#astarion writing

[jessiemeows]

Smooching

A/N: this is really stupid but I was in the mood to write something sort of cute, lmao. It has no plot, but is basically just a little scene I imagine happening with Amaya and Astarion bc of some screenies I took lolol. Maybe I'll rewrite this once I get to this part of my longfic, idk yet! I'm probably going to write something a little steamy in a few days because I haven't written anything like that in a bit! Lastly, this is unedited, so I apologize for typos or errors in grammar.

WC: idk i didn't check

TW: Mentions trauma with sex but ends very cute

Story:

Astarion lounged on one of Amaya’s new, plush stools, just outside her tent. With quick cat-like reflexes he caught a prayer sheet that threatened to fly away as the Rosymorn Monastery mountain pass winds began to pick up. He placed the sheet back on to the table, cluttered with Selûnite trinkets and holy relics, tucking it just under a golden moon-shaped brooch before leaning back against the table. With a dramatic sigh his gaze drifted over to Amaya where she was kneeling on the rug beside him, her eyes closed, completely absorbed in prayer.

He began to admire his fingernails, as he pushed back his cuticles trying his best to distract himself. After a minute, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Darling, could you please finish up with the praying? I’m extremely bored over here.”

“Play with Willow,” Amaya replied, not even bothering to open her eyes.

Astarion glanced toward the tent’s interior, spotting Willow- the black and white cat- curled up in a perfect loaf on the thin mattress he and Amaya had been sharing ever since they slept together at the tiefling party. The cat’s eyes were closed, and for gods know why, looked like she was praying too. He sighed. “You know she won’t let me near her unless you are already petting her.”

Amaya’s voice sharpened, and she cracked one eye open. “Then go play with Scratch and Nibbles. Or talk to someone else. Gale looks eager for a chat.”

Astarion groaned like a child. “Please don’t ever suggest talking to Gale as a form of entertainment for me again. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease hurry up. I’m begging you.”

“The more you bother me, the longer this will take. Give me ten more minutes. Please.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for an argument and Astarion had already pushed her buttons enough today.

“Fine,” he muttered in defeat and picked up a dagger lying by the mattress. Willow’s eyes immediately shot wide open, her body tensed and poised to flee to her usual hiding spot..

“Relax, I’m not going to touch you,” he said, trying to soothe the cat. Willow seemed to buy it, as she shifted in her spot settling into a state of wary alertness.

He twirled the dagger in his hand, watching the candlelight glint off the blade. The dagger was a little dull, but he wasn’t in the mood to sharpen it. He turned back to the table, sweeping aside a few of the trinkets, and laid his hand palm-down, spreading his fingers wide. He started playing Five Finger Fillet, stabbing the knife rapidly between his fingers, pushing the tempo just to see how long it would take to nick himself.

Minutes slipped by before Amaya finally cleared her throat. He turned around, meeting her glowing crimson glare.

“We talked about this. No using my ritual dagger for your little knife games. You’re the reason the blade’s getting dull,” she said, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Astarion feigned his innocence. “Sweetheart, we really should write your name on this thing.i completely forgot this was yours.” Of course, he didn’t forget. He just didn’t want to walk all the way to his own tent to fetch another one. They kept only a few weapons inside the tent- Astarion slept nearest to the entrance and the weapons, since Amaya’s sleepwalking (and occasional sleep-killing) episodes made it safer for everyone.

She rolled her eyes but played along. “Alright, we’ll have a blacksmith engrave my name on it when we reach the city. But you’re paying for it.”

“If that’s what you’d like, Mayabear,” he replied, sliding off the stool and crawling over to where she now propped herself up against a pile of cushions. In the warm candlelight, she looked beautiful as ever, and the desire for the tiefling flared in him, sharp and burning hot.

“Is the praying over now?” He hovered above her, supporting his weight on his arms as he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck.

“Star, Halsin’s still awake and is looking at us. Not to mention, Gale could pop in any minute while he’s saying his goodnights,” Amaya whispered, her breath catching as his fangs grazed her skin, nipping at her.

“Let them watch. They could use a little excitement,” he murmured against her neck, breath hot.

She stifled a laugh. “If Gale catches us, he might actually explode… Besides, I’m still not feeling great.”

Astarion paused, concern then etched across his face and he shifted his weight onto his knees, settling beside her. “You still don’t feel well? You've been feeling this ever since the Arcane Tower in the Underdark. What if those Sussur leaves did something? You said they made you feel awful, given how you’re a sorcerer- who knows how they could affect you.”

Amaya shook her head, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s that. Sometimes I just feel… nauseous, especially after my bad thoughts, you already know this. It comes and goes, though lately it's been coming more often. Herbs help, and Restoration spells too. I’ll figure it out- you always seem to forget that I’m a cleric, and I know a few ways to feel better.”

She then glanced at him, a little sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind that we haven’t… you know, as much lately.” She started to pick at her fingers, but Astarion gently caught her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I.… I don’t mind at all.” His voice softened, tinged with relief, and it was the truth. He truly didn’t mind. “Besides, we just had sex a few days ago. That’s more than enough to satisfy me,” he teased, nuzzling her ear. Amaya hummed, the sound low and content. This time he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.

Amaya was the first person in centuries with whom he’d actually enjoyed having intimacy- with her, he actually felt present, in control. She was patient, careful with him, always asking if he was okay during their moments.Yet, he still never knew if the old feelings of lingering disgust would ever creep back into his mind- not disgust with her, but more so with himself.

Amaya also had her own demons, when it came to their intimacy. At times, he noticed the familiar dead look in her eyes and he would ask if they needed to stop, or how she occasionally dissociates when certain people try to flirt with her. He wished he could learn more about her past, beyond what she already told him or if she remembers anything without pushing her but that would mean sharing more of his own past. She knew the broad strokes about Cazador, but not the details. He wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Despite feeling all of this, there was one thing he was certain that he wanted and he wanted it almost everyday; which was to kiss her and to snuggle with her, basking in all her warmth. 

“Do you feel well enough for a little smooching? In our… er, your tent?” He caught himself at the slip. “And after, I could read you some more Drizzt Do’Urden stories. I still can’t believe you know nothing about him.”

“I feel up for some smooching.” Amaya laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she stood and offered him her hand. “And I know! The way you talked about Drizzt, I thought I’d remember at least one story! But it’s fun when you read it to me- especially with your silly voices.”

They ducked into the tent, lacing the flaps shut. Nibbles and Scratch scrambled in at the last second, curling up on their small bed next to Amaya and Astarion’s mattress, while Willow claimed her pillow by Amaya’s side.

