear; that he’s only useful when he can be used. It’s so painfully obvious that’s all he’d ever be, that even sweet Karlach knew it.
But something besides the tadpole lurked around in his mind; why does he feel bad about tricking Tav? That is his whole plan, is it not? Use the strong sword-wielding lady to safely travel back to Baldur’s Gate, she dices this stupid cult and Cazador into pieces, and then he dumps her, finally free from any master’s grip.
He banished the intruding thought instantly, bottled it as deep as it could go, for the looming answer to his question threatened to make him sick. He is undead, a creature of the night, an external parasite that feeds on Tav at night until he can find someone, something, better. His skin is cold as ice and his heart no longer beats. He has no heart to give; or so he tells himself.
“You know that’s not the case,” Karlach had chastised, seemingly offended he could suggest such a thing, “We’re all worried. You can pretend all you want, but I know you are too. You can help her, Astarion.”
Now that was a curious sentiment. ‘Help’ is numerous in its contexts; Cazador certainly considered himself helpful, merciful even, as he watched his new spawn vomit blood and dirt after clawing out of their tombs. The word implies a give and take, and the world is far more eager to collect than it is to provide.
To put it plainly, he had nothing to offer their melancholic leader; he is nothing and has been for a long time. Still, Karlach had come to him, apparently unaware of his obvious lack. Perhaps he should hear her out. Perhaps she saw something in him.
“And just how should I ‘help’?” Astarion asked, condescendingly drawling the question out, rolling his eyes for good measure.
He saw how the edge of Karlach’s lips twitched, how her eyes narrowed, the way her mechanical heart roared to life with a bright spark before settling back into quiet embers. In poetic irony, it seems that he burned her.
“Hells below, Astarion,” she nearly yelled, exasperated, tired, and practically begging him to cooperate. He doesn’t blame her for the outburst. Without the annoyingly bubbly attitude of Tav, the tension between party members had been amplified and pulled taut. They all may very well snap soon.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he dismissed her then, attention focused back on the tome he had in his hands. But his mind did not process the words on the page. He reread the same line damn near ten times before he gave up and went to bed instead.
His rest was anything but; it was fitful and full of sorrow.
It was times like then when he wished he could slumber like every other living creature. When his victims and fellow spawn would speak of nightmares, they told tales of distorted visions and intense fear. His waking hours were already plagued with such issues, he could easily handle the nightmares. But no, instead he was cursed to revel in his own pain during his meditative rest, reliving and experiencing his own terrifying truths on repeat.
That night, he tried searching for something he could do for Tav. Something that the others could not; something to prove his value to her. He did find it. It didn’t take him long at all.
All he had to offer his little troublesome Tav was his body.
And it broke him.
He spent that night with the realization that this is who he is and always will be. A body to be used and used and used and used and used and used and used and u s e d.......
Thankfully, Tav had asked him to stay at camp that morning. Even though he teased her with his usual, “Darling, I thought we had something special,” she could barely manage a smile, and muttered her thanks before flittering about camp in preparation.
It was probably for the best, knowing how useless he would have been with that morose epiphany swimming in his mind. Though awake, the uneasy feeling from the night did not dissipate. His emotions were all over the place, that much he was sure of, but they had always been identifiable. Agony, desperation, emptiness.
Now new and uncertain feelings – gods how he detested the word – seized his chest. Images of Tav pestered him the entire day; the bags under her eyes, the unkempt hair, the dying light of her spirit. Karlach was right, he was worried.
Still, he could not find the source of his worry. He’d spent the last 200 years surrounded by shambling corpses and their victims alike. They slept like dogs, were beaten like beasts, so really, who was he to judge for a bad hair day?
Astarion saw no use driving himself mad about it, after all, he had always warned her that her heroism couldn’t last forever. He spent that day doing what he does best when he finds himself without her company, distracting himself with enough shit wine and even shittier books. He didn’t think his tolerance would be shit too.
Words had soon blurred together, and despite the book’s distinct lack of arcane knowledge, the letters seemed to arrange themselves in puzzles. He slammed the tome shut, opting to sit in the privacy of his tent and will away his growing headache. While his thoughts were no less jumbled, the feelings from before were becoming clearer.
Worry; The presence of the undead made it impossible for him to feed on anyone other than Tav. Even though she always assured him that she did not mind, he felt like he was using her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt bad about being such a devious bastard.
Rejection; He’d never tell, but the absence of Tav returning his superficial flirtations left him feeling empty. He tries to tell himself that it isn’t him, it isn’t his fault, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to not have her affection.
Fear; He would give his body to her, if it would make her happy. Thousands before her had found pleasure in him, it would be easy for him to allow her the same. He wanted to believe that he’d be selfless, place her needs and comfort above his own; but he knew he could not. He is selfish. Could she want a selfish man?
It dawned on him then, what this cocktail of vulnerability and yearning was. The cause of his worry, the source of his comfort, the reason he felt like an idiot. He lov-
The party had arrived back at camp, and he had stumbled to his feet to meet them, for how would it look if their charming vampire companion was found sulking and brooding in his tent. Karlach immediately shed her armor, talking about how stuffy it felt to be metal-clad. Gale carried a sack with the night’s dinner ingredients in hand and grumbled about the pain in his knees as he knelt to light the fire. Lae’zel, despite her stoicism, appeared happy, covered head to toe in the blood of the fallen.
Tav looked no worse than she had for these last few days, and that ought to count for something. He watched as she removed the outer pieces of her armor, wincing when the harsh edges dug into new and old bruises alike. She picked up a rag and a small mirror, wiping away the blood from the cuts on her face.
The sight of the crimson spilling from her skin reminded him of his hunger. Their quid pro quo arrangement had been forgotten in her despair, and he was desperate at this point for anything she would give him. Blood, sex, shallow praise, whatever she had to offer.
Oh, right.
He had yet to offer himself again, so what reason would she have to keep up her end of the deal?
He downs the last of the wine in his goblet, swallowing the intoxicating substance just as the reality of his situation swallows his hope. With measured steps, he approached her tent, taking quiet yet deep breaths to ease the misery he felt knowing he’ll never be more than this. He opened his mouth to call her name, but Tav released the ties holding back the rainfly of her tent and shut them all out.
That should have been it, but his drunken mind reminded him of his promise to Karlach, and his predatorial hunger lurched at the idea of another night unsatiated.
Once the others were asleep, Astarion snuck into her tent, part and parcel to their routine since she first discovered his true nature. It was easier for him when she was asleep, not that the sharp pinch of his fangs left her totally undisturbed; but to approach while she was awake only guaranteed in his mind that he would end up on his back again.
Tav was facing away from him, lying on her side, a formerly white linen sheet covered her sleeping form. Nothing was amiss as he had stalked closer, brushing the strands of hair away from her neck, his mouth unbelievably dry. He knelt, the perfume of her blood wafting sweetly from beneath her skin, as he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady himself.
She awoke then, the force of her sitting so abruptly pushed him back and sent him stumbling. He had, thankfully, caught himself with his hand before falling into the dirt. Still, he was equal parts annoyed at dinner being interrupted and worried that he was caught.
“Hells, Astarion, you scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.
“And you almost broke my nose,” he chastised; not a total lie, but an exaggerated one, nonetheless.
Tav rolled her eyes at him before letting herself fall back against her bedroll again, “Oh, you poor thing, want me to kiss it better?”
At least she appeared to be feeling better, back to the self that loved teasing him.
“If you’re offering, who am I to say no to the hand that feeds?”
Upon realizing that he would not be allowed to dine and dash, Astarion straddled her thighs, ready to bargain for what he needed. He let his hand rest on her hip, soothing circles through the fabric of her nightwear.
“Yea, s’pose you can’t say you won’t bite,” she said through a drowsy laugh.
He allowed his hand to wander then, down the inside of her thigh, fingers trailing along the seam of her pants, “As if the lady would protest my bites.”
With a kiss pressed to her lips, Astarion silenced any innuendo or proposition she may have made. He did not want to hear it, could not stand the idea of her confirming all the horrid things he thought about himself.
This unspoken deal only served to remind him of how temporary freedom would be. At worst, he would return to Cazador, and the bastard would tell him how lucky he should feel, how there were other mortals dying to be in his position. He wished he could tell him that adding an ‘s’ before ‘pawn’ doesn’t make being a puppet any more lucrative.
She promised that she would not let that happen. She promised to free him from his master’s chains, but what comes after? He would still be bound to the night, doomed to prowl moonlit streets for an eternity. Killing would still be his status quo, whether mammal or mortal, in order to satiate his hunger.
Would she stay with such a monster?
Thoughts he did not want to entertain had barged to the forefront of his mind again, and he knew he needed to move this along. At least with sex, he could force those thoughts away, bottle them back up, and allow his body to numb. At least, this way, he survived another day. At least her body is warm.
At least—anything he can say to himself to justify another night on his back and to ignore the resentment building in his heart.
Her lips had parted in a moan, and his tongue quickly lay claim to her mouth, as his hand finally cupped her sex. She gasped, and as his mind had started to drift off into the numb void, he had been pulled back by the feeling of her hand pushing against his chest.
When he separated himself from her body, Astarion wanted to scream, wanted to shake her; why did she insist on taking the lead? It would be easy with him on top; he wouldn’t have to look at her, to feel her weight on top of him. Must she be so difficult?
“I don’t want to have sex tonight.”
What--
He looked down at her then, saw the flush in her face, felt how her hands fiddled with the ruffled collar of his shirt but harbored no intention to remove the clothing.
“I’m not really in the right headspace for that,” she explained, “Plus, I can taste the wine on your lips...”
“Right, well...” He didn’t know what to say.
Astarion was frozen above her, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Awkwardness had settled over them both, each one terrified of scaring the other off should they move or speak. Until, the dots connect in her head and she practically launched herself upright, almost smacking herself into him again.
“You haven’t fed since we got here, have you? Shit, I’m sorry!” She said as she pulled her hair to the side, exposing the column of her neck.
Any other time, he might have shoved her away, storming out of her tent as his hunger gave way to the embarrassment of it all, his crumbling ego unable to cope. But as she all but dragged his mouth to her skin, urging him to drink, Astarion was thankful that her care outweighed his own pride.
His fangs pierced her flesh, and she hissed at the pain, but did not complain further.
He recalled the conversation they had about what their friends would taste like, debating over who would be sweet and who would be savory. Once he had mused that she would be bland, only if to rile her up, but the depth of her lifeblood had truly surprised him.
She is a winter’s mulled wine, deceptively simple at first yet brimming with spice as she settles on his tongue. Hints of citrus tease his palate, the last taste of summer’s sweetness yielding to the zest of cinnamon and clove. It was gone as soon as it came, leaving its enjoyer to eagerly await the next mouthful.
As he drank from her, he had felt the echo of a memory in his chest, of his younger days scribbling away next to a hearth, of a man who made his heart flutter and his skin burn with want. The man’s face remains obscured, buried under years of torment, but the feeling is there; the rush of something new and exciting; the naivety of first love.
With wild hair and soft eyes that regarded him as if he held the entire world, the elf below him had unearthed a humanity he’d long since forgotten. What a wondrous feeling it was; to release all that had been brimming beneath the surface, to give names to the shadows, to feel again.
Again, her hand pushed against his chest, weaker than before as she mumbles, “O-Okay, I’m starting to get dizzy.”
His fangs retreated from her skin, and as his lips captured any wayward drops, he realized he did not wish to completely part in that moment. Gently, he laid her down against her bedroll, back on her side. He situated himself behind her, basking in the newfound heat that flowed through his veins, and allowed his breath to even out. Tav was already fast asleep when he turned, wrapping his arm around her and cuddled her to his chest.
...
Astarion had made sure to return to his own tent before dawn broke and if Tav had noticed the vampire snuggling her in the night, he was eternally grateful for her silence on it in the morning. He did not want to hear the insufferable taunts and jokes the others would make if the two of them were discovered together. Gale or Wyll, hells, probably even Karlach, would remind him that it’s only natural for two adults to seek out company between their giggles; as if he’s a little boy who's embarrassed about his crush.
But that is what he is, isn’t he? He’s tucking tail and scurrying away because he’s afraid of others seeing that he is capable of feeling. Brazen displays of emotion, especially ones of love, are signs of a weakness to be exploited. Everything he had ever loved had been taken from him, had been hurt because of him. He could love her, he wants to love her, but it would just be placing a target on her back. Another one of Cazador’s endless lessons.
She is safer this way.
For what it’s worth, Tav did appear livelier that morning, bantering with Shadowheart as the cleric healed their bloodless leader, and it earned him a thankful pat on the back from Karlach.
“Ah, I love the taste of Lesser Restoration in the morning,” Tav hummed happily, arms raised above her head as she stretched the sleep out of her body.
“I don’t know why you insist on coming to me,” said Shadowheart, “You’re the one who chose to be a walking blood bank, and I know Paladins can cast Lesser Restoration. Why don’t you heal yourself instead of making it my problem?”
“Because you’re always so charming,” Tav teased, “How do you expect me to resist?”
“Kicking and screaming, I hope,” deadpanned the cleric.
“See what I mean? Our own little ray of sunshine!”
After breakfast, Tav assembled that day’s crew. The idea of a day of physical labor after last night's mental exhaustion made Astarion less than eager to accept her invitation. Still, he had said yes, and donned his armor as he made a quiet vow to himself.
He will always keep her safe in one way or another.
The day’s mission had involved infiltrating the House of Healing to find something that could be used on this Art Cullagh fellow. Astarion had accepted, by this point, to not concern himself with the details and just assist Tav with whatever heroics she found herself agreeing to. They would happen with or without him.
The exterior yielded nothing of value, except one half of a pair of warding rings Tav found on the skeleton of another victim. She was somber as she pocketed the ring and read the lover’s note, but composed herself afterwards, and said a small prayer before pushing forward. He had felt some level of pride and admiration, watching as a new strength kindled inside her. There was inflation to his ego as well, a selfish joy in thinking that his mere cuddles could fix her woes.
He should have known better. Life had never been kind.
They had entered the House of Healing through an antechamber that reeked of decay and spoiled blood. Infirmary beds were strewn about, and of the few that weren’t outright destroyed or flipped over, they looked less than pleasing without a mattress to cover the rusted springs. Rotting towels, shattered wash basins, and an unknown film covered the floors. Voices echoed from the main chamber ahead, so each step further in was made cautiously.
They passed through a door to their right and discovered what used to be a woman as she floated before two of the beds, covered in nurses' attire that clearly didn’t know the definition of sterile. She - no, it - paid them no mind as they had approached, gazing down at the implements and bandages before it as if it couldn’t figure out what to do.
With her hand on the hilt of her sword, Tav spoke first, “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Don’t call the doctor yet!” came the soft plea of the creature, “I’ve got potions, sutures - I know I can do this...” It turned to address their fellow nurse, yet startled when it saw the Paladin, “Oh! You’re a patient. This is the children’s ward – triage is back that way.”
“I have something else I’d like to ask you,” Tav started, but her words faded off as she looked beyond the nurse in front of her.
Two bodies laid still on the beds, clearly dead, though it was hard to tell if it was from the Shadow Curse or the nurse’s ‘treatment’.
In an instant, Tav drew her sword, resting the blade in a tail stance, voice low with anger as she asked, “What are you doing with the dead?”
The nurse regarded her with confusion as she replied, “Not dead, merely medicated. To ease the pain.”
Tav raised her sword, now bracing her weight in a plow stance, the tip of her blade dangerously close to the nurse’s abdomen, as she snarled, “I asked you a question, creature! What are you doing with the dead?”
Astarion had watched Tav face countless foes since their adventure together began. Even with the most wicked, she had never been so blatantly offensive. In hindsight, he realized that all those foes had been alive; fought them she must, but always done so reluctantly, and always ready to spare a life when able. There, in the House of Healing, did he first witness her true devotion as a Doomguide.
Of course, she had told the group of her deity; was overbearingly eager to share it, in fact. Kelemvor; Judge of the Damned; whose symbol featured a skeletal hand raising balanced scales. Tav wears it on her chest – darkened purple stitched into a solid black surcoat that she dons no matter the armor underneath. She told them the stories of her years as a lone wanderer, proselytizing Kelemvor’s wisdom, performing last rites for the dying, and destroying necromancers.
She was a protector of the living, and a slayer of the undead.
The creature did not answer her question, insisting that the patients were sleeping and to be quiet lest they wake. The last words the creature heard were Tav’s whispered, “In Kelemvor’s name,” before the blade was plunged clean through its body. It collapsed to the floor, trying to speak, but the blood pooling in its throat only allowed for senseless gurgling.
Tav placed her foot on the corpse and pushed it into the heap of flesh as she withdrew her blade. Thick, blackened blood congealed on the metal, and Tav held it in a white-knuckled grip as she stepped over the body and towards the beds.