Astarion kissed Amaya deeply, then paused, a wicked smile on his lips. “If you tell anyone about the voices, I’ll have to kill you,” he whispered, only half-joking, before trailing kisses down her neck, hoping for permission for a small snack.

Amaya chuckled. “You’ll never manage it. Besides, the three animals in here will defend me. But your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

Astarion grinned, pressing another kiss to her skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[chimaeraisd]

I have so many fkn ideas to write for Astarion but I am genuinely so nervous to post for a character that is a) not from star wars and b) has so many vastly different interpretations and is so incredibly popular.

[scrimmiestbingus]

I need someone to do a video essay-length deep dive into how 75% of the BG3 fandom fell so hard for Astarion's manipulative seductor act that they believe that's his actual personality. This man has to practice his lines and still fumbles them constantly. He flat-out says it's all a front because he believes his sex appeal is the only reason anyone would keep him around, which is tragic. When he drops the act, he becomes this kind of silly man rediscovering what it means to be himself, and what it means to both love and be loved. He says "I'm all pointy ears, love." while turning his head to show off those pointy ears. Let him be silly, let him be awkward! It's so much more authentic then him being a walking innuendo.

He has a mid charisma stat with a bonus for deception and rolled a nat 20 on all y'all.

[artist-rat]

fine dining at the blushing mermaid. with the boogieboys

[kawareo]

Different ways to 'fix' a Bhaalspawn, I guess

I love Durgethara. Strike doesn't.

[kelvnn]

Early Act 1, interaction between my tav Náð and Astarion about mending clothes and helping Astarion to start to understand he has worth beyond what he thinks. He starts to develop a soft spot for her early on but he would never admit that!

[velnna]

Tiny comic bc someone prompted "covering astarion after raphael makes his clothes disappear" and it made me curious

[awearywritersworld]

okay, what if the situation at moonrise towers was reversed?

the trader is a vampire and they offer you the potion to permanently increase your strength, but only if you let them feed from you.

astarion would try soooo hard not to let his emotions betray him. you haven't defined your relationship. the decision is yours to make. he's just using you, anyway...

but gods, does the thought of someone else's teeth in your neck make him sick to his stomach. no one else should be able to taste you, to hear the way your breath catches at the first draw of blood, to feel your hand grip their bicep if it gets to be too much.

you decline the offer, much to the pale elf's relief, and he finds himself in your tent that night. he joins you even before the other party members have gone to sleep for the evening.

his desperation quickly becomes apparent. he litters your neck with bites before moving to your chest, then your abdomen. he hardly even feeds, too busy marking what's his.

making his way back up your body, he laps at the blood he's spilled while the warmth of his breath fans across your delicate skin.

once he finds your lips, he leaves a lingering kiss there before pulling back. his expression is almost sheepish, though the sentiment is gone the very next moment.

he settles beside you wordlessly, opens a book, and pretends not to see the look on your face— knowing and amused.

bg3 masterlist

[theoldkyokodied]

This bloodweave art dump has it all: The price of devotion, the serenity of simple touches, cat to cat communication and iasip redraws with slightly altered dialogue

[kittenintheden]

When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You’re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

 You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor. 

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

[jessiemeows]

Lost and Found

Chapter 7 - Awakening to the Unexpected

A/N: Hello! I lied from my previous A/N, Astarion is still very much a sweet boy in this chapter lol. I ended up writing far more than I expected to, which is why it took me sooooo long to post this. (it doesn't help that I got writer's block in the process), next chapter WILL be angsty though :))). This is more of fluff, and people revealing secrets about their feelings for others. Hope you like it <3

Pairing: F!Durge, OC (Amaya), Tiefling, Selunite Cleric X Spawn Astarion

Rating: Nothing but still 18+!

WC: About 3800

Previous Chapters: Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Story:

The first thing Amaya heard was the gentle cooing of morning doves when her body first started to wake. She remained lingering in the hazy space between dreaming and waking, her eyes still remained closed as she nestled in her blanket. Usually, she would wake hot and sweaty from the heat trapped in her bedding, but this morning, her mattress felt unexpectedly cool. She burrowed deeper , savoring the chill, until a sudden, heavy waft of rosemary and bergamot filled her senses. Then a soft groan and the feeling of strong arms began pulling her close.

Her eyes flashed open as she shot upright.

“SHIT!” She blurted out, much louder than intended.

Astarion's crimson red eyes fluttered open. He stretched languidly, completely unbothered. “Mmmm, and a very good morning to you too.”

“Oh gods- Astarion, I’m sorry…. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here last night.” Amaya’s cheeks began to burn red with embarrassment. She then hid her face in her hands, shielding herself from him.

Astarion shifted, propping himself up against a pillow, and gently pried her hands away. “It’s okay, my dear. In fact, I didn’t mind at all.” His cold hand lingered on hers, interlocking his fingers between hers.

“Really? You’re sure I didn’t overstay my welcome? I half expected you to kick me out after the first snore.” Amaya scooted closer to him, leaning against the same pillow he had claimed.

Astarion’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.“Oh, I can assure you, I thought about it, but you looked far too peaceful. I suppose I can forgive the snoring.. For now.” 

Amaya gasped, clutching her free hand to cover her mouth. “Excuse you! I do not snore! That was a joke!”

He pressed a hand over his heart with exaggerated sincerity. “Darling, I am the literal paragon of truth. And by the gods, you were loud– similar sounding to an otyugh bellowing the sewers of Waterdeep.” 

Amaya stared at him, her eyes widening in shock with her mouth agape. Her expression began to deepen into a small frown as she watched Astarion burst into a fit of laughter, doubling down over, and wiping tears from his eyes.

He conceded, still grinning when he finally noticed Amaya’s shocked expression morphed into a pout.“Alright, alright, I’m just joking. You barely made a peep, but you toss and turn quite a bit.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff and gave him a sharp pinch on his arm, causing the elf to yelp dramatically. Amaya then saw his fangs, she never noticed them until now, they were long, elegant and much sharper than her own fangs, only his canines standing out while hers were much more crowded. 

He was strange, handsome for sure, but overall strange. Part of her wondered if he had some hidden lineage of drow or szarkai in his ancestry. It would certainly explain his vermillion eyes, the ghostly pallor of his skin, and his sometimes callous behavior.

But it wasn’t just his striking looks or demeanor that she found odd. Just last night she noticed how rarely he seemed to breathe, and when he did, it felt deliberate, almost practiced. And how his skin was always cool to the touch– cooler than anyone she’d met. Amaya herself ran hot, always overheating in a mountain of blankets when she fell asleep, but last night, pressed against Astarion, she’d stayed comfortable. It was a nice, welcome change to wake up not drenched in sweat but Astarion still remaining cool with both their body heat combined was still odd. She had to ask the reasoning for at least one of his oddities.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” He hummed, half-lost in his thoughts.