She took one glance and immediately turned around, tripping on the creature's body as she rushed out of the vestibule, landing on her hands and knees, as her sword skidded across the floor. She did not rise, instead sinking to her elbows as her hands pulled at her hair to the point that Astarion thought she might rip it out.
Karlach rushed to her side, trying to ease the Paladin up as hushed sobs echoed off the walls.
“Hey now, soldier,” said the tiefling, taking hold of Tav’s biceps and urging her to sit up, “Don’t go getting soft on me.”
Shadowheart bypassed the two and peered into the beds before gasping, “It’s Arabella’s parents.”
Another choked cry broke out from Tav as she finally sat back on her haunches, rubbing away her tears with a grubby hand, “I fucking hate this place.”
“We all do,” assured Karlach, “But we gotta keep moving forward; don’t want to have worms forever, do we?”
“No,” came Tav’s hushed response before she stood to her feet. She picked up her sword from the floor, flicking some of the blood off, “Let’s just get this over with.”
Malleus Thorm was an abhorrent sight. Deciding to take the lead after Tav’s second outburst, Karlach interrogated the cursed doctor about his peculiar treatment plan. He spoke of Shar, of darkness, of absence. The victim strapped to the table was catatonic from the aimless carving of the nurses’ blades, though he was soon comatose after the doctor’s mechanical claws dug into his eyes.
Tav was antsy behind her, shifting on her feet, practically chomping at the bit to send the undead man back into oblivion. The battle was difficult, but well won. Tav’s anger and adrenaline combined with Divine Smite proved a lethal combo.
Shadowheart pulled a lute from the corpse of Malleus and held it out to Tav, “I think you might want this.”
Tav took the lute, strapped it to her back and made way for the exit. Despite the exhaustion they all felt and the rush of emotions Tav must have experienced, she stayed silent. No cries, no curses, not one tear to be found. Astarion felt that agonizing mix of worry and sorrow creep around him.
He increased his pace until he was able to fall in line with her, their other party members straggling not far behind.
“Are you alright, darling?” He asked quietly, still not quite ready for his care to be announced to the world.
She only nodded.
...
If he thought their adventures had been quiet before, they were dead silent now. Every fight with another Thorm family member pushed Tav further into despair. Any attempts by their companions to make her smile or laugh were futile. She walked and fought like a zombie, resulting in her near-death numerous times. Lectures about how she needed to mind herself went in one pointed ear and out the other, apparently.
Her silence was only broken by the fits of sobbing that occurred from her tent each night. If she managed to fall into her meditative state, it would end with her lurching forward, gasping for air as she scrambled off into the corner of camp to empty the contents of her stomach.
Karlach had to take over as temporary leader, and if she had her way, Tav would’ve stayed behind. Yet, when the Paladin appeared every morning with her armor and sword ready, the tiefling couldn’t find the strength to not let her tag along.
Astarion also insisted that he be allowed on each mission, even if his skills weren’t useful for their goal. For whatever reason, Tav listened to him more than the others, and would only accept his help when she found herself injured. He had to be there for her, even if watching her suffer wore away at his own sanity. He often found himself looking at the warding ring she had silently given him after their fight with Malleus, and wondered if he would ever hear her laugh again.
Bones, blood, and viscera decorated the entrance hall. The gore was mundane to him, no more unique than a cobblestone street or tavern lights in the dark. The dank and forebodingness of the crypt did not stop him from admiring its beauty. The ruins must have been a marvelous sight in their heyday, brimming with the Lady of Loss’s worshippers as they sought to drown out their sorrow and begged for her guidance amongst the crystalline decor.
Their group split to investigate the various rooms that surrounded the concourse, with him following behind Tav as she investigated the nook to the right. Through the towering archway, he saw that it was no more than a chamber, perhaps used as foyer for those who came to grieve the Thorm family. More bones were littered across its floor and piled in its corners. He saw nothing novel, yet Tav stopped stock still.
“Myrkul...”, she had hissed with disgust, hands clenched into fists that shook in splintering rage.
Peeking over her shoulder, he saw the triangle of femurs that had been constructed in front of the dilapidated desk, a skull perched neatly in the middle. He joined her at her side, casual when he had faced her and asked carelessly, “Who?”
Truthfully, the name and symbol were of no interest to him; a forgotten name from a bygone era, and most importantly, a deity that had ignored his prayers. She looked up to him then, and the dusty air must have been getting to him, because he swore her gaze softened when their eyes met.
“Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, a necromancer and prince who ascended to godhood when Jergal willingly parted with his title,” Gale interrupted just as Tav was about to speak.
Astarion rolled his eyes at the wizard and resisted the urge to pettily stomp his foot against the floor. His look was not enough to kill, but it did have Gale surrendering, hands up in a wordless apology as he had backed away from the two.
“Correct,” Tav said, breaking the tension she didn’t know had occurred, “He was usurped by Cyric, but the Prince of Lies was defeated by Kelemvor.”
Astarion was desperate to keep her talking. He’d listen to an entire history lecture if it meant she’d come back to sound mind. Back to him. “What use would a servant of Myrkul have with some Sharran shrine?”
“It doesn’t matter what ‘use’ they have for it,” admonished Shadowheart, “Lady Shar has decreed that Ketheric must die for his betrayal, and ridding her temple of other disgraces in the process is as much a bonus as it is an honor.”
Listening to the cleric’s devotion was uninteresting at best, and torturous at worst. He almost pitied the poor girl, blindly following a goddess out of fear of what her memories might hold.
Astarion had expected Tav to mirror Shadowheart’s enthusiasm, but instead saw her bristle, hands wringing together nervously. She was unrecognizable to him, the proud warrior now hunched in on herself as she gnawed at her bottom lip. Anxiety was radiating off her in waves; she looked like she might vomit.
His body had moved before he had realized what he was doing, hand reaching for her shoulder to comfort her. When his cool skin had made contact with her chainmail, she recoiled, eyes wide and breath unsteady. Hurt by her reaction, he let his hand fall limply to his side, and gruffly announced that the party should keep moving.
His patience wore thin as they descended into the abyss below the mausoleum. Gale and Shadowheart both wouldn’t shut up about the various magical auras they were picking up on. Sensing Shar’s presence in the Temple of Shar? Who could have guessed the dark goddess would have been there? Bloody amateurs.
Tav nearly fell in battle again against the Dark Justiciars that were forever cursed to protect the temple. She was unfocused and reckless, and the shadows had swarmed her after making quick work of the necromancer’s lackeys. To make matters worse, there was still no sign of the devil Raphael had tasked them with killing. There were hundreds of rats, though, and the sight of them left a bad taste in his mouth.
With some convincing from both he and Gale, Tav finally acquiesced and agreed to return to camp for the evening. Night had developed a new, uncomfortably familar cycle by then, with Tav disappearing to her tent before anyone could say anything to her. She would eat her dinner alone. He would pretend he didn’t hear her crying throughout the night.
They found Balthazar the next day, and it was the first time he ever saw pure hatred burning behind her eyes. They barely survived, the undead necromancer’s poison draining their strength while his ghouls beat them with decayed teeth and talons. When the bastard finally fell, Tav stood over his corpse, whispered a prayer, and then carved her blade through the fat of his neck. She stabbed her sword repeatedly into his chest, moving down his torso until he was no longer recognizable; just a pile of oozing sinew and flesh. His hulking, sewn-together abomination was the next target of her wrath, and it too was reduced to a pool of guts and blood.
It was not enough.
She destroyed the furniture, set the bookshelves ablaze, tore down everything the necromancer kept in his makeshift laboratory. The rest of the party removed themselves from the room, watching silently from the threshold as their near-death leader found the strength to take all of Balthazar’s worldly possessions with her.
It would have been sexy as hell if it weren’t so concerning.
She eventually collapsed, falling to her knees, sword clattering to the ground with a metallic clang echoing around the room. Silence followed; stares were exchanged between Astarion and his fellow compatriots, each one wordlessly asking the other what the hell had just happened.
Tired of walking on eggshells, of not doing something, Astarion walked over to Tav and kneeled in front of her. She didn’t notice him at first, eyes shut tight and chest heaving with labored breaths. He reached out again, placing his hand on her knee.
She was startled, but didn’t move away like before. Instead, her bloodied hand covered his own, fingers tracing over his knuckles, inadvertently smearing the crimson against his pale skin. When he suggested they retire to camp early, she finally, finally, met his gaze. Glimmering violet swirled in her irises, no doubt the remnants of whatever magic she called on Kelemvor for. It faded away, leaving him with the woman of his adoration, looking broken and lost.
Clinging to his armor, she staggered to her feet, yet nearly toppled again when she went to pick up her sword. It was instinct really, for him to grab her waist and to keep her upright. He certainly had held her hips in more lascivious situations, but somehow he felt more naked that time.
Vulnerable.
He doesn’t think he can keep this a secret any longer.
…
This last tenday has been punishing, and Astarion carries its weight with him as he searches the encampment for his wayward paramour.
He finds her on the staggered rock where they helped Halsin rescue Thaniel, staring out into the darkness. Her posture is relaxed as she leans back on her arms, legs dangling off the edge where the water beats on the stone below.
The silt crunches softly beneath his boots, and he knows she has heard him approach when her ear twitches. He settles himself beside her, brushing off any stray granules from his armor with a huff of disgust. She giggles.
It must look comical, how quickly his head snaps up at the sound, searching her face for signs of madness. After how despondent she’s been, he expects to find a vessel, a hollow being with the residue of what was a soul, begging to be let go.
Instead, he finds her kind smile, as she now swipes away the remaining dirt from his calf, “Not a fan of sand, I take it?”
For all his prose, there is no poetry, no song, no prayer that could mimic the joy he feels when she teases him. He’s been drowning, his mood anchored to hers, and now she has yanked him from the abyss once again. Is this the feeling all those bards crooned about? That every two-bit novelist dreamed of capturing?
He had long given up on such fantasies, convinced himself that the very notion of love made him sick.
Love.
There’s no use pretending anymore. It is love that he feels for Tav. It’s why he mopes at the end of the night if she dares to speak to him last; perhaps the tad murderous feeling he gets when he sees her acting too chummy with the wizard. It’s the comfort of knowing someone has his back, the safety of her sword shielding him from attack, the promises of freedom sleepily whispered between lips in the night. She is the first breath taken when he surfaces. The sun pales in comparison to the warmth in her touch, though she is just as apt to kiss his cheeks.
She is back and gods, how he missed her.
Gods, how he loves her.
“No, I don’t,” he responds in his bantering tone, “It’s rough... irritating... and it gets bloody everywhere.”
She hums in agreement, gaze falling to the ground before returning to the river. Silence befalls them again, and he finds himself clamoring for words. He wants to confess his love, sing her praises, ask her what the hell is wrong with her. Anything to fill the silence, he refuses to live in the saturnine hellscape that has been the last week any longer.
“Astarion,” she beats him to it, “I want to apologize for my behavior these last few days. I put everyone at risk and going forward I’ll be sure to keep everything in check. Can’t have everyone dying because of incompetency.”
A bit too diplomatic for his liking, and her laughter is much too forced. He’ll need to teach her some proper acting; it’s a miracle she’s survived as long as she has with that disaster of a performance. Aren’t paladins supposed to be charismatic, or is it the weapon that does most of the talking?
“Oh, you were in a bad mood? I hardly noticed,” he states with all the indifference he can muster.
She leans into him to playfully jab her elbow into his side, muttering expletives in an elven dialect he hasn’t heard in ages.
“Seriously, I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he rushes out, hand idly scratching the back of his neck.
The tension returns, though not as overbearing as before, as questions remain unasked and feelings unshared. It’s a bitter push, as neither is used to talking about their depths, and he doesn’t want to pry; yet a sweet pull, as he remains at her side, wishing for the awkwardness to dissipate.
“It’s just...” She begins, and though she faces forward, he catches her sneaking looks at him in her peripheral, “There’s so much going on, I don’t know where to start.”
If he had any blood in his body, he’s sure it’d be racing, his heart thumping wildly in tandem. He thinks she’s ready to talk, and that is half the issue. He thinks, but he doesn’t know; it terrifies and thrills him all the same. He wants to know her – aches for it, if he’s being honest.
But he is terrified, so sure that he’s going to fuck up and ruin the one good thing he’s had in two hundred years. If she rejects him now, shuts him out for good, he’s not sure he can take it.
This was supposed to be easy; she was supposed to be easy.
“It doesn’t matter where you start, I’ll be here for the end.” Shit, shit, SHIT.
“Astarion,” she gasps, hand over her heart, his name melting into a laugh, “That was actually smooth.”
He tsks, “I take offense to that. I’ve always been smooth, you’re just too brutish to notice.”
She laughs again, shaking her head as an enamored smile graces her lips. Her hand brushes stray locks of hair behind her pointed ear and even in the dim glow of the inn’s spell, he can see a blush staining her cheeks.
But then, she sighs, slow and tired as her fingers soothe circles into her temples, “Can you keep a secret for me?”
It’s what he’s been pining for, offered on a silver platter, and how could he not say yes.
He raises his hand to his chest, drawing an ‘x’ over his armor, “Cross my heart and hope to—uh, well, you know.”
Another chuckle escapes her lips as she adjusts her position, angling herself towards him.
She swallows thickly before continuing, “Well, I uh—I talked to Kelemvor.”
“Is that not par for the course for you Doomguides?” He asks incredulously, eyebrow raised and head tilting as he chuckles.
This time, she does not grant him a smile or a laugh, focused on picking at her cuticles and the dirt under her nails.
“I haven’t spoken to him since the nautiloid, I figured the tadpole was interfering,” she says hushed, shame and guilt on the edges of her voice. “I was preparing myself for the worst, but what I got was an impossibility.”
What kind of cryptic bullsh-- She’s been hanging around Withers too much.
Hundreds of possibilities race through his mind. What he knows of Kelemvor is only from what she has shared; while he did not seem to be a vengeful god, they already have one person burdened with a suicide mission. He could live without the blabbersome wizard, but her?
He should have known the universe would only offer him misery, to dangle a sweet treat before him and rip it all away before he had the chance to savor it.
“Did he ask you to sacrifice yourself?” He wants to hear it from her, needs to hear her say those dreaded words so he can make peace before she is nothing more than bones and fading memories.
Her eyes find his, inflamed with tears she no longer has the strength to shed, “I wish he did.”
The pain, the anger, the grief of the last few days resurfaces in her voice, that flare of purple sparking in her irises. Astarion does not often find himself shocked, but the callous and tempestuous storm raging beneath her skin leaves him speechless. Instincts tell him he is witnessing only a fraction of her fury.
Then it ebbs, retreating like the tide, as she takes a deep breath to steady herself.
“I’ve been having doubts, about my purpose, about this path I chose. I expected Kelemvor to berate me for lacking faith.”
Her hands go back to tearing at her cuticles.
“He by no means praised me, but he wasn’t furious, either. He didn’t seem like himself... He didn’t even look like himself. It was as if his passion was gone. I asked him what I should do, and he told me that only I can determine my future.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” He was genuinely confused by her demeanor. Self-determination, autonomy, freedom; all the things she promised to help him find and keep, yet she fears them for herself.
“Kelemvor has been a part of my life since I was a teenager, I’ve devoted myself to him for the better part of two centuries. I don’t-- I don’t know who I am without him.”
A kindred spirit.
She clenches her jaw, letting out a frustrated huff, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay a Doomguide to a god who abandoned his own principles!”
He knows she is bleeding from her nail beds, the lovely scent of spiced wine in the air.
“I took an oath of devotion, to be honorable, compassionate, and honest. I do not fear death of myself nor my loved ones, for death is not something to be afraid of. It is not something one must seek, but it is what one should embrace should it find you,” She explains, “For the last two hundred and fifty-six years, Kelemvor would remind me of these tenets, and commend me for every valiant foe I slaughtered in their image.”
As sweet as the fragrance is, he takes her hands in his; they have seen and caused enough damage for the time being.
“And Kelemvor just... doesn’t care anymore. Every time we saw some poor undead creature cursed by Shar, I was reminded of how he dismissed me, like I was a fool for ever following him in the first place. I was his valiant hero, one his most beloved Paladins, and now what? I’m nothing.”
“You are not nothing,” he replies in an instant, “You are everything. You don't need Kelemvor to be honorable or compassionate, because you already are those things. He was lucky to have someone as devoted as you, but if he wants to toss you aside, then good riddance; it’s his loss, and everyone else’s gain.”
Crimson floods her cheeks again, as she stares at him dumbfounded. He fidgets in the momentary silence, the feeling of actually sharing one's feeling still mildly uncomfortable. But then it dissipates, because she smiles at him and brings their clasped hands to rest over her heart. Its beat is comforting.
“Thanks, Astarion. I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few weeks.”
“Someone had to keep you alive. I know I said you would make a pretty corpse, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to see it, darling.”
“I’m sure Shadowheart would let you have a nibble if I passed,” she says with a laugh.
“Perhaps, but I don’t think she could compare.”
The steady rhythm of her heart increases under his hands. She adjusts herself again, scooting closer to him so that she can lean her head against his shoulder. Her eyes close as she relaxes into him, and he feels so relieved at knowing her touch could be so intimate yet still so gentle.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Tav,” He says, his thumb softly tracing along her knuckles, “Why were you having doubts in the first place?”
“Oh! Um...” She says, head lifting from his shoulder, “It’s so embarrassing, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t you dare hold out on me now,” He pleads as he slings his arm across her back, hand resting on her hip and pulling her in close so he can whisper, “Especially when it comes to gossip!”
Sagging against his side, she groans out, “You are the wooooorst.”
He raises his hand to his face, making a dramatic show of clearing his throat before uttering a very sickly sweet, “Please?”
“Okay, fine,” she huffs before grumbling out something unintelligible.
“What was that dear? No one likes a mumbler.”
“Because of you! Because... I like you,” She says, carding her hand through her hair; her walls tumbling and every emotion she’s shouldered alone spilling forth in a maddened haze.
“I’ve seen hundreds of undead, most of whom I gladly sent back to their graves. They were merely the husks of the people they once were. Any soul left in them was but a dying echo as they pleaded for their suffering to end. I thought I was helping,” she says, voice shaking, “But what if I ended the life of someone who just wanted-- no needed-- a second chance? Was I an arbiter of divine justice, or just some glorified executioner? I started to question everything when we met.”
His mind is a whirlwind, thoughts simultaneously speeding yet slow. The half of him that yearns to be known, to be loved, is battling against his ever-present fear that he is not worthy of such. It’s a terrifying concoction, one that has him questioning just how accurate Tav’s description of the undead is. He has no idea who Astarion is; he knows who the elven magistrate once was, but who is Astarion the spawn, besides Cazador’s infernal expectations?
“By no means am I saying that you haven’t suffered, but you are not some hollow corpse, Astarion. Despite everything that’s happened, and everything that has yet to come, you have grown in unprecedented ways. You’ve broken a mold, defied all odds. You’re simply breathtaking...”
He is, isn’t he? No one has given him enough credit; no one has truly recognized the pure shit he has survived through. No one has offered him the chance or the choice to be better. He’s tired of the untrusting sideways glances, the disgusting feeling of some stranger’s eye roaming his figure. He’s always been expected to fall in line, and today he makes the promise to finally live for himself.
“When this is all over, I want to stay by your side, if you’ll have me.”
She looks at him with reverence, like he can pluck the stars from the night sky. He has seen this look before, when she would talk about Kelemvor, and he swears his undead heart nearly beats under her adoring gaze. He has no army to command, cannot turn into mist nor bat; he is practically powerless, and yet she wants him anyway. She believes in him, even though he can’t trust himself. Where he sees nothing, she has found something worth abandoning her god for.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you this quiet before... are you alright?”
He cannot find the words necessary to explain his delight. Even if he did, he doubts he’d still even be able to form them, arrange them into proper sentences. The truth has rendered him speechless.
It doesn’t erase the fact that she sounds hurt, scared even, at the prospect that his silence means rejection. He recognizes the feeling all too well, and if she can overcome its pain to tell him the truth, then dammit, he can do the same. Perhaps he will forever roam darkened streets, but that doesn’t mean all of him must remain in the shadows. He must be honest, expose his own secrets to the proverbial light, and allow her the same choice.
“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just... feel awful.”
He hopes she chooses him all the same.
“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan-”
#fullofbeeswrites#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion/reader#astarion/tav#astarion#astarion bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 tav#bg3 astarion
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EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LOOK AT THIS SEXY ASS DR ANCUNIN ART
Still crying that Lilla (The Little Niffler on Twitter) made this beautiful fucking render for Office Hours. Look at him. Look at his face. His little smirk. I am deceased.
#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion fanart#astarion fanfiction#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#bg3 fanart#baldurs gate au#professor astarion#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#astarion smut#bg3 smut#bg3 fanfiction#astarion x reader#astarion/reader#office hours#office hours fanart
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when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [1]
With your bleeding heart and altruistic bravery, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his best plan of action is to seduce you. All he has to do is not fall for you-- a feat easier said than done.
-or-
(Where were you ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he needed you? How dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)
Word Count: ~10k
Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", a study in Astarion's romance route + added features, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, slight Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Wyll/Lae'zel, Halsin/Reader; may have some descriptors of my Tav but generally no specifics (let me have my brown eyes), NSFW contains Virgin!Reader, trauma related to Astarion's past
[Part 2]
[Act I: Druid Groves]
From the start, you and Astarion chafed at each other's presence. Granted, he had threatened you at knife point, quick to suspect you were of the illithid colony, and you had responded in kind with a painful headbutt. But surprisingly enough, that had nearly no consequence to the relationship compared to the vastly different way the two of you engaged with the world.
"Do you always just... do things for other people for no reward?" Astarion asks you disdainfully when you promise Zevlor you would speak to Kagha. It's the third favor you've picked up in the last hour. "Seems very... inefficient."
"Yes?" You reply, confused as though he were the strange one. (In his humblest opinion, you're the lunatic who decides to help everyone who asks despite the arguably more pressing issue of their hostile parasite.) "I mean, helping them is going to help us in the long-run. We need information and supplies, and they have both of that."
A half-truth at best. Astarion has seen you soothe stray animals and children on the beaten road, help wayward allies, and offer up your amenities without hesitation. Helping others happens to align with your goal rather than the other way around. He feels his mouth twist in annoyance.
Astarion sniffs at your answer, and you give him the massive eye roll you habitually do every time the two of you argue. "Would it kill you to help them out a little?" You say, "It's not like it's completely out of our way to do it."
You make it sound so simple, he thinks bitterly. He glances at the sword at your hip and the shield on your back and wonders if you could ever understand how it feels to be powerless. It would explain your naivety, the way you cling onto doing the 'right' thing, your paladin vow to protect the weak no matter how foolhardy it may be.
(Where were you, he thinks, ten, fifty, hundreds of years ago when he was still surviving on the scraps of whatever Cazador decided to provide for him that night? Where were you when his cruel master carved into his skin, a painter on a screaming canvas? When he was buried underground, no longer alive but still living, until he clawed his way up with bloody hands, only to find out his body and soul belonged to another? When he was compelled by vampiric thrall to lead his first victim of thousands to their death?
And how dare you come now, the knight in shining armor for the less fortunate, when he has been waiting centuries for someone like you to save him? How dare you come to him now when he is like this?)
"It's a matter of principle, darling." Astarion simpers, "I, for one, am not the type to play hero."
He expects a sneer, the silent treatment-- those he knows easily how to respond to. The gauging look you give him, though, and a thin veneer of frustration just underneath before it dissipates gives him pause. "Well," you say mildly, "we can agree to disagree. You're coming along anyways so let's just get going, yeah?"
Astarion follows you then with no comeback in mind, only a question as to how far your patience can go.
.
.
.
It is with great hesitation and no small amount of begrudgement that Astarion admits he has never been one for planning. After all, why hope for a future that will never occur? What future does he have when every move he makes is in accordance to someone else's will, every decision made never his own?
When Astarion decided to travel with the unfortunate duo (now group) with similar illithid fates, he did not anticipate how difficult it would be to hide his affliction of a vampire. For the brief moment in the sun, he thought perhaps that because he was immune to daylight, his thirst for blood would have also disappeared. Imagine his surprise, nights after, when he finds himself starving and with no inconspicuous way to feed himself.
There is always someone on the lookout for goblins or other enemies alike. There have been few times he can sneak out without calling attention to himself, especially for such a long absence as hunting for prey would be. Astarion can feel himself grow weak over the course of a few days, and though he briefly thinks about telling you the truth about his identity, he is resistant.
Good heroes tend to hunt creatures of the night like him. Considering his blatant disregard for those you choose to protect, he isn't sure he will continue to be under your protection if he is outed. Astarion finds traveling as a pack to be too conveniently safe, but he is so, so hungry. In the midst of his hunger, anyone's blood will do, but it is yours that tempt him most: healthy, righteous, and pure-hearted. He has never been allowed to feed on a thinking creature, and at this point, he isn't sure if he should, considering the risks.
But Astarion is tempted by the smell of your blood shed during a particularly fierce battle, and as he feels his hands tremble, he concludes that he must find a way to feed tonight.
You always, without fail, set your tent up near the fire. It is where he finds himself creeping over your bedroll at the dead of night only to find that you have woken up to look up at him in shock. (He has never been one for planning.)
"...Shit," Astarion lets slip out, backing away. You stand at the ready, eyes boring into him as you come to the realization of what he is. "No, no- it's not what it looks like."
"...And what exactly is it supposed to look like then?" You ask tensely, and Astarion feels the situation quickly run away from him.
"I wasn't going to hurt you!” He puts his hands up and swallows. “I just needed, well, blood."
"You're the reason why that boar on the side of the road had no blood.” You realize, narrowing your eyes. "How many things have you hunted without us knowing?” You accuse, “People?"
"No!" Astarion exclaims, "No people. Never any people. I can sustain myself on animals, kobolds even-- but it is not enough. Not when we're fighting every day like this."
He sees a flicker of sympathy in your eyes and hope builds in his chest. "I feel so weak," he pleads. "If I just had a little bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."
You don't relax but you don't try to attack him either. Astarion considers that a winning chance. "Have you told anyone that you're a vampire?"
"They're more likely to ram a stake through my ribs than anything," Astarion mutters. "At best– even for you– you'd say no unless you trusted me." He looks up at you and sees the way your eyes look into him for the truth. "And you can trust me. I wouldn't want to harm anyone in this camp." And it is technically the truth, though Gale tests his patience sometimes. Even he cannot promise that he wouldn't betray everyone at the drop of the hat if the situation begs for it, but this is a completely different matter at the moment.
Your gaze is unfaltering, the silence palpable as the two of you look at each other. Astarion feels his palms sweat as he awaits your judgment and for the proverbial hammer to possibly fall on his head.
"Okay," you say instead. "Alright. I trust you. As long as you don't try biting me again without permission, it's fine. Can you promise me that at least?"
"Really?" Astarion knows this is what he could ever hope for, but a part of him is baffled that you would ever think to trust him. He supposes your foolhardy compassion has its benefits-- though he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit there was a part of him that was rather... flattered by your trust. "Yes- yes, of course. Thank you."
He presses his lips in thought. If you were so willing to put your faith in him, then perhaps it would not hurt to ask. "If I could ask you to trust me just a little further..." He says, "I just need a little blood. I won't take anything more than I need. Please."
Astarion can see the hesitation in your eyes when he asks. Are you weighing your trust in him, he wonders. Or are you worried about your safety, the benefits versus the risks? It would make sense-- you really shouldn't. But a moment before you respond, he somehow knows that you would.
[He looks so tired, you think, heart clenching with sympathy. You wonder how you've missed it for this long or if he's that good at pretending otherwise in the presence of others. It could be both-- Astarion has shown to be a great performer, and you are one of his best audiences. You find it difficult to argue against letting him bite you; the anticipated pain, the possible negative effect, the case that his hunger is too much for you to quench all pales in comparison to what good you would do for him.
You are halfway to being smitten already, and you cannot deny yourself this.
But you are not naive. You are not fearless. For whatever trust you give to Astarion, you are afraid of the fact that if he betrays you in this, you can never go back to how it was before.]
"Promise me you'll stop if I tell you to," you tell him quietly.
He acquiesces quickly. Of course, he will, he promises, only just enough. You lay back down at his suggestion, body tense in anticipation. He does not let that feeling linger too long, seizing his chance before you decide to change your mind. He buffets your body with his arms before he sinks his teeth into your outstretched neck.
You taste better than he could possibly have imagined.
To think he fed solely on mice before-- bog water in comparison to the sweet red of your blood, invigorating and undeniably delicious. Astarion gets another mouthful and groans, feeling strength return, warmth pooling into his belly. If bears and boars were the main course, then you are the mouth-salivating dessert– irresistibly delectable and leaving him wanting for more.
Your body trembles underneath him, your hand clenched into his shirt as a counterweight to the pain. Your pulse bounds underneath his tongue, the small gasps you cannot suppress resounds into his ears. This, too, puts feeding in a different plane than before, an extra level of appeal that can only be experienced with thinking creatures. Perhaps it is you in particular that adds another layer to the pleasure. Having you at his mercy, taking what you so graciously offered with ravenous hunger: power courses through him for more reasons than one.
[Your heart beats as fast as a rabbit's, fear and adrenaline powering you in the same manner. Or, if you were being honest, anticipation and a little bit of excitement fuels it as well as Astarion climbs on top of you, hunger in his eyes.
It is a more literal type of hunger, but it is an intense look either way that leaves you frozen like a deer in headlights.
The bite itself is more shocking than it is painful. You barely muffle your exclamation, unused to the feeling of someone so intimately close combined with the instinctive fear that accompanies the loss of blood. You hold onto Astarion without thought, and you squeeze your eyes and bite your lips as he takes your blood in with every suck.
As scared as you may be, you are undeniably aroused from the feeling of it all-- the numbness that gently overtakes your mind, the light, floaty feeling of pleasure of the bloodloss combined with the intimacy of someone you’ve always been attracted to. The knowledge that he is gorging himself on you, taking pleasure from you, makes your blood run hotter than it has any right to in this situation.
And then, you feel a switch flip, and the lightness becomes disorienting, and the numbness bleeds into coldness. Panic starts climbing up your throat. You let yourself think for the briefest moment if Astarion will let go on his own, but you know you will not last long enough to wait. Worry gnaws at you at this thought, and you can only hope that Astarion is true to his word when you tell him to stop.
And he does. Perhaps it is the feeling that you have placed your trust in the right person that has felt the best out of everything that has happened tonight.]
"Astarion-" he hears you grit out, "that's enough."
“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.” It takes but a moment for Astarion to register it before removing his fangs from your neck. He sees blood trickle from the punctures and he bemoans the waste as he pulls away. Next time– if there is a next time– he'll be neater, he thinks. He watches as you breathe just as hard as him, eyes slightly glazed over, and he barely resists the urge to lick his lips.
He stands from you to give you space, and you slowly sit up, looking at him with an emotion he can't quite place. It concerns him little at the moment with the strongest blood he's ever consumed in two millennia coursing through him.
“That was…” Astarion begins, breathless with adrenaline, “Amazing.” He delicately wipes the blood from the side of his mouth, an irrepressible smile on his face.
“Hope that helped,” you say, and he almost laughs at the understatement of two centuries.
“It very much did.” Astarion breathes in deeply. “My mind is finally clear. I feel… strong,” he nearly purrs. Happy.”
“Looking forward to seeing you fight then,” you say, hand at your neck as the punctures gradually close. You sigh, wiping your bloody hands onto the patch of grass. “Going out to hunt?” You ask like any other day.
“I am, darling.” He stands tall, head held high with a confidence he has not felt in ages. To think this is what he's been missing out on… “You're invigorating, but I'll need to get something more… filling,” he tells you, glancing back.
You give him a flippant wave of the hand, and he isn't sure if you are too tired to be wary of him or uncaring of the risk considering what you allowed him to do. “Good hunting,” you say genuinely before yawning.
“I will. And-” You turn to him then, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but still alert. Astarion pauses for a moment. “This is a gift, you know,” he says. “I won't forget it.”
He walks off into the forest after and finds easy prey to feast on. It's a shame it does not taste as good as you did, but he will make do and ride out the feeling of power for as long as he can. It is when he returns to camp with you fast asleep by the fire that Astarion realizes the emotion on your face was relief: relief that he had stopped when you had asked, and that he kept to his word.
What a fragile thing trust is, to be put to the breaking point at a single moment in time. What if he had continued to consume and drink you dry? He suspects it would have rather dire consequences to your mortality and even worse effects to his relationship with you. It would be unsalvageable, he realizes, if he had not stopped when you had asked. For some things may be forgiven, but this would be reprehensible.
Astarion finds that he understands you too well for his liking. How many times has he not been able to give consent? Wanted to say 'no' but forced to say yes? (Not knowing now how to say 'no' at all?)
For the sake of his own livelihood (the camp would kill him for your death), his budding relations with you, and a part of him that yearns for what he should have had, Astarion is glad that he was not greedy tonight-- and, as the day comes, for the following nights to come.
The pitchforks and torches do not come the next morning. Maybe it is because everyone else has their equally dangerous secret to hide or because of your influence on the camp. You are more concerned at how you would help him feed than afraid that he will hurt anyone.
"Why, isn't it my favorite traveling companion," he says to you when you approach him.
"You mean tastiest,” you say back, and he knows you are truly well and beyond hard feelings if you can joke about it.