“I have to ask, are you always this cold? Usually when I wake up, I feel like a furnace, burning from the inside out, but with you I felt.. just right. You're not freezing, but definitely cooler than me or anyone else that I know of. This isn't the first time I've noticed how chilly you are either. Even now, your hand is quite cool to the touch."

Astarion lifted their interlocked hands, placing them onto his lap.“Oh darling, I’m dead.” he said, his voice falling flat before he let out a small chuckle, his eyes avoiding hers. 

She snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a vampire.” 

Astarion’s eyes immediately locked onto Amaya’s, widening in response to her teasing.. Amaya, confused at his expression, trailed off. “Seriously, though, I’ve never met anyone as cold as you.”

Astarion then let out a high and nervous laugh. “I.. uhhh.. I’ve always been this way. Just cold all the time.”

“Oh, that must be awful, even though I run hot when I sleep, I still hate being cold.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “It's not too bad, you get used to it.”

Astarion gently ran his fingers through her hair, pushing a single curl away from her eyes and behind her ear. His hand then lingered, as he studied her for a moment.

“What is it?” Amaya asked.

He titled his head, squinting “I’m just now noticing that you have a small tattoo behind your ear, it looks like a flower.”

“I do?” Amaya’s voice was raised slightly in disbelief. But suddenly, a wave of memories came crashing back to her: it was an older elven man she had seen in her dreams before, he had silver in his black hair and olive skin, embracing an elven woman with hair like fire and pale skin. Both adorned with small rose tattoos on their necks. She remembered being spun in the air by the man, her younger, smaller self  laughing and echoing the words, “Daddy, put me down!” The man began to say something, but his words were lost and muffled, although his accent sounded so much like hers yet much thicker.

Astarion’s voice pulled her back from her memory, “It’s quite small. You wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. And you always have your hair down or behind your ears.”

Amaya frowned, thinking. “Is it a rose?”

He leaned in, staring more closely at the tattoo. “Yes, about the size of a gold coin. I wish I could show you, but I don't think you could see it through one single looking glass”.

Her brows furrowed as she pieced together the memory. “I- I think it's something I share.. With my adoptive family.”

“Adoptive family?”

“Yes, I just remembered– it was an older elven couple; they both had similar tattoos.”

Astarion’s face lit up, “Well, it looks like you’ve remembered something positive. Is there anything else that you remember of them?”

“I dreamed of my adoptive father before, but the dream was strange. He told me to run, but everything went fuzzy after that. But, I can remember his accent, it's very similar to mine.”

“Hmmm, looks like you’ll have to do some digging to recover more memories then. I do quite like your accent, by the way, it's cute. Not many Baldurians I’ve met have it. Are you sure you’re from there?” 

“I think I am…but I don’t know. Maybe I grew up somewhere else, then moved to the city.”

“That could be it.” Astarion rubbed Amaya's hand absentmindedly, sending butterflies swirling in her stomach. The two sat in silence before a voice rang outside Astarion’s tent.

“Amaya?” Shadowheart’s tone was gentle, signaling that the rest of camp was likely to wake soon.

“Oh, it's Shadowheart, usually in the morning she does my hair and we talk of plans. I should probably get going.” Amaya began gathering her things but paused at Astarion’s tent entrance.

“Astarion.. I want to thank you. For everything. It was sweet.” She turned to face him, staring into his crimson red eyes, his brows now furrowed. Amaya leaned in cupping his face with her hands, pressing a long but sweet kiss on his cheek. The sensation of the kiss illuminated everything within her, her heart began to flutter and heat ignited in her lower belly. She wanted more, more than just a peck on his cheek, she wanted to close the distance between them, and to entangle their limbs with one another. She wanted to feel his lips on every inch and ridge on her body, losing herself in him completely. Gods, did she really want him.

But it wasn’t just the desire for him that she wanted, for the first time in days, her mind was blissfully blank– no nightmares, no tadpoles, no looming threats. She felt safe.

As she reluctantly pulled back from the kiss, a sudden flash of light crackled between them– the light didn’t burn, but starlted the both of them.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what that was,” Amaya said, her eyes wide with confusion.

Astarion’s features looked as if they had softened, his eyes rounder and brighter– similar to when Amaya first healed him just a few days ago. His arms wrapped around her waist pulling her closer until she practically sat on his lap, their lips only inches apart. “It’s alright, I don't mind.” Astarion murmured, his voice now low and sultry. 

Amaya’s thoughts pleaded with desperation, screaming for him to press his lips onto hers– but then another louder, slightly more frantic yell from outside his tent called out.

“Amaya?? Where are you?” Shadowheart called out.

Amaya sighed softly, closing her eyes in defeat. “She probably thinks something happened if she’s checked my tent. I should go.. but we should do this again, perhaps another time.”

“I’d like that.” Astarion’s face fell, but he managed a small smile as he released his grasp from her waist.

As she stepped outside of Astarion’s tent, she blinked at the pale dawn light, her eyes adjusting to the change. She spotted Shadowheart’s familiar fit, full-figured silhouette standing by Amaya’s own red tent– the half-elf’s hands planted firmly against her hips, tapping her foot with a steady rhythm of annoyance. She turned in a huff, when she caught Amaya emerging halfway out of Astarion’s tent and her eyes widened. Without hesitation, she rushed over to Amaya, towering over the tiefling by just a few inches, grabbing her hand, and marched her straight into the half-elf’s deep purple tent.

Shadowheart wasted no time, practically shoving Amaya onto the bedroll, where she sat, cross-legged and folding her hands neatly onto her lap. Her bright green eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line before the half-elf spoke without missing a beat.

“Did you sleep with him?” She asked sharply.

“No.” Amaya replied.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed further. “Then why were you in his tent so early this morning? Your hair is a mess, and your nightdress is practically falling off.”

Amaya shifted in her seat uncomfortably, “Well, technically I did sleep with him…. but not like that. I woke up from terrible nightmares last night and I didn’t want to be alone. I saw his candle was still burning, so I asked if he could keep me company. Surprisingly, he let me stay. We just talked about the nightmares, spent time together and then I just fell asleep on him… It was an accident.” Amaya trailed off, failing to mention the kiss on Astarion’s cheek and the emotions she felt this morning but maybe Shadowheart didn’t have to know that part.

With a sigh, Shadowheart knelt behind her and began to comb the tieflings curls with her fingers, reaching for the curl pomade that Astarion had practically hurled at her head two days prior after the half-elf’s attempt at detangling Amaya’s hair turned into a frizzy disaster. The pomade smelled of honey and sunflowers as Shadowheart warmed the waxy stuff between her fingers and worked it gently into the tieflings curls. Once she was satisfied with her work, she started braiding the front strands away from Amaya’s face.