"Well, I suppose that as well.” He tells you, “Though you have been the only one I've bitten so there is no competition, really."
And to his surprise, telling you about Cazador, his ill-begot fate as a vampire spawn and its subsequent diet, is easier than he would have expected. You listen with a sympathetic but otherwise neutral ear that makes it easy for him– and he suspects everyone else– to confess their circumstances to you. He's rather surprised he's been able to “resist” for this long. Even Gale has confessed he has a literal living bomb inside him in the little time they've all spent together as a group.
(It goes to show how much everyone has grown to trust you; even Astarion is starting to see what everyone else sees in you.)
“I don't mind you taking my blood once in a while,” you instruct him, “but you can't just do it to an innocent person.”
“And how about a guilty person?” Astarion asks slyly, gleefully watching as you saddle next to him with a similar smile.
“Free real estate, I suppose,” you say nonchalantly. “Just ask before you bite me?”
“No more late night surprises, you have my word on that.” He smiles, fangs bared, and you don't even blink at the sight of them.
.
.
.
In the druid grove, you pick up a few more favors from the locals, though at least you have begun to ask for aid for the road. Not exactly payment, though you are offered a reward anyways. Astarion thinks you are either very lucky people are desperate for help or very charming in that innocent, eager to do good type of way that compels people to be generous. It is not unlike Wyll, who joins your group of illithid-afflicted companions, as the Blade of Frontiers.
Naturally, the two of you get along as like-minded individuals. Gale, too, gravitates toward you for your compassion, and Shadowheart trusts you for perhaps the same reasons. Even Lae'zel, who you often have problems speaking to without feeling intimidated, has come to begrudgingly accept you as the de facto leader of the group. You are, as Astarion suspected, strong in battle as you are in personality.
He often forgets both, but he cannot be blamed. After he witnesses you stand up to Lae'zel for the sake of an intimidated tiefling, he sees you lose an argument against a squirrel. Astarion sees you send goblins off rooftops and speak to trolls with confidence, and then he watches as you ask him to unlock a barn door with raunchy sex noises simply out of morbid curiosity.
It is in these moments-- apart from your heroism and startling sense of morality-- that you and Astarion are often on the same page. As long as it is not from the needy, you don't find it a problem to loot. (He thinks practicality plays a role in disturbing dead bodies for money and items, and your vow says nothing against it.) If it's for the sake of peace, you don't mind spinning half-truths and lies. (The lies he personally thinks you need to work on more but he is a master of deception so perhaps there is no comparison with him.)
Your curiosity knows no bounds, and it is in this, both you and Astarion take cheerful glee in raking chaos.
"I don't know what I expected!" You say almost cheerily after the group defeats the unlikely couple of bugbear and ogre after purposely interrupting their very loud lovemaking.
Shadowheart gives you a raised eyebrow that has you sheepishly grin at her, and Astarion lets out a laugh. "Well, I certainly had a guess, but finding out was very interesting indeed."
"Interesting... is certainly a way to describe the scene we just witnessed," Gale says dryly. Astarion catches your eyes before you smile slyly.
Innocently, you comment, "I wonder how the mechanics worked with the height difference-"
Gleefully, Astarion is quick to join in, watching Gale balk at the topic, “Well, with the way she was on her knees-”
"Some things need not be pondered!"
That is when Astarion realizes that as long as the world stops begging for your help, the two of you get along quite well. If anything, Astarion finds your presence and comments most amusing out of everyone in camp. Gale is exceedingly verbose and other times awkward. Lae'zel Astarion isn't sure knows the meaning of joking, though her violent tendencies are right up his alley. Shadowheart-- as it turns out and makes total sense-- is a worshiper of Shar and therefore an automatic stick in the mud.
Wyll waxes far too much about justice, and Karlach, when they find her and proceed to not kill her despite Wyll's initial request, is the next best thing though he is still wary of how hot she burns. You, however, have the humor and wit to match every ridiculous situation they encounter, and if anything, Astarion must give you that. God knows how he'd survive the boredom of camp and not being arms deep in gore without having someone to gossip with.
The two of you agree the most when it comes to other topics, like Mystra's treatment of Gale, how good Wyll looks with horns, feelings about Gods. It makes for great and easy conversations though the two of you are also quick to snark if there is a disagreement. Astarion admits his words were sharp in the beginning (and you gave it right back until you just mellowed out) but he eventually relaxed when his role in camp solidified after his vampiric reveal.
And what a gift your blood was; Astarion counts his lucky stars that you continue to offer your neck to him as long as it is only yours he bites-- with permission, of course.
He was almost beginning to relax when a gur comes, asking for him.
Luckily enough, it seems this Gandrel has no idea what he looks like, so the two of you can play innocent together. You and Astarion give each other a discrete look before you go back to talking to the monster hunter. It must be Cazador, he seethes. Who else would put a Gur on his tracks acres away from Baldur's Gate?
"And what did you want to do with this vampire spawn?" You ask innocuously.
"I would like to capture him."
"Capture? Not kill? Does someone want him alive?" You question, and Astarion must give you this: you are an excellent conversationalist, to seek more without giving much at all. Your eyes widen in what can be assumed as surprise, though they remain calculating. "You said so yourself: even vampire spawn are dangerous. Why would you accept a job to capture him?"
The gur shuffles his feet for a moment, chewing on his words. Astarion watches in secretive awe as you urge the hunter to trust you with unbidden information. "Well... It's not a request from an outside source..." He trails off, "We... have questions we were hoping he would answer."
Now that's curious, Astarion thinks. What would a monster hunter need for a spawn besides its demise? He knows you have the same question when he glances over at you as you watch on thoughtfully.
"Were you hoping to capture it to get to the vampire lord or something?" You ask, "Is that something that would even work?"
"We have little leads besides this vampire spawn, if I can be frank." He sighs and Astarion watches as he unravels the truth before you. "It's our children, you see. They've been captured.”
You are ever sympathetic to the Gur's plight--genuinely so. You hold no qualms keeping Astarion's name from your mouth but you speak to the Gur and provide him with advice and information you have received from Astarion. What a cheeky pup you are, playing double agent without batting an eye. Astarion feels like forgiving you for taking away the opportunity to get rid of the monster hunter once and for all just for the show of your wit and guile.
Though Astarion thinks you could afford to be more ambitious. If you could have perhaps a little creativity in deciding what you want to do with the little tadpole in your brain or the absolutist cult, Astarion is sure the two of you would get along more.
"I don't know how the tadpole will change me," you admit with unexpected vulnerability. "I don't want to give them more power over me, and I don't know if feeding them will let them."
"Well..." Astarion pauses, scoffing at your response before he can accept the fact the two of you have more in common that he would rather believe. He'd rather not lose what he barely got back as well, he thinks. "I suppose there is reason to hesitate so maybe I'll wait until some other brave soul decides to give it a go." He gives you a look before continuing, "Try not to convince the others too much. I'm not too eager to be the first and only one to eat a tadpole."
You shrug noncommittally, promising nothing. Astarion barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. Paladins.
.
.
.
Considering the dire straits in which you are bound and the rocky start the two of you had, Astarion would not have imagined the relationship with you to progress in this manner. Having you trust him was already beyond what was expected, especially after revealing his vampiric origins. Giving him your blood was a gift that he could hardly believe happened. One can imagine his surprise when he finds out you are charmed by his wits, finding genuine joy in his wry commentary.
For god knows why, you have grown fond of him-- he can see it in the way you provide him with the best equipment, the way you seek his presence. The way you laugh freely around him and turn your back to him during battle, believing he will defend it. Though arriving at this point was coincidental, it is almost too easy for Astarion to come to the conclusion that his next step is to seduce you.
Astarion sees your laughter, but he also sees the way you throw him glances when you think the others aren't looking. You instinctively lean closer to him when he is near and when he speaks, your eyes are quick to find him. You are attracted to him– and he means to capitalize on it and make you feel as though you would rather die than have him get hurt.
It's a simple plan, really. The seduction comes easy; all he needs to do is stay unattached, so if things go wrong, he'll find someone else to take cover under.
(The plan should be simple-- he has learned tactics that would put any to their knees, tricked hundreds of people of his affections. But something about doing this to you-- this performance-- makes him uneasy.
It's a shame, he finds himself thinking. He thinks he was beginning to like you too.
The thought lingers only for a moment. He is quick to push it from his mind; that too is a learned habit.)
Astarion finds his opportunity after the goblin camp has been slain and the tieflings throw a celebration in thanks.
The wine is mediocre at best, but there is much of it to be shared, so the party is still in full blast when the moon is overhead. He finds himself a secluded part of camp to sip at the sorry excuse of a liquor, discomfited by the praise they give him for participating in the fight against the goblins.
You are unused to the praise as well, humble as you are, but you are nearly glowing from the joy you feel as you make merry with those you have befriended. The rest of the party, even companions who were ambivalent at best at the idea of helping the tiefling immigrants, are satisfied with the outcome despite the lack of progress with removing the tadpole. He would say otherwise– the trade of goblin lives for tieflings hardly makes a difference, and surely the goblins would throw a wilder party than this. He says as much to you when, faithfully, you find your way to him to talk.
“All I want,” he tells you, “is a little bit of fun. Is that so much to ask?”
You snort into your drink. “Knowing you, it could be.”
“Don't be so sour,” he croons. “I like a good time as much as anyone.” His eyes fall half-lidded as he looks at you. You raise your brow at him, noticing the change in tone as he continues. "You know, we could always make our own entertainment."
The look you give him is partly apprehensive and the other amused. He knows that glimmer of recognition of what he is asking, though you are quick to hide it for plausible deniability. "...What do you mean by that?"
Astarion, with practiced ease, leans in, watching as you instinctively do the same before he purrs out, "Why, sex, of course. Experiencing a little death, figuratively speaking, is quite fun, wouldn't you agree?"
Your face is already flushed from the alcohol, but your cheeks on high brighten in the dimly lit torches at his tent. It's evident you didn't expect him to suggest something like that, especially to you, though you are not completely unwilling if the lack of immediate denial is of any indication.
You are rendered speechless though; a first for you considering how quick you often are at retorting back at his comments. It makes Astarion think of two conclusions: you are either inexperienced or incredibly shocked at his offer. Both are familiar, though the thought of your naivety extending into sexual relations does, at the very least, give him pause.
It is not as if he has never been someone's first. Virgins are often most eager to lose or prove themselves in someone so willing to offer bliss. If you are one, well– the shy ones are always the ones that are easier to fell.
He prepares himself to drop a few one-liners to convince you to take the offer, but you glance away for a moment before you turn toward him, face unreadable.
"If you're down," you say. You smile. "I don't mind."
"Until later then," Astarion replies easily. "Wouldn't want the others to interrupt, unless you're interested in that."
At this, you laugh, and he relaxes. "Definitely not. Though, I'm curious." You ask, "Am I your first choice, or am I just the first to say 'yes'?"
Astarion finds the best lies are in truths. "Lae'zel was quite eager to find a partner earlier. Luckily she and Wyll are in quite the agreement for tonight as far as I can hear and I have no desire to get in between whatever the githyanki has in store." He smiles slyly at you. "Besides, I couldn't help but overhear you flirting with our druid earlier so I at least knew you were in the, ah, mood. Never imagined you'd be quite so bold."
"It's the alcohol," you mutter, rubbing your cheek. You take the wine from his hand and take another swig. "Also, I didn't realize he'd be coming with us so that was a surprise. Almost as much of a surprise as you asking me." You glance at him briefly. "Well, sort of."
Astarion feels a familiar prickle of suspicion as he stares at you, already unamused at whatever dirty truths you have prepared for him. "What is it now?"
You quip a half smile, eyes bright under the torch fire. (Your eyes are brown.) "Nothing," you say teasingly. "Guess you do like me a little bit."
Astarion watches as you walk away, feeling less victorious than he imagined himself to be.
The flirting, the seduction, the fight for survival is familiar. The banter, the bickering, the camaraderie between the two of you is beginning to be just as familiar. Astarion feels just the slightest bit unease at how true your words are.
.
.
.
Astarion has much to prepare for the night, so it is lucky that you take center stage of the party, as the savior of the grove. You take part in the merriment and make conversations, taking genuine interest in the stories others tell. The tieflings keep you busy for the most part, but Astarion is nothing if not good at building anticipation, putting as much heat into his gaze as possible when you do have time to take a glance at him.
You are quick to focus your attention elsewhere after giving him a look, but the smile on your face that stays means that at least he is always on your mind. In some ways, he has missed this... coyness, the thrill of the chase. The results of his previous endeavors never fail to unease him, but with you, it is different. The familiarity of seduction comes with a little bit more fun knowing you are not going to be his victim- not like it usually is.
"Hey, still not joining in on the fun?" You suddenly ask him, your hand gently prying at his arm so you can hook onto him. You have gotten more drunk in the time you were away, the warmth of your skin seeping into him from where you've attached yourself. Your face is almost comically red if not for the carefree smile on your face and the affection that betrays on your face when you look at him.
Something in his chest warms at the sight of you.
"Unfortunately, the tieflings' company has not become any more appealing since you've been gone. Besides," Astarion says slyly, "the only thing I've been thinking of is how you'll taste later when we're alone."
You let out a huff, turning your head away with a half-embarrassed and pleased smile. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"
"Not at all," he replies easily. "It's the truth, after all."
You look at him as though you don't believe a word, but you are charmed by them anyway if your expression is of any indication. As conscientious as you normally are, the alcohol and the fact you are delving into his territory of seduction puts you at a disadvantage. Even if you are the one that knows him best in the camp, you are not attuned to every secret. Half-truths and lies come easier than anything else, if only because it allows him to keep his distance.
When the camp is cleared and you linger to bid the others farewell, Astarion slips away to the lake to prepare. It is almost ritualistic the way he cleans himself, the cold waters readying himself for what comes next. He thinks of what lines to tell you, how he should appear to you to best whet your appetite. Are you chaste or are you more animalistic? Would you prefer to take a dominant or submissive role? Astarion cannot tell these things about you based on his interactions with you, so he can only rely on his flexibility and years of experience to get him through it.
(For a brief moment, he wonders if this is something he must do. What if you would protect him regardless of how this night goes? You are compassionate, sympathetic to the plight of others-- goodness flows within your veins like the light that beacons from your holy sword. Could that light not shield him too, without his body as an offering?
But gods are rarely so magnanimous, no matter the sacrifices. Astarion will not take his chances even with you.
Even then-- even then, he wants this night to be at least a little enjoyable. It is with you, after all. If there is someone who can allow him to feel safe, it is you.)
Moonlight beams above, and Astarion hears your quiet footsteps come closer. His expression masks into something more suitable for seduction and he steps from the shadows of the trees to greet you.
Upon seeing him, you yelp in surprise and- god, can you blame him?- he jumps as well.
"What in God's name-"
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't expect to see you half naked all of a sudden!" You stammer, "I mean, not all of a sudden, I guess. Your... state of undress didn't cross my mind as something I'd see right away."
It is reckless when his mark is so close to fruition, but he finds himself dropping the act, hand at his hips in an instinctual indignant huff you seem to invoke from him easily. "Darling, what did you expect after the invitation I gave?" Your sheepish grin is your only answer, and Astarion feels a quick flash of annoyance at how easily you are able to derail his thoughts.
Quick to redirect the conversation though, Astarion angles his body sensually, lowering his voice in the manner he knows can send shivers down his victims. "Perhaps you'd prefer if you could strip me down yourself?"
Like clockwork, your cheeks flush pink even as you roll your eyes in attempts to salvage your embarrassment. "Only you'd be able to pull those lines out of nowhere," you mutter, and Astarion allows himself the satisfaction when you approach him, eyes looking down at him appreciatively.
Only a small gap lies between the two of you now, your dark eyes meeting his. You are waiting on him; Astarion does not hesitate.
He takes your face into his hands and brings his lips to yours. Your eyes close almost immediately to the touch as you give into him, face tilting up to align with him and mouth parted to allow him in. Though Astarion knows not how you incline to be normally, he knows that this night, he's the one in control.
Your hands curl into the front of his chest as though you do not know where to touch, so he helps you along and pulls you in until there is nothing separating you. Astarion can see the way your eyes widen when you can feel his arousal beneath his trousers, and recognizes your interest with the way your pupils darken your eyes.
There is a slight satisfaction in seeing you this way. As stubborn as you are, you are malleable in his touch, opening up to his hands like a flower in bloom. He lifts you up against the tree, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist in response, and your little giggle morphs into a gasp of pleasure when he grinds into you fully.
It is probably instinctual the way you arch your back and bare your neck to him. It isn't in him to resist the temptation to bury his nose into the crook, nipping at the sensitive skin between your collar bone. And this is when he feels your hands, that were curled into his hair, push him back slightly, and his stomach drops.