“Are your nightmares related to the bad thoughts and impulses you mentioned the other day?”  Shadowheart asked, her voice softer now.

“I don’t know. It could be the tadpole,” Amaya admitted. “How come you never told me about my tattoo behind my ear?” she asked, now trying to change the subject.

Shadowheart shrugged. “I thought you knew about it.”

“I didn’t.”

“I’ll pick up a second looking glass at the grove so you can see it better before we head off to fix the goblin traps.” Shadowheart then made a thoughtful noise as she moved to secure the braid and the rest of her curls into a ponytail before returning to the main topic“ Do you have feelings for Astarion?” 

Amaya hesitated, picking at her nailbeds raw. “Absolutely not.” Her voice came out high-pitched, as the obvious lie fell from her lips.

Shadowheart snorted, “You're not usually this terrible at lying! I know you often seek him out after praying to your goddess. During battle, you’re always at his side. And not to mention I’ve caught you staring at him longingly more than a dozen times….”

“I do not stare at him longingly!” Amaya protested.

“Yes, you do!” 

Amaya rolled her eyes in defeat. “Fine! I may have a small crush on him. But he would never feel the same way and could do so much better. He's too perfect, and I'm.. me.”

 Shadowheart just shook her head and tugged Amaya’s ponytail– hard.

“Ow!” Amaya yelped.

“Maybe that’ll knock some sense into you,” Shadowheart said, leaning to the side to meet Amaya’s gaze. “You’re beautiful, loyal, funny, and sometimes way too sweet for your own good. Honestly, if anyone could do better, it’s you. While I don’t trust Astarion and his intentions towards any of us, he certainly does have a thing for you. And he may not be the only person that has a thing for you…  you have managed to attract several different suitors.”

Amaya scoffed. “You must be joking.”

“You'd be surprised. I’ve caught Astarion, Gale, and even Wyll casting admiring glances your way. How did you not notice?”

“I... I guess I’ve been preoccupied with keeping everyone alive,” Amaya admitted, her voice falling flat.

Shadowheart chuckled softly, “And you are doing a great job at that so far.”

“Thanks, I’m trying my best. But, if what you said is true, maybe Astarion actually did want to kiss me after I kissed his cheek earlier.” The secret slipped from Amaya’s lips unwittingly. “However, I had no idea the other two boys were looking at me that way. I’m not too sure how I feel about that.”

“It might not just be the boys casting glances in your direction.” Shadowheart hinted at, but then realization dawned and her eyes widened in shock. “Wait. Did you just say you kissed him?!”

Amaya’s cheeks began to burn red with embarrassment and buried her face in her hands hiding from Shadowheart’s scolding face. “It was only his cheek! Please, promise me you won’t tell anyone. Or mention my crush.”

Shadowheart made a click with her tongue and softened her tone, “Your secret's safe with me. For what it’s worth, I don’t know what you see in him. He’s slick, sadistic and arguably the least reliable person in our group. Not to mention, his lines and flirtations that he directs at everyone he meets seem like they would come from a 2 copper paperback read by little girls.“

Amaya sighed, resting chin on her knees."I can’t explain it. It’s as if I can glimpse a different side to him beneath the flirtatious lines and callous behavior. There’s a sweet, hidden depth to him, why else would he let me stay with him last night? I don't know, for some reason, I’ve just felt drawn to him since the beginning... He also makes me laugh a lot.”

“Did he make you laugh when he pulled a dagger at your throat?” Shadowheart quipped.

Amaya rolled her eyes at Shadowheart, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an answer. 

Shadowheart gently tightened Amaya’s ponytail. “I’ve made it clear that I don’t trust him and likely never will. But if you choose to pursue this crush and he ends up hurting you or your feelings, I will personally torture him, and trust me I know plenty of ways on how to torture an individual.”

Amaya raised a brow at the half-elf, half-amused, half-concerned.“How in the hells do you know plenty of ways to torture someone?”

Shadowheart ignored the question, fastening a gold hair ornament into the center of Amaya’s ponytail. The intricate piece featured a carved crescent-moon into the center and Selûne’s holy symbol– the Moonmaiden’s eyes, encircled by the seven silver stars etched into the plating. The shape of the piece was almost a match for Shadowheart’s own, hers being silver– though hers bore resemblance to Shar’s holy symbol, the twin sister, and eternal enemy of Selûne.

Amaya had quickly learned to not question her friend’s faith; every time she attempted to broach the subject, Shadowheart would get dismissive. But the nagging suspicion that Shadowheart might be a Sharran, did trouble Amaya deeply. Yet, Amaya herself was still piecing together her own devotion to Selûne, learning more each day from prayer books and old scrolls.

Shadowheart adjusted the hair piece and made a face. “It would look better without this gaudy thing from your goddess.” She muttered, the word "goddess" dripped with venom and disgust from her lips. 

In no time, Shadowheart swiftly began to braid her own hair into a neat lower bun. But, suddenly, a flare of light glimmered from Shadowheart’s hand. She winced, pain flickering across her face as she tried to secure the last braid.

“Are you well?” Amaya pressed. Her round eyes locked onto Shadowheart’s as she composed herself, adjusting her fringe.

“I’m fine,” Shadowheart snapped, a little too quickly

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now stop fussing.” Shadowheart remarked coldly.

Before Amaya could push any further, Gale's voice rang out, summoning them to breakfast. The smell of cheesy eggs, spicy sausage, crispy fresh toast, and hot coffee drifted through the air. Amaya walked slowly over to the campfire, spotting Wyll, Astarion and Lae’zel already gathered. Wyll was locked into a heated debate with Lae’zel as his voice was laced with frustration. “ I don't fight to be flattered, Lae'zel. I fight to save lives.”

The githyanki scoffed, making her usual “Chk” sound, rolling her eyes, while Astarion had a smile beaming from his face as he watched the conflict unfold before him. 

Amaya was just reaching for a plate when Gale suddenly tapped her on her shoulder. He looked paler than usual, exhausted, his fingers now twiddling as his brown eyes flickered down at his boots.

“Amaya… would you mind joining me for a moment? In private?” 

Confusion flashed upon her features but she nodded, following him a few paces away from the campfire, just far enough for privacy.

Gale cleared his throat, darting his eyes between her and the ground. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. It's, well, rather important. We’ve been traveling on the road together for a little while now, haven't we? Survived some perils, overcame some obstacles. Ever since you were kind enough to free me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.”

Amaya listened, her brows now furrowed. 

He pressed on, his voice trembling a bit. “The way you diffuse the tension between Zevlor and Aradin. The way you stood in front of a crossbow to prevent a murder. And the way you saved that young child from becoming harpy food. In short; I’ve grown to trust you, Amaya.”

She managed a small smile.“That's very gratifying to hear.” 

He hesitated, but then forced himself to meet her eyes.“The reason I make a point of saying this is that I’ve grown confident to tell you something I’ve yet to tell another living soul. Except for my cat.” Gale chuckled a bit at his words and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “You see, I have this… condition. Very different from the parasite we share, but just as deadly.”

“Oh, Gale. Would you like me to pray on your behalf? Selûne might offer some guidance, maybe even a cure.” She reached out, touching his arm gently. 

“Thank you for the offer, but the treatment for my condition is very specific. What comes down to is this: every so often I need to get my hands on a powerful magic item and absorb the Weave inside.”

Amaya’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, are you telling me you are addicted to magic?”

“No-no, it's nothing like that. Magic isn't a narcotic to me, it's quite literally a life-saver. I promise you I would not burden anyone anyone other than myself with this were the states not so high, and the means of obtaining such artifacts challenging for a humble wizard to face alone…. It’s been days since I last consumed an artefact- since before we were abducted. It's only a matter of time before my craving returns. This is why I turn to you, I… I need help to find magic items to consume, this is vital. Dare I say it, critical.”

She squeezed his hand. “You could have told me sooner. Of course I’ll help. We’ll find you what you need.”

Relief washed over Gale’s face and he pulled her into a warm, grateful hug. Compared to Astarion’s lean frame, Gale felt much softer, and plush, radiating warmth throughout their embrace. Gale began to mumble against Amaya as he continued to express his gratitude. “This is such a relief, you have my thanks. And fear not - your implicit trust is well placed and will be rewarded with any and all means of my disposal. 

Amaya began to giggle at Gale’s endless thanks as she let go of the hug. “Gale, no need to worry, we will find something soon.”

“I knew I could count on you. Alright let's go have some breakfast before it gets cold.”

As they made their way back to the campfire, Amaya could feel Astarion’s gaze burning into her. When their eyes met, he abruptly averted his gaze to his untouched plate of food, absently moving his fork back and forth, tensing his posture. His playful demeanor had completely vanished, replaced by closed off and rigid scowl and a faint tinge of red on his normally pale cheeks. Before Amaya could sit beside him, he abruptly stood, dumped his plate, and stalked off toward his tent.

Amaya watched him go, her heart sinking slightly, then sat by the fire as Shadowheart and Lae’zel launch into an argument over the goblin traps they were set off to fix on today’s agenda.

[voxiteri]

Astarion probably cried a bit the first time he was actually intimate with Tav. Before killing Cazador, even when he finally realizes his feelings, he still finds himself performing. He doesn't want to disappoint his new, true, real love. He's still caught up in the façade, as surely that's the man that Tav fell for.

When they selflessly barged into battle when Cazador had him trapped in the ritual; when he finally killed the man that had been torturing him for years, he sobbed. Right there on the floor, in front of his beloved Tav. He was most certainly embarrassed, having a hard time making eye contact at camp afterwards.

When Tav came to his tent that night, he put on his usual show, saying that such a freeing battle really "whet his appetite". He underestimated how much Tav can see. The look in his eyes wasn't one of depraved, carnal lust, but one that said "please, hold me"

So they did. They laid down with Astarion, and just held him. His head to their chest, where their heartbeat echoed in his ears, their fingers gently combing through his hair, and a soft kiss to his temple to top it off.

It's over.

His shoulders start shaking, his sobs muted in Tav's chest. Tav doesn't say much, a "it's alright, it's over" and an "I'm here, 'Star". They knew he needed it. 200 years of pent up emotions and swallowed sorrows unleashed now that the flood gates were open.

It felt...good. To cry. To be held so tenderly, so intimately. To be loved.

[lazylittledragon]

Hello I love your bg3 content and your Dorian is so lovely! Can we get like an alternative reality with Dorian and Ascended Astarion? What would your headcannon be for them? 🙇

something like this, probably

[bara-izu]

First night of freedom.

[momochanners]

Previous post

Happy Ending (in more ways than one)!

[astarionancuntnin]

Remember Me

summary: you cant make sense of where you are or even how you ended up in this cell, hells, you're not even sure of who you are at this point; any memories of your past are a blur. its all the more confusing when a group of adventurers come rescue you, and a particularly worried pale elf takes it upon himself to help you remember who you are.

rating: E

word count: 7k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. angst, act 3 spoilers related to astarion's side quest, mentions of kidnaping and torture, memory loss, blood feeding, vampire bites, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v, The Leg Thing followed by mating press, sweet love making, love confession. full list on ao3

a/n: loosely based on this audio (18+) from OGY.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Pain.

It’s the first thing that hit you when your consciousness came back to you.

How much everything fucking hurt.

Your entire body felt as if it had gone through the nine Hells, all at once; you could barely find the strength in yourself to get to your feet, let alone push yourself off the ground.

Then it was the disarray when you couldn’t place what had happened for you to feel so awful.

It was as if you had woken up from a long sleep; distant voices in your head, blurry faces merging together when you closed your eyes, and an awful feeling of emptiness, as if you had forgotten something extremely important but you couldn’t put your finger on it, no matter how much you thought about it.

Nothing but endless darkness.

As much as you tried to remember your life, anything before this moment, you were met with a dark fog clouding your vision. Your family, your friends — if you even had any — had all vanished from your memory. You think you remember yourself, for the most part, but even that was a stretch; you couldn’t even remember your own bloody name.

You look around you, realising for the first time that you were in a prison cell. The course of events after waking up in this dark cell hadn’t helped; the sudden cold inhabiting you, followed by this man — this monster — barging in without as much as a warning before pushing you face first against the ground and ripping open your shirt, to then torture you as he carved your back with his knife, only to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. Barely a few words exchanged, aside from some mumbling about teaching “him” a lesson, whoever that was, and you were alone once again.

Alone, with nothing but this seething pain in your back from the butchery you had gone through, the hunger digging into your belly, and your blood leaking from your shivering form, pooling around you on the cold, hard floor.

You barely had the time to gather your thoughts when the same man came back barely minutes later to carry you out of your cell and into a larger room — keeping you restrained with some magic that visibly came from his staff — where more people waited.

By the looks of it, you had been right on one thing: this was indeed a dungeon, and you were located in the deepest part of them; this room contained only a round, rock platform, located above an endless, foggy pit.

In the state you were in, you couldn’t catch everything he said as he went on a monologue. Something about powers, freedom; whatever it was, they needed you to achieve it, that was the only thing that was clear from his speech. You couldn’t understand how any of them would follow a maniac like him, but in their eyes you noticed how they listened to his words with as much fear as awe.