He should be worried that he made a mistake and think about how to put you back on track with him. His safety depends on his success, after all. Despite himself, Astarion feels more hurt at your rejection, your mistrust, than anything. (Since when did that ever matter to him?)
"I wasn't going to bite, you know," he says, hoping nothing in his voice gives anything away.
"No, that's not it," you tell him, and your hand is quick to cup his face reassuringly. He finds himself soothed by your gesture though he wishes he was not in need of it in the first place. "I trust you not to without my say. I mean, you probably could tonight if you wanted..." You trail off. "I just wanted to let you know something before we go any further."
The offer for blood pleases him more than it should, as does the affirmation of your trust. "Whatever you want to say, darling, I doubt it'll deter me from having my way with you tonight," Astarion says, eyes half-lidded and staying strong despite the undignified huff you give him.
"Well, alright," you say as you try to save face. You brush over his collarbone with your thumb as you think. You're nervous, he realizes, over whatever you have to say, and he can't begin to guess what you could possibly reveal that would be of such import to leave you in such a state. "I... have never-- this is my first time. Having sex," you say, and Astarion does his utmost not to show any semblance of surprise.
"I hope," you continue, "that's okay? You'll probably have to show me a lot of things but, you know..."
You are a virgin after all. Astarion had some thoughts on the matter but he never truly took stock in it considering how rare it is to save yourself for this long. You were modest but far from prude, and you had thoughts of debauchery like any other in the camp. But you are of untouched flesh. Inexperienced. And yet you accepted him to be your first?
You are not so unique that he has never bedded someone like you, but it does tweak his heart in a way it has not for a long while that you are giving yourself to him as a result of his seduction. You feel self conscious about this inexperience, and it would be easy to take advantage of that for his benefit. Typical, even.
The thought does not sit well with him.
"I know you wanted a fun night," you tell him, eyes downcast when he does not respond. "So I get it if you're not interested anymore since I'm probably going to be a lot of work-"
"And what’s to say we cannot have fun while discovering something new?" Astarion interrupts in a momentary panic. He's not on autopilot but he's not stopping the night from happening despite your deference- so what is he doing? "Darling, I'm rather concerned you want to spend your first night with a vampire-" He needs to get back on script.
He recites the words in his mind. Isn't this what you want? To lose yourself in me? And all he has to do is say it-
"No, that's not-" You talk back, frowning. "You being a vampire has nothing to do with it. When you asked, I said yes because I trust you, vampire or not."
To have and to hold, he thinks, and wonders how you have survived for so long being so willfully trusting when at times you should not. "Then trust me, darling," he says, heat building in his chest. He lifts you up again and growls. "Let's have some fun. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"If that's what you want," you breathe out, and Astarion claims your mouth with his own.
You let out a sigh when he begins to undress you, his dexterous hands easily removing every lace and button to leave you bare. You giggle into his kiss, and Astarion lets himself smile, being pulled along as you roll on top of him playfully, mischief in your eyes. You full on laugh when he rolls you back over, uncaring of the outdoors, bearing your neck for him to bite.
Astarion doesn't remember the last time he's had fun doing this. And it is fun- always has been with you, he realizes, a type of levity that he has not experienced with anyone else. He takes leisure in biting you, sucking a mouthful of blood that has him moaning into your neck as he rolls his hips into you. Your hand gently cards through his hair as he bites, and true to his word (only taking just enough), he pulls back with blood on his lips before swooping down to share in his bounty.
He cannot help but laugh when you stick out your tongue at him, nose wrinkling at the metallic taste of blood that is otherwise sweet to him. He pulls his remaining clothes off and smirks when he sees you follow the line of sight down to his hardened cock in compulsive curiosity.
"Like what you see, darling?"
You make a noncommittal hum as you sit up, quick as you are unbothered by your nakedness. "Can I?" You ask, gesturing toward him, and he would find it amusing for you to ask if not for how eagerly you grasp his member at his nod.
Astarion hisses in pleasure as you pump his cock, getting into an easy rhythm with your thumb sliding deliciously on the tip of it. He watches as you gather spit to smoothen the pace, hand delicately pushing your hair from your face, and feel arousal melt into his belly like molten lava.
"Why, it seems you have a little bit of experience in this matter, or are you just talented?" He asks and earns himself a coy look.
"Just twice," you say, twisting your hand in a way that has him rolling his hips. "Hold my hair, will you?"
Astarion is quick to follow your orders-- almost instinctively-- and before he has a moment to ponder on that, he is throwing his head back when your mouth swallows his cock in wetness and heat.
Most of his so-called lovers were more eager to be pleased than please; it makes sense that you would be different with the way you are. Your eagerness is quite adorable, as is your earnestness to provide him pleasure. Astarion revels in it, ecstasy climbing up like a tidal wave.
"That's enough, dear," Astarion purrs. He sees you look at him with a protest on your lips, and he continues, "I'd much rather continue this while I'm inside you."
Based on your expression, you are more than thrilled at the aspect.
Astarion guides you to lay down as he climbs over, hands carving a path over your curves and into your heat. He is careful to not scrape his fangs over your bosom, though he suspects you would not mind it in the least with how roughly he plays with your nipples to elicit a moan. You are dripping by the time he is done preparing you.
It does not take much resistance to enter you fully. You let out a short cry, reaching out to him instinctively for comfort as your body adapts to him. True to your words, you are tight beyond measure, squeezing his cock as though you are determined to milk him for what he's worth. You pant into his ears, hands grasping over his shoulders as you ease into the feeling of him.
The moment you nod, Astarion begins to move steadily. It is easy for the both of you to lose yourself in the pleasure, and it is these moments that he feels himself drift away, and the feeling of dread settles in.
Any type of intimacy takes him acres away, the gasps and moans that was music to his ears fading into numbness. He hardly knows what he's doing, except to know that he's doing well enough, hands playing at your clit as he moves at a persistent rhythm.
Astarion wishes it were different. Sex is fun, especially with you, if only it didn't make him feel as though he were fighting for his life. Every stroke calculated, every climax comes with a price. You are not to be taken back to Cazador, but it still feels like he's going to.
You tighten around him, and he knows you are about to come just as he is. He lets out a grunt and persists through a rapid pace before feeling your body jolt in pleasure. He soon follows after, head upon your shoulder as he shudders into his climax.
The night is still young; why don't we go back to my place for more?
Won't you come home with me? We need so much more time to get to know each other.
His next lines come too easily for him that it makes him sick.
A hand pulls at his cheek rather cheekily and Astarion finds himself coming back from the haze. He lifts his head to look at you, face relaxed from pleasure but still otherwise amused.
Is it ridiculous to think that the sight of you makes him feel safe?
"That," you begin, "was crazy. Sex is like that, huh?"
"Be welcomed to the land of the living, darling," Astarion says. "I fear you have been missing out on one of the finer parts of life."
"Well, it's not like I've never orgasmed before," you tell him, "but I guess it is pretty different with someone else." You sigh when Astarion removes himself from you. "Thank you for being so patient with me."
"No need to mention it, darling," he says, finding it easy to relax with the banter, "though I dare say it did not take very long for you to be prepared. Why, I'd even call that a record for getting as wet as you did-"
"Hey!" He avoids your playful slap with ease as you pout at him. "I... I have no comeback to that, except maybe you're welcome."
"I'm welcome? I should be the one saying that to you. I'm rather magical in bed, don't you think?"
"I don't know if your neck could support a head that big if I agree with you." You laugh, flipping your hair away again. For a moment, Astarion has the urge to take it upon himself to brush the stray strands from your face, but he does not. "By the way," you continue, "are you okay?"
Astarion blinks. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you just seemed a little..." You stop before shaking your head. "No, never mind. You seemed a little far away but what would I know."
His heart lurches. "I had to make sure I didn't lose control," he says carefully. He clears his throat and goes for levity. "Who knows if your fragile, virgin body can handle it?"
Astarion is grateful you take the line for how it is, quick to come up with a haughty retort, the banter easy to fall back to. You are adamant on being sturdy enough and not one to waste a chance, he proposes a long night of lovemaking-- if only to cinch the deal with you. After all, he thinks as your legs close around his head, this is all part of his plan: seduce you and win your protection. Nothing more, nothing less.
He tries not to think how sex for once, as he nips playfully at your thigh, has been enjoyable.
.
.
.
The sun wakes him up before anything else. It is unfamiliar to him, even at least a month beyond the time when his deathly aversion to sunlight has disappeared. The warmth of the morning rays, the light that dawn brings-- Astarion did not realize how much he had missed it until he had felt it again.
He almost isn't sure if he can ever go back to never feeling it again.
He stands to bask in it fully, glancing over to his side to watch your sleeping figure for a moment. You are curled up in your own clothes-- and his shirt as well, he remembers, having a little play fight over it before you eventually let exhaustion take you. The ache in his body from last night is familiar at least, and he stares at you, waiting for the dread to come-- but it does not.
How curious. Only good for his plans if everything is more palatable, of course, but it is... unexpected for him to feel so at ease. He decides not to question it, using this moment of strangely acquired peace to face the sun in its entirety.
Your voice filters in after many minutes, a little scratchy from slumber. "You awake already?"
"It isn't exactly the break of dawn, dear," Astarion replies, and he shoots a glance back expecting your usual deadpan, but you are rubbing your eyes sleepily instead. A thought comes to mind that he has never seen you in your first waking moments: you are rather unguarded, movements leisurely and expression soft still. It's quite... cute. "I'm rather surprised you're awake. I thought you'd be exhausted from last night."
You let out a titter behind your hand at this. "Yeah, well, everything aches in different ways than a fight, so it's not too bad." You yawn. "Still sleepy though," you mumble, looking up at him through the gaps between your fingers as you block the sun from your eyes.
"Say," you begin, and Astarion realizes belatedly that the reason you were looking so intently at him was because you saw his back. "Can I ask about those markings on your back? Are they scars?"
"A poem from my old master," he replies facetiously. "Or so I assume. He carved it all into my back in one night." His lips purse. "He made a lot of revisions."
"I'm sorry," he hears you say with sympathy in your voice, and he knows he must quickly move on from this topic.
"It's fine," he says abruptly. "It doesn't matter now. I'm free and far from Baldur's Gate. And he'll never control me ever again."
"Good," you say, and he wonders if putting warmth into your words comes naturally to you.
"Yes, it is." He pauses. "May I have my shirt back? Not that I mind being half nude, by the way- if only to let everyone know exactly what went on last night."
"Don't even joke," you sputter, tossing his shirt- miraculously clean- to him. "I don't kiss and tell! And they'll definitely know, but not the details!”
.
.
.
In the morning glow, nothing much has changed. As predicted, the entire camp is in-the-know of whomever slept with who. Astarion is quick to inquire Lae'zel about her tryst with Wyll, only to find, to the mutual disappointment, that he spent most of the time talking about his feelings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, was more than happy to share her wine last night.
"Shadowheart mates like she fights," Lae'zel says. "Precisely and aggressively."
"Which is a good thing, I assume."
"Immensely." Lae'zel pauses then in breaking down her tent to look at him intently, which, for the githyanki, is as terrifying as anything. "I see you and our paladin decided to explore each other's bodies last night."
"Why, yes, thank you for noticing. It was quite the exploration," he responds, opening his mouth to elaborate.
"I suppose even you have your charms," she tells him instead, and the conversation ends there.
(Astarion hopes to glean more conversation elsewhere to no luck. Your talk with Shadowheart this morning is brief ("Lae'zel, huh."/"Astarion."/"Yep."), and Karlach's put-out expression is enough to give sympathy and a wide berth. Astarion sees Gale gazing upon the visage of his goddess again and turns the other way.)
The camp dynamic stays strangely the same. It is to Astarion's benefit, for he was comfortable with how the way things were, though he is more generous with the pet names for you. Halsin joins the fray, and they make their way to the mountains upon Lae'zel's insistence.
In the midst of adventure, Astarion finds that you seek his presence more often. His night invitation seemed to open an avenue up for you to be more comfortable in doing so. Astarion finds he doesn't mind it; your camaraderie is most enjoyable in the too quiet camp and as far as "seducing" goes, you are doing half the work for him.
Your gaze holds some heat for him once in a while when the moon is high and the fire burns low, but you have not asked him for another night. He is neither pleased nor displeased at the notion, because your affections for him are as clear as day. He knows you would say yes in a heartbeat if he did propose another night together, but he rather likes the late-night conversations he often has with you, a type of intimacy that borders on his comfort zone-- exciting and enjoyable without the unnecessary reminders of his past.
Still, he sometimes finds himself recalling his night with you fondly. It's strange: he's gotten on his back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them, but his time with you, he knows he will remember.
Astarion puts the thoughts of "why" (why you? Why are you different? What makes you special?) behind him for now. A treasure hunt for the Blood of Lathander (as if you needed to shine even brighter), a stolen githyanki egg (Lae'zel keeps it safe in her backpack), and an escape from a créche later, Astarion is more than happy to find refuge in the underdark, which proves to be more beautiful than any of them could imagine.
Something makes him look over to you then, and he watches as you take in the sights with wonder in your eyes, the gentle darkness cradling your face in its dreamy blue glow.
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion/tav#astarion/reader#astarion bg3#will there be a second part? who knows#i black out and suddenly there is 10k words
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Perfect to Me |Astarion x Fem!Plus-sized! Reader|
Fandom- Baldurs Gate 3
Ship- Astarion/Fem!Plus-sized! Reader
Warning(s)- fatphobia, negative thoughts about weight, mentions of Cazador, Swearing
Summary- Reader is upset after a rough day in Baldurs Gate, but Astarion proves that she doesn't need to be.
Word Count- 1,700
A/N- Sorry if this isn't perfect, it has been a while. But merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! (I also changed the name of the fic)
After a long and perilous journey through the Shadow Cursed Lands, The Underdark, and the Mountain Pass to gain allies you finally made your way to Baldurs Gate. The bustling streets and lively atmosphere was almost alien to you after so much time surrounded by nature.
The faces of your companions tell you all you need to know about how they feel at present. Disgust, Excitement, and Fear. You felt for Astarion, it must be terrifying returning to your old hunting grounds after so long, seeing the families of people he had condemned, but that wasn’t who he was now. You felt a fleeting sense of pride that your friend had promised the Gur he would help take down Cazador and find out what happened to their children– Whether they were alive or not is a whole different story.
Karlach on the other hand looked positively elated at being here. Her excitement was certainly infectious, You pause your thoughts and look over at the disgust on Lae’zel’s face, Well maybe not totally infectious. Although you did take note of a glint in Lae’zel’s eyes, she was interested but hid it well.
But even with Karlach’s excitement, you were nervous as all hells. You knew from experience that Baldurs Gate wasn’t a fan of people with your particular build (Well, unless you work in brothels or Burlesque shows but that is a different story.) Knowing what you know about Baldurs Gate you had prepared yourself before you left to expect some comments, looks and even some shoves.
You thought you had managed to keep your anxieties under control and to yourself but that wasn’t the case. Unbeknownst to you, while you were hyperanalysing everything out of nervousness, Astarion was keeping an eye on you. He’d never seen you so nervous- That might not even be the right word, terrified seemed to be the better term.
He didn’t know why you were so scared of everything. He had seen you take down an Orthon just so he could have the information that Raphael promised him. You didn’t have to do that but you did. When he asked you why you simply smiled and said “Because it was important to you.” So he didn’t understand your fears at all. Are you scared of big crowds? Of the idea that someone could jump you? No, thats not it, you’d look more alert than anything, not dazed.
After a few hours of walking around Astarion finally spotted what it was that was scaring you so much. He noticed the glares and whispers being sent in your direction. He was happy that you weren’t an elf because you wouldn't have liked the things he was hearing. He was physically restraining himself from ripping out these peoples throat. You were beautiful. Why couldn't they see that? Why couldn't you see that?
“Isn't she ashamed of coming out here?” Just breathe, Astarion. You'll be no good to the group in prison.
“She's much too big to be in with that lot.” Astarion kept his rage to himself, but he was sure the rest of his group noticed. After all you were connected by those wriggling parasites.
Eventually you all made your way to The Elfsong Tavern when the Emperor decided to reminisce about his time working with Duke Stalemane. Astarion didn't care though, not after noticing how vulnerable you looked, how upset and withdrawn you were.
He wondered if maybe you could hear some of the comments. Or if you were so used to the treatment that you knew what they were going to say.
Karlach barrels into the Tavern with all the grace of… well- Karlach. Finally getting to sleep in a proper bed for the night. Everyone was excited for it. After the trials they had all been through they deserved some much needed rest, even just for the day.
Karlach decided to go down into the Tavern to spend her night eating and drinking, Lae'zel went to the courtyard to practice. The group had discovered a temple with a link to Mystra and naturally relayed this to Gale so that's where he probably is. As for the others? You had no idea.