Your form was shivering from the cold; you wanted to cover up your top which had been previously ripped off from your body, but it was all in vain: the restraints of his magic kept you in place, and right after his speech, you were sent flying over a designated spot floating above the ground, just like all the six other people that had surrounded you previously.

Your arms remained bound to your sides by whatever spell this monster had cast on you, leaving your chest exposed to the damp, cool air of this dungeon, and your fresh wound stinging evermore at your back.

You remember the panic tightening in your chest when you realised you couldn't escape. You remember the brief relief, hope even, at the sight of a group of adventurers approaching — one of the figures shouting at the man in the middle of the room — followed by explosions and screams. Then the fear settled in when you saw them execute one of the other unfortunate souls magically held floating around this room, one new truth forming in your mind.

They weren’t here to save you.

You would be next. They would kill you. You would die here.

The pressure in your chest grew tighter as you closed your eyes and mourned your life, one you didn’t even remember experiencing, one that — you hope — had been full of adventures, of acquaintances… of love.

This last one must’ve been true. You remember being loved — more so how it felt, even if the feeling seemed so far and long ago. You remember the butterflies in your belly, the fluster in your heart, the heat between your legs; you remember just enough to know that if you died today, at least, you would’ve died as someone who had been loved.

You didn’t expect your feet to touch the cold hard ground once more. You remember falling to your knees, your body exhausted by the abuse it had gone through in just the last few hours. You remember your dry throat when you noticed the butchered corpse in the middle of the room, barely recognizable anymore.

“Gods… what has he done to you?”

But you couldn’t seem to place the face of your saviour. The bloodied, silver curled elf who had rushed to kneel next to you after defeating your captor, who approached you and held your face so carefully.

How those crimson eyes of his had widened in horror when you flinched at his touch and backed away.

Him and his group had killed one of you who stood in this circle, who’s to say he wasn’t here to finish the job? Lure you in with a sweet touch only to snap your head off; you knew better than to let yourself fall for the first man to approach you.

“Darling, it’s over now.” He had said with his voice low, getting back on his feet to approach you as if you were an injured beast, “Just take my hand, we’re getting out of here.”

You didn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured by his assertiveness, but you remained frozen in place, your eyes switching from the hand extended out to you and his severe look that you reciprocated with a frown to hide your terror.

“Look,” he sneered, “you can either take my hand, come with me out of this hellhole, or rot away in this godsforsaken—”

From behind him, someone from his group called out a name which stopped him mid-sentence just as his tone was rising.

“Astarion.”

A name that felt oddly familiar, despite the void in your memories. It danced beautifully as it echoed across the room and around your mind; there was something about it that just sounded right.

Astarion. A name worthy of being written in the stars, you find yourself thinking, the sound of it bringing you a familiar sense of peace, of security.

Astarion. Maybe if you repeated it enough in your head, something clearer would come up. Maybe, just maybe, then you would remember.

He took a deep breath and continued, which brought you back from your reverie, “I’m quite certain you went through the Hells and back, but for now, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, just as you’ve done in the past. Can you do that for me?”

He extended out his hand once more, this time a request rather than a command, his voice carrying out his concerns, “Can you trust me?”

“Why would I trust someone I’ve just met?” You wanted to ask, but something about the way he asked struck a chord, as if you did know him. As if you knew he spoke true when he said you used to trust him, and you finally accepted the hand he held out to you.

A hand that pulled you to your feet, and guided you out of this dreadful place.

You were given a cloak to cover your shivering form, and you walked along with them back to their camp. Back to this intriguing, yet charming man’s tent, where they all agreed you should rest for the night.

The first thing that hit you when you stepped in was the smell.

You didn’t know what it was exactly, you couldn’t recognize it, but it was intoxicating; it only made your stomach churn more. As the adrenaline of the previous hour settled down, you fell to your knees, grabbing onto your waist as the pain that had been muted came back screaming through your guts.

“Shit—” He rushed down to check on you, with one hand down your back, holding onto you, “Darling, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?! I was tortured, starved off, almost sacrificed for all I know, and I can’t even remember who I fucking am!” Is what you wanted to say, but all you could manage out is a groan in the middle of your sobs.

When you lifted your head, your eyes fell onto the set of messily arranged bottles from where the strong smell came from, and a quick exchange of glances told him everything he needed to know.

“Of course, you’re hungry,” He sighed heavily, "Look, I’ll gladly offer you some from my own reserves — after I’ve taken a look at your wounds.”

You had almost forgotten about them.

You averted your eyes from his gaze, your mind now racing as you expected the worst. You had no way to see what had been done to your back, but the pain you had gone through was a good indicator of how bad it would look.

Met with your silence, he continued, “I need… to see what he’s done to you. Please.”

Your eyes went back and forth between him and the dark bottles briefly considering pouncing on them to get a taste as your mouth watered in anticipation, but you reluctantly turned your back to him as you sat with your legs pressed back into your stomach, barely helping mitigate the pain in your stomach.

As you let the cloak fall from your shoulders, you heard nothing but a shaky, deflated sigh behind you. Seconds of silence passed before you considered turning around, but a part of you was terrified of the look you would find on his face.

You finally found the strength to utter your first words.

“Is it… that bad?” Your voice was rough from neglect, as the last time you had used it had been to scream when you received this torture.

You heard him take a deep breath, shaking away the shock that had previously rendered him speechless, “You must’ve already known what he carved away in your back. Hells, I knew before even looking, but seeing it…” he pauses, his tone quieting, “seeing it is another story completely.”

“I… I don’t know,” you muster with a weak voice. It's true, you had no idea, he had carved your damn back, you had no way to see the extent of his torture.

He took a deep breath, shaking away the feelings that had sneaked their way into his voice, “It’s no matter, it’s over now; Cazador is dead. He won’t hurt—” he paused, as if processing the information himself, “Anyone, ever again.”

You turned around to face him this time, “Who’s Cazador?”

He huffed, “I’m glad it was that easy for you to forget about him, but when you’ve suffered under his hand for nearly two centuries, the memories tend to linger.”

You remained silent as you stared at him, just as shocked as you were confused by his words. When he noticed your stare, his face twisted in concern, “Oh shit, you’re serious.”

You nodded silently.

He continued, tentatively, “He was my master, he’s the one we killed back in the dungeons — the one who abducted you, who did this to you. Do you not remember any of this?”

You shook your head slightly, never leaving his gaze.

“Oh dear.” His voice dropped as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened all at once, “Do you remember anything at all — the absolute, our adventure… Do you remember… me?”