You took it upon yourself to kick your shoes off and practically face planted one of the beds in the room you rented, barely taking any notice of Astarion's eyes watching your every move.
The energy it took you to not burst out into tears in the streets had taken its toll on you, you were just ready to sleep.
Astarion moved over to you cautiously, for once he was lost for words. He didn't know what to say to you, should he acknowledge the elephant in the room or ignore it?
“Astarion? Are you okay?” You lift your heavy head to look at the handsome Pale Elf that was watching you. His eyes dance with uncertainty. He seemed deep in thought. “Astarion?” You say his name a second time and manage to catch his attention.
He shook himself from his thoughts “Oh, yes, Darling? What were you saying?” He thought his recovery was smooth but his discomfort still showed on his face.
You sit up and pat the spot next to you. Astarion smiled absentmindedly, even burdened by the thoughts of horrible people you were still thinking of others first.
Astarion sits next to you, “I'm fine, but are you. Don't think I didnt notice the way people were looking at you.” He paused, not knowing if he should let on that he heard what they were saying. “Or how they were… talking about you.”
You stayed silent, looking down at your hands. Like Astarion earlier you didn't know what to say. “You noticed that?”
He looked baffled, almost offended that you thought he didn't. “Of course I did! Why wouldn't I? This is you we are talking about Darling, it's so hard for me to not notice you.” He places his hand on top of yours.
The coolness from his hand is a stark contrast to the warmth of his words to you. “Tell me, why do you allow a few rotten apples to treat you so poorly.” He uses his other hand to brush some hair from your face that had fallen when your head lowered with sadness.
“Because its true. I'm nothing special, no one will ever love me the way I want them too. I'll be alone… forever.”
Astarion's heart shattered, he knew what it was like to feel so vulnerable, so self-conscious. He hated that your life in Baldurs Gate made you feel the same.
“Oh, Darling. I wish I could show you just how wrong you are. These people? This group that you brought together, they adore you, I adore you.”
“But why? I feel hideous.” Tears well up in the corner of your eyes, prompting Astarion to lift you chin with one hand and wipe your tears with the other.
“You are far from hideous my gorgeous gorgeous girl, I think you are beautiful, a walking piece of art. You do not deserve to be treated the way you are just because you don't fit in with their callous beauty standards.” The mixture of Astarion's kind words, the nasty glares, and your exhaustion caused you to break down, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Without missing a beat Astarion wrapped his arms around you in a clumsy hug. He could feel your shoulders shake as the tears (sadly) soaked his new doublet.
“You think I'm beautiful?” You sniffled, pulling your head away from his chest but maintaining contact. He may not be physically warm but his actions and words warmed you through.
“Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? I'm not blind, Sweetheart.” A soft smile painted on his lips. Astarion could tell that his words weren't really getting through to you, he knew that it would take a long time for you to finally feel good about yourself, but he can damn well try his best.
“But-” you attempted to say before Astarion shushed you, a finger gently pressed to your lips.
“No buts. I have been around for a long time, I have bedded more men and women than I can count. But you are by far the most beautiful being I have ever laid eyes on. You are so incredibly and unapologetically you and I would do anything in my power for you to see yourself the way I do.”
“But I'm not thin like other people, how can you say I'm beautiful when I look like this? ” He moved his finger down to your chin so he could tilt your head up.
“Because you are. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, you're the best person for me. I don't want to imagine a life with anyone other than you in it. I adore you darling. I love you and I want you to be happy and I would love for it to be with me.”
Astarion could see your expression change to a more hopeful one. “You love me?”
“I do.” He responds, his eyes darting down to your lips and back to your own again. “Can I kiss you?” The question slipped from his mouth before he could think. You nod your head, still shocked by the sudden confession.
He slowly closed the gap between your lips, when they finally touched Astarion could sense all of your worries melt away. His free hand squeezing the thickness of your thigh as you shared a loving kiss. Astarions fangs brushing against your lips and occasionally nipping them as the kiss deepened.
“Fuck yes! Finally!” You both turned your heads, seeing Karlach stood in the doorway watching as the two of you kissed.
“Man Gale is going to be PISSED. He owes me 60 gold.” She senses the awkwardness she had just caused with her entrance and sheepishly backed away “Don't let me stop you, I was just leaving.”
She slams the door behind her but you could hear her yelling that she was going to be a rich woman and that she knew she had an eye for romance.
The two of you just laughed. This was perfect.
#fanfiction#beginner writer#astarion x you#astarion x reader#astarion x oc#baldurs gate astarion#astarion#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate tav#baldurs gate iii#astarion x tav#astarion x plussized! reader#astarion x mc#astarion/reader#astarion/plussized!reader#astarion/you#astarion/tav#astarion fanfiction#astarion fanfic
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A Missed Opportunity
Astarion never comes to confess to you before Moonlight Tower.
Being the BAMF you are, you confront him with the dreaded "what are we" conversation.
Short, sweet, to the point. Idiots in love confessing to each other.
Astarion watches you from his tent. He does it constantly, and you are well-aware of it. Sometimes, you purposefully catch his eye, your own gleaming with intent. He never backs down, yet he never acts on your significant looks, either. Tonight, you decide, enough is enough. You're nearly to Baldur's Gate, now, after two months of traveling with your erstwhile companions - your band of misfits, if you will. Hells, you're supposed to arrive in Rivington in two days' time.
Enough is enough. If you are just prey or just a plaything, you deserve to know, at least so you can make an educated decision for yourself. You should be allowed to decide if you're willing to be a...a plaything forever or not. You're not completely certain you're against it, considering the depth of your feelings for the man, but you still deserve to have a choice in the matter. He owes you that much, at least.
Heaving a great breath - one you didn't even realize you'd been holding - you stand up from your seat at the campfire and do your best to stride confidently to Astarion's tent. His eyes widen a fraction; if you weren't so familiar with his facial expressions, you likely would have missed it.
"Astarion," you say, "we need to talk. Now."
"Why, whatever about, darling? Have you changed your mind about our little deal? I would hate to lose such a scrumptious snack, but I understand if I must."
You shake your head in the negative. "No, Astarion. We need to talk about, well, us."
He puts his wine glass down and rakes a hand - quite elegantly, mind you - through his artfully disheveled hair. "Must we?"
"Yes," you say, firmly steeling what little resolve you have.
"Fine." He huffs, grabbing you by the hand and leading you quickly and quietly to a nearby grove. The need for privacy seems to be at an all-time high, you think idly.
"What do you want to know, Tav?"
"Everything. We've slept together once, over a month ago, after the party, and I've been your dinner every night for even longer. Am I just a plaything to you? A toy?"
He lets out an anguished groan. "No. You're not."
You blink. You blink again. A third time, you blink. You'd not been expecting that.
Noticing your obvious confusion, he rakes a much less graceful hand through his hair, which is now in a much less artful disarray, you note. He's obviously disgruntled, or, perhaps...frustrated? With you? With himself? All of the above?
"You haven't ever been 'just' a plaything. At first." He sighs once again, "you were a...means to an end. It was supposed to be simple. I seduce you, use you for protection, maybe food... But damn it all, you had to go and be...nice!...in a way I've never experienced before. Nobody has ever given me a choice before, at least, not since Cazador turned me. But you, Tav, you give me choices all the time! To feed on you or not, to pick campsites, to hunt various animals for everyone's dinner, including my own...To not bite that strange Drow woman." He visibly shivers at the mention of the Blood Alchemist.
Through all of this, you just stare at him in a dumb, stunned silence.
"Do you get what I'm saying, Tav? I don't really know WHAT you are, but you're so much more than a plaything or a means to an end. You deserve something...real. I want us to be something real."
Breaking out of your stupor, you sidle closer. "May I kiss you?"
Astarion gives you an affronted look of pure indignation. "I pour my heart and soul out to you, and you think you need to ask to kiss me?"
You merely nod. "You always have a choice, Astarion. Always."
With a quiet growl, he surges toward you with inhuman speed and pulls you into a ferocious, bruising, breathless kiss.
A moment later, when you break for air, you smirk. "Nice of you to profess your undying love for me, Astarion!"
The squeak of pure indignation is worth the scowl he throws your way for the next few minutes. It goes away, however, when you whisper in his ear that you feel the same.
#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate#tav#astarion#you#reader#x reader#x you#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarionxtav#astarion/tav#astarion ancunin#astarionxreader#astarionxyou#astarion/reader#astarion/you#x tav#/tav#/reader#/you#idiots in love
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Mine, if Only for the Night
Summary:
Based on a prompt given to me by a wonderful anon: Astarion/reader fic where he finds out she's never had a lover 'finish the job' so she doesn't see what all the fuss is about, and he decides to use his skills to ruin her for anyone else and show her what she's been missing out on?
Fic Tags: Porn with feelings, Multiple Orgasms, Overstim, Astarion POV, LOTS of Pining, Vaginal sex of all kinds (jesus), and Reader's First Orgasm lol
Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), language
Word Count: 5.1k~
Read on AO3: Here
A/N: I loved this prompt. No notes. This is also maybe a bit of a fix-it fic where Astarion does not dissociate during your first time in the woods because my baby deserves to have a good time.
Thank you Lari @imaginarydromedary for being the best beta ever.
-
Astarion leans his shoulder against a tree, surveying the clearing.
While the surroundings were still a tad rugged for his tastes, he’d taken it upon himself to arrange a few furs and pillows here and there until it felt acceptably comfortable.
He peels off his nightshirt, discarding it into the plush grass as he works his jaw, wondering where you might be.
You should have arrived by now. More than an hour had passed since the distant, jovial music and chatter had faded into nothing, and the tieflings have long since said their goodbyes. The night envelopes him in silence, broken only by the distant murmur of a nearby stream and the usual cricket song.
He’s starting to wonder if perhaps he had misread this entire situation. Maybe he pushed too far - made some sort of error in his assessment of you.
Or maybe you didn't desire him at all.
The idea gnaws at him - unsettles him more than he’d ever care to admit.
An uncomfortable weight in his chest.
He brushes the feeling aside, scoffing to himself.
As if you or anyone else would deny themselves a chance to indulge in his body, especially when offered an immediate out. No unnecessary promises. Not even a cuddle.
As if.
And yet, he can’t seem to shake this uncomfortable doubt.
Step by step, he paces, turning your interaction with him at the party over in his head until he’s exhausted every word - until the grass flattens beneath the soles of his feet.
How the topic of your disappointing sexual history came up could perhaps be attributed to your shared bottle of wine. He’d nearly choked on the damned drink when you explained to him, in detail, about every encounter, every night you spent satisfying a man’s ego rather than having your needs met, and how you no longer believed there was any real point to sex.
He could hardly believe his beautifully pointed ears.
And while he would normally revel in the opportunity to embarrass someone over being the tragic victim of terrible sex, your case is… different.
You are different.
You stood by his side, even through the disastrous revelation of his condition. More than that, you allowed him to drink from you - a favor he won’t soon forget.
Part of you even enjoyed it.
He felt it the moment he put his mouth on you, the very second his fangs breached the delicate skin of your neck. He felt it all: the subtle hitch in your breath, your little twitches of excitement.
And yet, you asked nothing more of him.
So, what is a friend to do?
It took some insistence - a bit of reassurance that no , offering to bed you properly was not brought about by a sick sense of obligation, nor was it a way to repay you for your kind deeds - but honestly, for the life of him, he doesn’t understand why this feels so damn important - why there's this incessant urge to bring you the release he knows you so desperately need.
Perhaps it's the promise of a challenge - one that pokes at his male pride like a petulant child. It goads him, raising an egotistical brow his way, the knowledge that unlike all the other men you’ve wasted your time with, Astarion could get you off with ease.
He’d pull out all the stops, use every trick in his little black book to reduce you to a quivering, obedient mess. He’d take his time with you - have you wet and pliant, begging beneath his fingers before giving you everything those pretty little lips could ever ask for.
He would ruin you, if you’d allow it.
All you had to do was give him one night. No strings attached.
And yet, here you are, keeping him waiting.
Five, then ten, then 20 minutes pass, and only when he’s about to pack his things - when his growing impatience threatens to twist into a feeling dangerously close to disappointment - does he hear movement behind him.
The rustle of leaves, a snapping twig.
Astarion turns to find you grappling with a particularly thorny bush - your hair a mess, adorned with small sticks. With a frustrated huff, you kick at the plant, muttering under your breath.
You haven’t noticed him yet, too busy fighting to free your foot - and it suddenly occurs to him that your inferior human eyes had to navigate these woods in the dark.
That little detail must have evaded him when he made his proposition, but realizing it now, knowing that you weren't simply wasting the night away, wrestling with the decision of whether to leave him waiting and wanting… sets him at ease.
“You should have been a druid.” he teases.
You freeze, head perking up and swiveling towards the sound of his voice.
“I don’t see why the lot of them insist on camping out in the wilderness,” you huff, “There’s a perfectly fine grove less than a mile from here.”
You finish prying your boot out from the thicket, nearly toppling over in the process. He almost considers helping you, but watching you struggle like a newborn dear is just too amusing to pass up. He’ll make it up to you soon enough.
Making your way toward the clearing, your eyes gradually adjust to the moonlight. They find his gaze, then wander over the pale expanse of his chest, before quickly darting away to focus on the ensemble of blankets.
“Oh. This is… nice.” You remark, gesturing towards the furs, and at first, Astarion assumes you’re mocking him - turning a nose up at his thoughtful efforts.
But when he turns toward you, preparing to make a less-than-savory comment about gratitude, he is instead met with a genuinely surprised, and somewhat irritating, smile.
Just what sort of lovers have you settled for, thinking that this constitutes ‘nice’?
“And you thought I was going to, what,” he scoffs, “Drag you into the cold woods and have my way with you against a tree?”
Your face flames at the suggestion, burning bright red at his boldness, but you don’t deny it.
In fact, his keen ears pick up on the subtle flutter of your heartbeat as soon as the words leave his lips.
That’s all the confirmation he needs.
“Ah,” he purrs, “I see.”
With that, Astarion closes the distance between you, toned arms sliding beneath the firmness of your thighs to lift you with ease. A surprised squeak leaves your mouth as your ankles instinctively lock around his waist.
He takes a few steps forward until the dull edges of bark press into your shoulders.
“Is this what you want?” He punctuates his words with the firm press of his clothed cock against your core, already hardening with interest. It’s almost maddening - how responsive you are, already squirming in his arms when he’s hardly touched you.
His grip tightens on your rear, nails digging into your soft skin.
“Answer me, dear,” he growls, “I want to hear you say it.”
It’s a lie, of sorts. He doesn’t want to hear it - he needs to. Needs you to beg for him, as ridiculous as it feels.
He’s had more lovers than he could count, heard their sweet cries like a symphony of praise, but they fell on deaf, pointed ears compared to this - to your ragged breaths.
“ Say it .”
“ Please , Astarion. I want this -”
As soon as the words leave you, his lips are on yours, hungry and demanding. He sets you down, one hand leaving your thighs to grab at your jaw and tilting it just so - steering your face into a more accessible angle, the tip of his nose finding its place against your flushed cheek.
His other hand snakes its way to the back of your head, twining the soft strands of hair between his fingers, tightening them in his fist and pulling .
The sudden sting elicits a whine, stolen from your parted lips, and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue along the seam, dipping into the inviting heat of your mouth. Notes of cheap, flat wine still linger on your tongue, but he quickly finds he doesn’t mind the taste - barely notices it at all when you're opening up for him so eagerly.
He long expected himself to turn off - to hide behind his practiced movements, allowing his body to do the work for him - to wake up sometime after you’d found your pleasure in him.
But here he remains - his script thrown to the wind while your little sounds of approval hang in the air between you, driving him with a hunger that is wholly unfamiliar.
He wants this, but that realization will come later, when he’s gathering his clothes with the heat of the morning sun at his back, wondering why the idea of leaving you there in the plush grass settles like lead in his stomach.
It’ll wait for him there, hidden behind layers of denial and fear, then follow like a hound biting at his heels for months on end until he makes peace with it - until he chokes on his own tears in the safety of your arms where you’ll welcome him, along with all of his complications.
But for now, he kisses a line down your shoulder, feeling more alive and present with every swipe of his tongue against your collar bone. You sigh, and he pays special attention to the thin skin there, warm and jumping in time with your pulse.
Astarion's deft fingers skillfully unhook the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease. He tears away the offending fabric, and a low growl burns its way out his throat as the last two buttons pop off, landing somewhere in the dirt beside him. You’ll have something to say about that later, he’s sure.
When the morning comes, he’ll notice you searching for them and offer to sew in new ones - more suitable ones, in whichever color you’d prefer. When he hands the shirt back to you just a few hours later, now embroidered and finer than even before his careless blunder, your impressed smile will awaken a fondness in him that will linger naggingly in the corners of his mind for the foreseeable future.
He’ll ruminate on that later, when his mouth isn’t descending on your breasts, and his hands aren’t palming at your newly exposed skin.
Falling to his knees, he works at the laces of your trousers. Then, when the troublesome strings are finally undone, his eyes meet yours, holding your gaze as he peels the cloth slowly down the length of your thighs. He takes his time with it, dragging the fabric over your knees and trailing the blunt edge of his nails back up to the curve of your hips, watching intently as the skin prickles beneath his touch.
You wiggle, restless and flushed bright red from your neck to your ears, suddenly avoiding his stare.
It’s a strange, uncharacteristic shyness—until he puts two and two together when he runs his finger over the white lace of your smalls and finds them positively soaked .
“Is this all for me?” he teases, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
His thumb presses knowingly into the wet fabric, petting the skin beneath with practiced pressure.
You don’t answer - you can’t - with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, too busy rocking mindlessly into his touch.
Well, that certainly won’t do.
A hard slap lands on the inside of your thigh, jolting you to attention. The responding hitch in your breath goes straight to his cock.
“I asked you a question, darling. Is this all for me?”
“I - agh , yes.”
“ Very good,” he purrs, satisfied, “Now, spread these for me.”
You obey, parting your legs and giving him more space to work with. He tugs at your pants, quickly ridding you of them, then goes back to work kneading lazy, unhurried circles into the thin, sticky, wet fabric. It clings to your skin so perfectly, outlining your form for him as if you were wearing nothing at all.
You're panting above him now - small, rushed breaths suspended in the charged air. The muscles of your thighs twitch with each pass of his thumb over your clit.
And again, you’re not looking at him - head turned to the side and whispering curses quietly to yourself.
Another slap to your thigh, then - the same one, because he’s cruel - now marked with the vivid red imprint of his hand.
“Eyes on me,” he commands.
When your eyes meet his again, they’re hooded and glossy, filled with a familiar haze.
Lust .
He’s got you now.
Pulling the now thoroughly ruined garment to the side, Astarion rewards you by dragging a finger through your folds, watching your arousal drip down his wrist. It practically drools out of you, coating the rest of his digits, slickening his palm as he presses one into your entrance.
Your hands instinctively fly to his hair, settling atop the tousled, white strands, and your body takes him in greedily .
Astarion smiles to himself.
This feels… good - being so in control, pulling little pleasured sounds from your lips. His pride swells as he adds another finger. You buckle forward, letting out a strangled groan, losing yourself to the feeling of being stretched - being prepped for him and every inch of cock he has to give you, sitting impatiently hard and neglected in his trousers.
He pumps in and out of you, slowly at first, but it only takes a few short moments before your impatient squirming turns into a mindless, needy grind. Each small thrust forward has your body taking him deeper, clenching him tighter until he can feel you throbbing around his fingers.
There’s a level of self indulgence here that he would deny if questioned - perhaps even under oath - but the wholly unnecessary way he pauses to tear the fabric of your smallclothes would quickly betray him.
Your squeak of surprise is all he hears before the press of your thighs deafens him - and if he was naive enough to believe that your blood was the most enticing thing he’s tasted in the last two centuries, it pales in comparison to the mess you’ve made for him.
An anguished hum escapes him as he drags his tongue through your folds - so hoarse and strained with disbelief, it almost sounds more animal than man.
He drinks you in, letting up for only as long as it takes to press tender, soothing kisses into your clit, sucking gently at the nub before dipping his tongue back into your hole for seconds, thirds -
This is madness . How someone could pass up this opportunity is far beyond him. Your fist in his hair, surrounded by your pulse as it thrums within the warm, pillowy skin of your thighs, the way you chase your release, rocking into his mouth and coating his chin with your slick, is everything .
It is everything.
In the cornered haze of his mind, he almost regrets his promises. Had he known it would be like this, that you’d be the first and only memorable partner he’s had in the last two centuries, he may have reconsidered.
Hells, he should have reconsidered the moment his tongue slipped into your mouth and you had the gall to taste that fucking sweet - to be that damned responsive .
How is he supposed to play this off as if it changes nothing - as if this means nothing at all?
“Shit, Astarion -”
Pesky details. He’ll have to sort those out later.
“I’m - I think I’m close -”
Astarion is a smart man - smart enough to know that the best course of action here, when you’re on the precipice of coming apart, is to simply redouble his efforts and continue on as he has been. No special trick up his sleeve, no overly indulgent stylized movements, just sucking as gently and generously as you need. He applies the same steady, circular pressure of his tongue, curls his fingers and fucks you with them in a steady, calculated rythm, until -
The moment you fall apart will be forever burned into his mind.
He will remember it all: the twitching of your thighs, the tight pinch of your brows, the sound of your cries as your hips stutter in his strong hold. He’ll remember the way he moans, earnestly, as he laps you through it, eager to extend your high for as long as your body allows him. And he will surely remember the thrill that runs up the length of his spine at the sight of you losing yourself at his hand.
But most of all, he will remember the moment immediately after - when your movements slow, and your tight grip loosens from his hair; when your warm hand falls to the side of his face, the soft pads of your fingertips rubbing gentle circles into the shell of his pointed ear.
You may not have even noticed the small gesture, too blissed out and trembling, but when the two of you look back on this moment years from now, Astarion will laugh at how blind he was - how he should have seen the spark of fondness in your eyes as you fought to catch your breath, the kindling that was twisting in his chest at the sight of your flushed skin, and the fire that would grow there until it nearly consumed him.
He should have known that this was the start of something greater.
But at this moment, all he knows is the sudden, inexplicable urge to keep you here tonight - to prove himself worthy of coming back, should you ever have an itch that needs scratching. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next night, or any other time you’d see fit.
Astarion places a final kiss on the junction of your hip, right where the skin is thinnest above the bone, then leans back to fully appreciate his work.
You are breathless , chest heaving from sheer exertion.
“That was…”
You huff out a laugh as you try to find the right words.
“Perfect?” he raises an eyebrow at you, grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “I know. Like I said, I’m quite good at this.”
He wipes at the clear slick on his chin and shamelessly licks his hand clean, sucking your mess off his fingers with a playful pop.
Your face flushes with embarrassment - the pretty color now matching the puffy, reddened skin of your sex.
“Do you want more?” he asks, as if his cock isn’t threatening to leak a dark patch into his trousers, “We don’t have to, of course, but -”
“Yes.”
Astarion’s smiles are normally calculated - purposeful, and poised to perfection, but the one that finds its way to his face at your eagerness is as real as the ache beginning to bloom in his knees.
“Come here, then,” he says, dragging his weight back to the blankets. He doesn’t even have the time to readjust the decorative pillows before you’re clamoring on top of him, covering his neck with impatient kisses and helping him remove his clothes.
“Eager, are we?” he teases, but he’s met with no response. Your mouth is too busy sucking bruises into the pale, hard planes of his chest, hands working diligently at the laces of his pants.
The moment his legs and cock are free, Astarion wastes no time wrapping his arms around your midsection and seating you perfectly on his hips, the searing heat of your slit molds around him, dragging up and down as you grind against his length.
There’s urgency in the air - in the way your mouth finds his own. It buzzes and hums, growing with every pass of your hips, prickling like burrs beneath his skin. He’s as much a victim of it as you are -here in this little corner of the wilderness - to the strange and unrecognizable pull.
This desire to touch you.
With one hand anchoring the back of your neck, he takes his length with the other, notching himself at your entrance - an invitation you eagerly accept.
You sink down, enveloping him in suffocating heat .
The grunt that escapes him is entirely involuntary - the honesty behind it bleeding out between his teeth, escaping with a hiss.
“Shit,” he huffs under his breath, willing his brain to focus on anything other than how you mold so perfectly to him. It’s almost like you were made for this - for him - and the notion itself is almost enough to toss him right over the edge.
It’s hard enough to believe he’s present with you, here in this moment, rather than falling into oblivion and allowing the act to pass him by.
But to be enjoying it this much?
Sheer disbelief.
Your hips move experimentally, sighing with relief as you take the rest of him down to the hilt. His grip on the nape of your neck tightens, nails digging small grooves into the base of your scalp. The slow rock of your hips as you adjust to his size would surely be enough to finish him, were he any ordinary man - were he not determined to brand this night into your mind for the rest of whatever time you have left on this earth - tadpoles be damned.
It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to be like this, melding so beautifully around his length. But he has appearances to maintain, and spilling into you now would surely ruin his carefully crafted reputation, so he steals what’s left of his composure and continues on.
Astarion stares at where your bodies meet, bringing a practiced thumb back to your perfect little nub and pressing . The delicious pressure has your forehead falling to his shoulder.
“Can I - agh, ” you pause as he cruelly begins to rub your clit, much too slow to actually finish the job, but just enough to feel you clench around him. He continues like that for a few seconds, savoring the way you grip, release, and start to dribble down from where he’s rooted so deeply inside.
“Can you what, my dear?”
“Can I move, please?”
“Hm,” he sighs with feigned indifference, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
His hands guide you into a comfortable rhythm, stroking your walls and filling every inch of your greedy cunt as it swallows him up - back and forth, rocking into him until you’re good and split open.
You ride him until your legs begin to fail you - until he has to grab your waist to keep you steady as he fucks up into you in earnest. The hard, wet slap of his damp skin against yours mixes with your strained, desperate moans. He pounds you like he’s sating some sort of hunger - fucks you with so much force that your slick forms a thick white ring of cream at the base of his cock.
His thumb rubs expert circles into your clit with firm, gentle pressure, until he feels that telltale fluttering of your walls around him, and your blunt nails are digging into where his shoulders meet his chest.
“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he grunts, and the question is met only with an affirmative whine. “Good. This time, I want to feel it.”
His hands move to your rear, squeezing and kneading - pulling and pushing your hips to grind himself even deeper into you until your body gives up its orgasm.
It drags you under like a raging current.
You wail pitifully against his shoulder - the suffocating grip of your sex working to milk him dry, gushing around him and soaking his thick cock as he relentlessly fucks you through it.
It's almost enough to end him, it truly is, but Astarion is nothing if not thorough, and G ods be damned if you leave this clearing tomorrow morning without your cunt permanently molded to his shape - without this encounter seared into your very being.
His arms wrap around you, pulling your chest tight against his own and turning you over until your back meets the soft furs - his hips rolling into yours as the waves of white-hot pleasure pulse through you.
There will be many more where that came from. When you eventually crawl back to his tent with a shy gaze and offer him another taste of your neck, pretending it was simply a coincidence that you waited until the dead of night to seek him out, when the rest of your merry little troup were fast asleep in their bedrolls. Couldn’t stay away? He’ll joke, pretending as though his heart doesn’t stir at the sight of you.
He’ll bed you again, and again, and again. Whenever and wherever you should ask: on his desk - tomes shoved carelessly to the ground, between the cracked stone walls of a cave while the others ready their gear, tangled within the sheets of the first real bed you happen to find. He’ll fuck you in those stolen moments with a willing mouth and hands and cock, however many times it takes for him to realize this does mean something to him - even if he isn’t quite sure what that something is .
And you, being the perfect thing you are, will be patient, and give him the space he needs to figure that out.
“One more,” he whispers hot against your cheek, “I think we can get one more out of you.”
“This is insane. How are you so - gods, ” he’s got just the right angle now, dragging languidly in and out of your thoroughly fucked hole.
He’s done quite a number on you already, and you’ll likely need a day to recover the strength in your legs. The others will surely mock you for it, but perhaps you’ll manage to blame it on the hangover?
“Astarion, I - I don’t think I can do another -”
“You can,” he says with the confidence of a man who’s done this before - one who knows the limits of a woman’s body and exactly how to push them. “And you’re going to stay right here, wrapped beautifully around my cock, until you give me what I want.”
He drives the point home with a sudden, hard thrust, and the rush of it has you keening in surprise, hands flying to his back and heels digging in for purchase.
In fairness, he’s hardly given you a chance to come down from the last climax, but you sought him out tonight. You knew what you were getting into, no less than a mouse offering itself to a cat. He’ll toy with you until he’s had his fill - the first man in your life to ever make you come apart. Not just once or twice, but three times once he’s through with you.
And while the third takes a bit more work, as expected, he quickly realizes you appreciate a decent amount of force, so he feverishly pounds into you - pinning your wrists at your sides to prevent too much useless, unnecessary squirming.
Astarion thinks could get addicted to this level of control if he isn’t careful - his brave, unwavering, diplomatic leader held captive beneath him as he wrings every last bit of pleasure from your body, drunk on his cock and fucked out well past the point of any decorum.
The way you moan for him now would put some prostitutes to shame - eyes glazed over and thoughts entirely wiped of anything other than being split open and thoroughly used.
It reminds him of why he’s here. The thankless months you’ve spent worrying yourself over every vagrant’s problems are now practically a thing of the past. And after tonight, you’ll surely be ruined for any other man, securing himself in your good graces. A win, win, all around.
Your orgasm almost sneaks past him, too caught up in his own musings to notice, but the subtle rush of slickness and the resounding sound of your body sucking him in even deeper gives it away. Your head rolls to the side as you choke back a sob, tears forming the corners of your eyes as your exhausted cunt barely manages to scrounge up the effort to squeeze him, and that’s when he finally decides you’ve had enough.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
“Inside? Agh - Inside, please, ”
Oh.
An unexpected answer, but not an unwelcome one.
And so, he does.
For the first time in his memory, he comes entirely apart.
With a few more strokes, he spills inside of you, and the sheer impact of it takes him by surprise.
Hissing between his gritted teeth and buried in your warmth he floods you to the brim, floods every inch of your cunt until his come has no more room to fill. The spend clings to his cock with every stroke, drooling out of you and tracing a cloudy white line through the valley of your rear before soaking into the blankets beneath.
Astarion heaves like a man with functioning lungs, groans from the sudden, noticeable soreness in his limbs, and actually, truly laughs at the absurdity of it all.
Just how long had the two of you been at this? Over an hour, surely?
He’s about to ask you - maybe try his hand at a bit of pillow talk for the first time in his life - but when he looks back at your face, he finds that you’re barely conscious, just on the precipice of passing out from exhaustion.
He pulls out of you, trying his best not to grunt through the overstimulating drag of your skin against his.
Astarion could count on one hand how many memorable encounters he’s had since the beginning of his servitude, and even less when considering how many he enjoyed.
Well, enjoyed would be a very generous descriptor. More so, how many he was able to stomach until the end. And while his anatomy was capable of producing results despite his head being elsewhere, this was… different.
You are different - that much was clear from the beginning, since the moment you forgave him for pulling a knife on you and, for whatever reason, trusted him enough to allow him to stay with you, despite it being an objectively stupid thing to do.
He’ll tell you as much, when he finally confesses his feelings for you. That had it not been for your endless patience and your unfathomable kindness, he may have never learned to love at all.
But he wont have the words, let alone the maturity , to articulate that for quite some time.
For now, here you are, snoring softly beneath him.
And here he is, with the beginnings of a strange, unrecognizable tingling in his chest.
What ever will he do with you?
#bg3#astarion bg3#astarion acunin#astarion fanfic#astarion/reader#my fics#mine if only for the night#posting this and then walking the fuck away from my computer
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Kitchen
Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Female!Tav (the reader is Tav)
Warnings: 18+, dry humping, pregnant Tav, cunnilingus, masturbation
Word count: 1k
Summary: Summary: You're struggling to clean out a pan in your kitchen sink, when a certain someone comes to give you some much needed encouragement.
You're standing over the kitchen sink, mindlessly scrubbing the bottom of a pan that you'd scorched dinner into. You've let it soak, yet it still gives you a hard time.
Cold arms wrap around the small of your waist from behind you. The stark contrast in temperature startles you. You'd be concerned about who this mysterious stranger was, but the sweet smell of bergamot fills your nostrils, giving him away instantly. You melt back into his embrace, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.
“Whatever are you doing, my love?” he speaks softly to you, nuzzling his nose into your neck.
You sigh and tilt your head to rest upon his. “Oh, Astarion. I burnt the pan,” you say with a chuckle. You feel his mouth pull up into a smile against your skin, his hands rubbing your taut stomach over the linen fabric of your dress.
“Did you leave it to soak?” he questions. Astarion begins trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He nips at your ear, causing you to shiver within his embrace.
“I did,” you reply with a huff, “but it's still giving me trouble.” You feel one of his hands begin to trail down your abdomen, coming to rest on your mound.
“Perhaps…” his voice trails off as he sweeps the pads of his fingertips over the seam of your sex. You shutter against him once more, your knees instinctively turning inward as your thighs draw together.
His hips grind against your backside in response and he lets out a soft whimper into your ear. You can feel his awakening arousal, beginning to strain against the front of his trousers. “Keep scrubbing,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Astarion hands move to each side of your hips and he grinds his cock against the swell of your ass once again. He begins to kneel behind you, slowly hiking your dress up your thighs.