His eyes went back and forth between yours, as if he was searching them for any sign of recognition, looking for you, whoever you were behind those confused, teary eyes. You gave him another shy shake of your head, followed by a single tear coming down your cheek, a tear you weren’t sure why it was shed; whether it was from the loss of yourself, or the mourning of something you didn’t even remember having.

“Gods…” He breathed out heavily as his sight left you, his mind visibly ruminating. “He can’t… He couldn’t have… He…”

His tone suddenly changed as he growled, “That monster.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at you, “You were with us just yesterday. You were — are this group’s leader. If… If you have no memories of your mortal life then it means…” he looked away, frowning, “He rushed your transformation to replace me in the ritual.”

None of the words he had said made any sense to you, “Transformation?”

He turned back to you to be met with your visible confusion, and he explained further, “Normally, when you’re turned, you need to be drained of your blood and buried six feet underground, before you can crawl out of your tomb to be reborn. This process takes a day, usually, and when you awaken, you are still you, but immortal and bound to your master,” he spat out the last word like it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

“Now you,” he continues, “you were turned within twelve hours, which would explain why your eyes are only half red, why your fangs haven’t come out yet, and…” his voice quieted down, “why you have no memories of your past. As if the rushed transformation had actually killed this part of you along with your humanity.”

You remained focused on the first thing he had said: your eyes had changed colour?

You hadn’t had the chance to look at yourself since your awakening and if not remembering your name wasn’t anxiety inducing enough, you realised you couldn’t even recall what you looked like.

All of a sudden, panic rushed its way into your heart; you needed to see yourself. You frantically looked around the tent to find anything that could send back your reflection and practically jumped on the pocket mirror when you spotted it nearby Astarion.

Only the mirror was broken. It must’ve been; it reflected nothing.

“If that wasn’t obvious by now, this should’ve clarified things a bit,” he said.

He lowered the mirror you still held in front of you, expecting your image to be reflected eventually, maybe at a different angle, maybe with more light. Maybe another one would, maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened only today.

“You’re a vampire now. No matter the angle, you’ll never see your reflection come out of this mirror. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Vampire.

The word didn’t make sense; nothing made sense.

Yet, when you parted your lips to let your tongue run against your teeth; you found your canines the same size they were, that they should’ve been, but they were much sharper than what would be considered normal and you almost pierced your tongue from the gesture.

“Maybe…” he carried on, lost in thought, “there’s even a chance that the tadpole has been messing around with more of the changes your body is going through.”

“Tadpole?” You interjected, your head shaking of its own in disbelief. “What?”

He huffed in astonishment, “So you really do remember nothing.”

You sighed, “I— I don’t… As much as I try, I’m met with a void of memories. The only thing remotely familiar since I woke up has been… you.” His eyes had gone soft and bright with hope, but also melancholy. “I don’t know who you were to me, and I don’t know why, but some part of me knew I could trust you.”

He chuckled, a sad smile finding its way over his lips, “Even with your memories gone, it seems I can’t leave your mind, can I?”

You gave him a smile of your own, “Would you mind… reminding me of my life? Of us?”

“Gods, where to start, darling. Would you believe me if I told you our story began with me holding a knife to your throat?”

You found yourself smiling unconsciously, “With everything that's happened to me in the last few hours, I find that easy to believe.”

“And strangely enough it's probably the least odd part of our story.” He tilted his head, giving you a genuine smile before carrying on.

“It’s all tedious, really, but… There’s one memory I want to tell you about: The night of the tiefling party. Ugh, it was dreadful for the most part; the wine tasted like vinegar, the music was too loud, and there were too many of those bloody tieflings at our camp, to be quite sincere— “

“Not a people’s person I take it?”

“My dear, after years of being forced on and by people, the last thing you want is to be surrounded by more of them.” The sight of you parting your lips and raising your eyebrows told him you had also forgotten about this and he quickly caught onto it, changing the direction of the discussion back to the topic at hand. “But, there was one good thing that came out from this night: when we met in the woods. I had high hopes of you joining me there — although no doubts, of course — I was the most suitable option among our group after all.”

“Most suitable? Someone else wanted to spend the night with… me?”

“Darling, the whole world and their mother wanted a special moment with you. But only one of us got that honour. A chance to steal away with everyone’s new favourite leader.”

The faint sounds of the party fading: music echoing through the forest, people laughing, the cool air of a summer’s night breezing through, and good company throughout the night.

“I have been waiting for you. Waiting since the moment I first saw you. Waiting… to have you.”

You blinked, “You… were waiting for me in the woods, I’m— I’m remembering.”

“I did put a lot of effort into my entrance, I would be upset if you didn't remember it quite honestly.” You laughed softly. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”

Your eyes roamed as you pushed the memory further, before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “You… kissed me.”

“After you had the audacity to say I didn't have you yet while you had come to me of your own volition, yes, and then?”

You chuckled, but your smile quickly faded as your memory unlocked the next part of this puzzle. He looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes; he was simply waiting for you to say it yourself.

“We made love.”

He sighed dramatically, “Love is such a big word for what happened back then, but…” his tongue clicked, accentuating the end of the word, “That was certainly the start of it. The start of a series of feelings that came and complicated everything. It’s what pushed me, soon after, to confess to you that it was all part of a silly plan I had to keep you in my favour. I was terrified, honestly, especially considering it was all because I initially manipulated you to fall for me…”

He paused, searching your expression before carrying on, and continued when he found nothing but soft eyes looking back. “But then — despite everything — there you were, holding me tight.”

He let go of a deep breath.

“For so long I had nothing — no one. And all of a sudden, there’s you, who held onto me, who cared so much more than anyone ever did. And I found myself not wanting to let go. I couldn't.”

He frowned, turning his gaze away, “And Cazador used that against me. As soon as he had word of my whereabouts in Baldur’s Gate and the crowd I was hanging out with, he jumped at the first chance to torture me once more. He probably thought I was unaffected by any physical pain he could impose on me by now, so he did the next worst thing: take it out on the one person I cared about in this wretched world.” He shook his head, “If we hadn’t gotten there in time—”

“But you did.” You interrupt. “You saved me and yourself in the process. This ritual wouldn’t have given you the freedom you think it carried.”

His eyes lit up, “You talk as if you knew what it entailed.”

You nodded, “It’s coming back to me, bit by bit. I remember what you told me about him. I remember the purpose of the ritual, and your plan to replace him and take his power instead.”

He sighed, “Gale thought brilliant to kill one of my brothers to stop Cazador from carrying on with the ritual. Bloody wizard didn’t realise it meant I couldn’t continue it myself then.

“Maybe he did.” His gaze flickered back to you in confusion before you continued, “You don’t need satanic powers to carry on, Astarion. You’re free now.”

He huffed, “And all it cost was my life in the sun.”