You can feel a wet patch forming in your underwear as his fingers brush along your thighs. “What are you doing, Astarion?” you ask, nearly breathless. Your cunt throbs with anticipation as he bunches your dress above the small of your back.
His nose presses into the cleft of your ass and you feel his tongue lap at the dampened spot on your underwear. He groans behind you, the sweetness of your arousal soaking into his tongue. “I'm giving you encouragement, my dear,” he tells you as his hand begins to dip into the waistband of your underwear.
You can't help but grip the edge of the sink in front of you and push your hips back into his face. “Astarion-” you whimper to him.
He pulls your underwear down your thighs, letting it drop around your ankles. His hand comes to rest once more against the swell of your stomach and he presses his face once more into your cunt. He sweeps his tongue from your clit up to your entrance.
Astarion moans deep into your pussy, cock leaking his own arousal against the front of his pants. The vibration travels up your spine and to your breasts. Your nipples stiffen and you release a sigh at the sensation of them rubbing against the inside of your dress.
The hand that was holding your dress bunched above your back now joins the other on your stomach. Your dress falls back toward the floor and over Astarion's head, obscuring him from view. He uses your stomach as leverage to grind you back into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking out over your clit.
“Astarion, gods, Astarion…” you moan aloud. Your hand comes up to palm at a breast, rolling it softly in your grasp and you toss your head back, releasing a desperate whimper.
You've all but forgotten the pan lying in the sink. Your body has given into the pleasure, hips bucking wildly against Astarion's face. You brace yourself on an elbow as you lean over the countertop, angling yourself in such a way to ensure proper pressure is applied across your clit with each flick of his tongue.
“Astarion, I- I’m not going to last much longer…”
You feel him hum in amusement into your cunt, his pace never faltering. The sound travels to the walls of your cunt and you instinctively clench around nothing, wishing desperately that something, anything, would fill you.
As you look between your legs, you can see that Astarion's taken the liberty of freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers with one hand. That hand is now lazily pumping his cock, and you can see the pre-cum beginning to gather at his tip. His hips are bucking up into his palm and he moans, deep and throaty, into your cunt.
It's all too much for you, and you feel the coil in your abdomen beginning to wind tight enough to snap. Your cunt throbs, your release imminent, and Astarion plunges his tongue into your entrance.
A strangled cry leaves your throat, the hand on your breast now twisting and pulling your nipple. You can feel your wetness flowing into Astarion's mouth and he drinks, greedily, as if he were parched from the driest desert.
Your vision is blurry from your release, but you watch him buck once, twice, three more times into his palm before he spills over the edge. His moans are muffled as he breathes into your cunt. Cum splatters onto his chest and stomach, dripping down the sides of his fingers into small droplets on the floor.
After a few breaths, you stand straight and turn around. Astarion is still kneeled on the floor, chest heaving. He meets your gaze with hooded eyes, the faintest blush spread across the bridge of his nose.
You run a hand through his silver curls, your own chest rising and falling rapidly. “That was… nice,” you tell him.
A genuine smile graces his lips as he leans forward, placing a kiss on your belly. “You were scrubbing that pan with such anger. I figured you were in need of some assistance.”
Your hand comes to rest over the one on your stomach. You weave your fingers into his and lean down to kiss the back of his hand. “Thank you, Astarion.”
He chuckles, still smiling. “Anything for you and our little one.”
#astarion#bg3 astarion#fanfiction#astarion smut#astarion x tav#astarion x female tav#astarion x reader#astarion x female reader#astarion/reader#astarion/tav
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Here's my idea that I would love to hear your opinion! Just to let you know this is quite self-indulgent XD What if GN!Reader knew that he was trying to use them from the start? They knew because they're quite familiar with people only talking to them because it's either because they can do something for them or they have something they need! They would still help him since they believe it's something he shouldn't need to go so far to have it. What do you think of it? I'm curious :3
UMMM YESSSS ANON YES! This is definitely something I have considered as well!! Tav isn't a naïve little target like Astarion is used too!
I imagine that Tav/Reader would probably admit to knowing about his plan not long after his own confession scene from Moonrise Towers in Act II. I think it would go something like this ♡♡
P.S.: I absolutely LOVED doing this, and my inbox is literally always open for stuff like this friends! :) It may just take me a hot second to reply!
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“I still can’t wrap my head around this,” Astarion’s voice was a hushed whisper in your ear, the two of you laying next to each other in his tent. You were close, but not touching — you were affording him space, allowing him to make the first move to initiate any kind of touch.
The intimate setting of laying across from each other in his tent was more than you had even expected. The candle stumps sat carefully around you basked everything in a gorgeous, orange glow.
“What do you mean?” You asked gently, your eyebrows furrowed.
“I’d imagine confessing to you in more ways than one… and never once did I imagine it would end like this.” He motioned to the two of you, running a finger tip across your knuckles before withdrawing. His voice was thick with emotion.
A soft chuckle escaped you, “What you thought I’d stake you?”
“Well… yes!” He said exasperatedly, before letting out a breathy laugh himself. Then he shook his head, turning serious, “I was manipulating you. Plotting against my master, with you as my shield.”
Your mouth twitched as you admitted, “I knew.”
“No, I don’t think you understand—“
You interrupted him, your face earnest, “No, Astarion. I do. I knew.”
Realization set deep in his features, his mouth hanging open just enough you could see his fangs, “How long had you known?”
You gave him a half smile, “Since the night you invited me to the woods.”
Your first night together.
“I— that was ages ago!" He sat up abruptly, his red eyes wide, "Why didn’t you say anything? Or better yet— gut me?!"
You sat up slowly, resting on your knees. “People have been using me for my entire life, Astarion. I know what they see when they meet me — a pretty face and nice clothes. Someone who is too friendly, too eager. People have been knocking on my door to ask for gold or sex or an invitation, anything they can get from me… as long as I can remember. Long before I met you."
Astarion was well aware of the mask you could so easily slip on when interacting with others. He hated it when you wore it. But now he understood you had been donning it to protect yourself, as much as he it did for himself too. But he still wanted to stalk and haunt every person who ever made you feel like you were a thing to be used, a means to some end.
Including himself.
Your voice snapped him back to the present, your voice hesitant, "But I had seen through your flirtations for a while now. It’s a force of habit for you, isn’t it?"
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, "Yes, it is."
Your expression crumbled, "I may have realized you were using me, but I didn’t realize how sex made you feel. I’m sorry I didn’t realize, I shouldn’t have indulged in that way."
The vampire waved off your apology, but curiosity got the best of him. "Why did you ‘indulge’? If you knew I was using you… if you knew that I'm... this."
You took a deep breath, before looking him in the eye. “Because I also recognized that what you were doing was a routine, a defense mechanism that you had been doing for longer than I’ve been alive. Because you were manipulated and used for your whole life too, weren’t you?"
Tears formed in the bottom of his eyes as he listened to you, but he willed them to stay back. His red eyes blinked furiously as he listened to you, his fingers intertwining together on his lap.
He wished you would hold them.
"You aren’t like your master, Astarion. And you aren’t what he made you to be either. You are a survivor. And when you were thrown off that nautiloid ship and found yourself in this merry party of misfits, you did just that — survive.
So… I let myself play mouse and get stuck in your trap. Just as I turned a blind eye to Wyll's sending stone. Or didn't ask Gale to explain what in the heavens he was doing with the amulet we had found. Because I trusted you, even back then. Cared for you far more then I should admit. But I knew you needed time."
His bottom lip trembled as you continued your own confession. He let his tears slip free as he saw your own break free. They stuck to your lashes and dripped down your flushed, freckled cheeks. Gods, even crying you were beautiful.
"But I regret that I laid with you — if I had known it caused you such pain I wouldn’t have done that. I knew that sex was apart of your repertoire, but I didn’t realize the anguish it caused you." Your face was pained as you admitted that, he could feel the self-loathing radiating off of you.
“It wasn’t all bad — those times with you were some of the most unexpected moments of bliss I’ve had in centuries." Astarion confessed as he grabbed your fingers and held them tightly. "But it still feels tainted, marred from my past with Cazador..."
“I know." You squeezed his fingers back, another silent understanding. "And we do not need to do such things until you are ready, Astarion. I mean it.”
He nodded, keeping his head down as he stared at the blankets you both sat on — willing himself to get his emotions under control.
You tucked your head to look up at his tilted face, "May I?" You asked softly, your hand hovering between you.
He swallowed as he nodded. You reached out slowly with your hand, before your thumb gently swept under his eyes and down the sides of his face, wiping away the tears that lingered on his pale skin. A sigh of contentment left him at your soft, simple touch. No one had ever touched him like that before.
He caught your hand as you went to withdraw it, your hands intertwined with his between you as you kneeled in front of each other.
Astarion was afraid to ask the next question on the tip of his tongue. But curiosity got the best of him. “So if you knew about my plan this whole time… when did you realize you— you’d fallen for me?”
Your entire face brightened as he asked, your eyes shining as you spoke, “Oh, from the moment you held a knife to my throat and barred your teeth.”
His heart soared, climbing up his throat as he almost choked from the happiness spreading through him.
“You masochist.” He laughed, grabbing onto the sides of your face.
“A romantic fool," You murmured as he placed his lips softly onto yours.
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If you enjoyed this, please feel free to check out more of my Astarion x GN!Reader on my masterlist!
#bg3 astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion#astarion fanfic#bg3 fanfic#astarion/gn!reader#astarion x gn reader#astarion x reader#astarion/reader#astarion x tav#astarion/tav#commander-rahrah answers
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GINAAA MY GIRL!
Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.
How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.
To have and to hold.
Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!
Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)
Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.
A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.
Word count: 2.3K
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“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.
It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.
He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.
It’s horrible.
How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?
Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.
You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.
“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.
“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.
He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.
“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.
You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.
“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.
The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”
“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”
“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“
Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.
“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”
“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.
“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”
“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.
The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.
*
The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.
The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.
Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.
“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”
You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”
Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”
“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.
Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.
Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.
Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.
“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.
“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.
He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”
*
Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.
When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.
“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.
You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.
*
When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.
“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.
“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.
Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.
Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.
“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”
“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”
You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.
*
Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.
“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.
“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”
“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.
“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.
Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?
He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.
“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“
“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.
He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.
When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“
You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.
“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”
Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.
When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.
You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.
*
Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.
“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”
“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.
“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.
“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.
“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”
And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.
Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.
#astarion fanfic#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#dadstarion fic#dadstarion#papastarion#astarion x f!reader#astarion x female reader#astarion reader insert#astarion fluff#domestic astarion#soft astarion#sweet astarion#comfort fic#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#astarion fanfiction#astarion/you#astarion/reader
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Prompt: Artist Reader decides to give Astarion their sketchbook filled with sketches of him.
Couple: Astarion/Reader
Frost actually gave me this prompt right as we opened up this blog. I knew I had to write it.
-Ren
~*~*~
"I'll be your mirror."
It had been a casual statement, handed forward with a small smirk and light words. It was taken casually, a fleeting kindness to be snatched by the night wind and forgotten.
The sketchbook being slipped into your small pack now speaks of a different tale, your fingers quickly but carefully tying the twine closed before sliding the strap over your chest. Glancing around, you spy your favorite vampire in front of one of the room's bookshelves, book in hand.
Hooking a thumb under the strap, you stride up, adopting an air of nonchalance. The rest of your fingers grip the leather as he looks up, a half smile bending his lips. "Well hello, darling." Tossing the book back on the shelf, he gives you his full attention. "What can I do for you?"
"Well," you start, trying your best to keep your fingers still, "I was hoping you'd follow me to the roof."
"The roof?" he echoes, eyebrows going up. "I don't believe we're allowed up there." His smile grows. "Which means we should definitely do it. I'm in."
The grin on your face almost hurts. "Let's go."
"One question." His eyes roam the room before tilting up, then back down to your own colored hues. "How are we getting up there?"
Pressing your lips together, your eyes dart away for a split second. "Aren't you the one good at getting into places you aren't suppose to?"
"Well yes, but. Hm." He holds up a hand, index finger half pointed and head slightly tilted. "Is this a challenge?"
You pause. "Yes?"
"Wait right here, darling. I'll be right back."
You turn and watch as he goes to his pack, rustling inside before drawing out whatever it was he was searching for. Then he walks to Karlach, who looks at him with confusion before her face bursts into a grin. Her axe is handed to him, her laugh boisterous as he tries - and fails - to hold it up. There's a bit more back and forth before Astarion physically huffs and comes back to you, tiefling in tow.
"So I hear you're breaking some rules?" is the first thing out of her mouth once you're in earshot.
A smile reaches your lips. "You could say that."
"Sweet. I'll help you guys get on the roof, follow me."
And so you do, out onto the veranda under the bright full moon. Karlach gestures for Astarion, who hands over rope, and she gets to work typing it onto her weapon. One of your eyebrows shoot up as she looks at the roof, bounces the axe a few times in her hand, and throws.
The sound of crunching wood meets your ears. Tugging onto the rope and grinning as the axe holds, Karlach sketches a bow. "Enjoy the stars. If you get caught, that's not my axe."
Astarion gestures to you. "Ladies first, as they say."
Karlach rolls her eyes and heads back inside, muttering, "Thank you, Karlach. You're very welcome, Astarion. Ugh."
You eye the rope warily. "How gentlemanly."
"This was your idea. Now go ahead, and don't worry, I'll consider catching you if you fall."
Huffing but unable to hide the smile, you make your way onto the roof with no issues. Settling onto the tiles, still slightly warm from the sun, you tug your pack onto your lap and look up.
While not as beautiful as they were on the Sword Coast, the stars still twinkle bright and fierce, the moon emphasizing their shine.
"You're not tired of the stars yet?" you hear Astarion ask, settling next to you.
"I don't think I ever will be," you respond, hugging the pack to your chest before turning to him. "That's not why we're here though." Drawing the strings open, you fish out the sketchbook and hesitantly hold it out.
His eyes drop to the book, noting the worn and dented leather, back to you, then back to the book. "What? Are these love poems? For me?"
"Just take it."
Grasping the book with gentle fingers, he settles it onto his lap and flips it open.
Your fingers twine together as his eyes lock onto the contents of the pages. His eyebrows furrow, and you feel your heart sink. "Am I suppose to know who this is?"
Oh. Glancing at him, you say quietly, "It's you."
His chest stills, fingers frozen above the pages.
So quiet, almost blending into the air, you hear him exhale, "What..."
"Turn the page."
So he does. And does again. And again. Each turn more slow, more careful, as his brain processes all he's seeing.
It's him, book in hand, face half in shadow. It's him, head on the owlbear cub's body, one knee up and fingers laced together over his stomach. It's him from behind, arms raised and to the side. It's him, a side countenance, hand on a hip. It's him, his face, the dips of his cheeks and the curve of his jaw, the arch of his brows and bend of his lips, the hair curling around his pointed ears and the nape of his neck.
It's him. On every page, a different angle, a different side of him.
He doesn't speak, barely even breathes, as he takes it all in. As his fingertips trace the panes of his face. Every line, every curve.
Chewing your bottom lip, you shift, unsure if you should break the stifling quiet but knowing you'll go mad if you don't. "I, uh. I said I'd be your mirror, so..."
His inhale is shaky. "You..." Pressing fingers to his eyes, he takes another rasping breath. "There is truly--" His voice hitches and he swallows. "There is truly no one like you."
"I'm glad you like it," you say quietly.
"Like it?" he echoes, hand falling from his face as his eyes snap back to the pages. "I love it."
Smiling gently, you scooch so your shoulders touch, reaching over to give a small, gentle peck to his cheek before slowly resting your head on his shoulder. "The entire book is filled."
He sniffs, a hand wiping across his eyes. "How can I ever..."
"Don't. I didn't do this so you'd pay me back. It's a gift, Astarion."
"A gift I will forever treasure." His head gently rests upon your own, eyes not once straying from the sketches. "Thank you."
You smile. "Always."
#baldurs gate 3#bg3#bg3 astarion#astarion x reader#astarion/reader#reader insert#x reader#bg3 astarion/reader#bg3 astarion x reader
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Text
A Crooked Touch by Nexus_NoiR
Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3
Astarion / Tav (Reader)
Rating: Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
Words: 2,005
Additional Tags:
POV Second Person | Vampire Spawn Astarion | Gender-Neutral Tav | Tav has a vagina | No AFAB terms used | Can be read as transmasc or NB or F!Tav | Vaginal Fingering | Hands | Soft Dom Astarion | Squirting | Fingers in Mouth | Blood mention | Astarion is a Tease
Summary:
You find yourself very attracted to Astarion's gorgeous hands. He has noticed, and will be using this knowledge against you - for his own amusement, but also for your mutual benefit, naturally.
#astarion#tavstarion#astarion/tav#astarion/reader#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3#baldur's gate 3#fic#my work
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