“Well,” you tilted your head, “It did cost me mine too. Once the tadpoles are gone, we’ll both be banished to the shadows once again. But we’ll be together, and that’s something at least.”

He rolled his eyes before landing them on you, “At least the transformation didn’t take away from your heartbleeding optimism, dear.”

You chuckled, “Thank the Gods for that— ugh!”

You clutched at your stomach, your body tilting forward in pain, and Astarion instantly knew the cause of your suffering; it’s something he recognized all too well.

“Hells, you must be starving. Gods know Cazador wouldn’t waste a single drop on a lowly spawn — no offence, dear.”

“None taken,” you forced a humourless laugh. “I shouldn’t have expected much considering I was to be cattle for a satanic ritual.”

He turned around and you kept a close eye on him as he handled the bottles beside him, pulling out a silver cup out of his bag of holding to pour you a portion.

“Here,” he sat back down, parting his legs open, extending one arm to you, “Come on love, sit back against me, would you?”

You stared unsure for a few seconds but obliged him. You scooted back until your back was fully resting against his chest, leaving no space lost between the two of you.

When he brought the cup forward you reached for it but he pulled back, clicking his tongue, “Oh no, my sweet, I will be the one to feed you tonight. This is your first time, we wouldn't want your primal instincts to take over now, would we?”

You turned around to stare at him for some time with incertitude and he simply tilted his head, with a sly smile, “Humour me, darling. You’ll be glad you did, hm?”

You pressed your lips together almost pouting, but acquiesced as you nestled yourself between his legs, your tense body laying against his chest once again.

He brought the cup to your mouth at long last, while his other hand held onto your chin. You gasped at his touch — while not unwelcome, it was a surprise — and you parted your lips to welcome your drink.

His hands were rough against your skin, yet there was a softness to it that made you melt under his touch. Made you want to push further into his hand to know how it would feel around your throat. It was almost enough to make you forget about the drink against your lips. Almost.

While the mere closeness of it had been invigorating, drinking it was ecstatic. It felt like your first meal in weeks, and it might as well have been with the pit that had replaced your stomach.

You took big gulps of the delectable nectar, barely pausing for air as you rushed to empty the cup’s content, eager to have your fill with this delicious substance.

“Slowly now darling,” he pulled the cup away from your lips and you gasped at the loss of your feeding source, “This is your first time feeding; I wouldn’t rush things.”

You frowned, but complied; even if you were starving, he had over two hundred years of experience with this form — you barely had a few hours. Your mind wasn’t all there yet either, and it's true that you couldn’t trust those new primal instincts to be civil enough to drink responsibly.

You held onto the one truth you knew, one that was clear ever since the start: you trust him.

You eased back into him, letting him hold you and guide you throughout your meal. The cup rested at a slightly down angle against your lips to allow you good mouthfuls of blood without overfeeding you all at once.

“There, good girl,” he purred. “You are doing so well for me, love. Small sips now, let your body recuperate from the shock.”

There was something about his voice that soothed you, brought you a peace of mind, a calm after this storm that had been your last few hours.

A shiver down your spine, that travelled all the way down between your legs.

You finished the content of the cup at a slower pace than you had started, soothed by his soft approach and the new blood filling your stomach, and he took this chance to explain more about your condition while pouring you another serving.

“Considering this is your first feeding, you’ll need a bit more to carry on until your next meal. Mind you, it’s normal if you don’t feel full; this is a curse, after all. The real challenge is to learn to live with your hunger.” He cleared his throat as he brought the cup back up to your lips, full again, “Alright now, open up, love.”

You hungrily parted your bloodied lips to welcome another serving.

“There, there, just like that.” A soft whimper left your throat between sips, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine.” He leaned next to your head to whisper, “You’re perfect, my sweet.”

For a moment, you could swear you felt your heart beat anew.

You drank with his help until you finished one full bottle from his reserve, and with the pain in your stomach settling down, you allowed your body to relax against him. That’s when you felt something poking against your back, something you wanted to taste as much as the blood that had blessed your tongue just moments ago.

And he must’ve known, too.

“So, as you must’ve realised, your hunger was a side effect of the transformation. But what you’re feeling now, which I can very much smell on you, is a result of your feeding.”

If any of the blood you had ingested had made it in your veins by now, they must’ve all rushed to your cheeks at this very moment.

“Blood,” he continued, “Brings us back alive temporarily; it warms us, allows our hearts a few shy beating of their own, but it also reawakens other mortal pleasures. The first time it can be… a tad overwhelming.”

“It’s…” You hadn’t realised how quiet your heart had been until it started beating away once more in your chest; your cheeks felt warm, your breathing had accelerated, and your core was aching. You breathed out your reply, “It really is.”

As you turned your head aside, resting against his shoulder, and your eyes lingered over his lips, another primal urge awoke in you to devour him, in every way possible. You needed to taste him, his mouth, his blood, his come—

Until you were blessed with another sudden memory, and you turned away from his lips, gazing anywhere that wasn’t on him to stop yourself from acting irrationally.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry—”

He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him in one fluid movement. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling, and I would be more than happy to entertain these carnal thoughts I saw in those eyes of yours. Unless you’d rather spend the night with someone else?” he teased.

You held your breath as he brought you closer to him, his hand lingering over your cheek. If you just closed the distance now, you could—

“No, Astarion, I won't force—”

“Stop that right now.” He cut you off without skipping a beat, stunning you once more. “You are not forcing yourself onto me or forcing me. This, right now, right here, is my decision.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, drawing you closer to him, your lips but a whisper apart.

“I want this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice lustful and heavy with need. “I want… you.”

Your eyes locked and the second after, his lips were pressed against yours and you let yourself get lost into this kiss. How his hands held on to your face, how his tongue tasted the blood on your lips, how he whimpered into your mouth at the contact of your own tongue; this memory of love you had remembered earlier, it had been a memory of this.

His kiss, his touch, his voice, him.

Your kiss was engulfing, springing your heart back to life in a sudden rush as you met every of his kisses with the same passion, and soon enough, you were laying back against his bedroll, with him over you and stealing your breath away; one — you didn’t realise yet — you didn't need anymore.

His hands rested next to your head and you allowed yourself to reach up to hold his face, trace the lines of his age over his cheeks and down his neck, and trailing along the opening of his shirt before he broke apart from your lips.

“I’ve been thinking about this for many nights now.”

“What would I be like as a vampire?” You asked semi-jokingly.

“No, silly — Although, the question did flit into my mind once or twice, but no. I was thinking of how I would have you, the next time I would bed you. I’ve touched myself at the thought of having you again, the sounds you would make, how your cunt would feel wrapped around my cock instead of my hand—”

He took your hand from where it was resting and guided it down between his legs, and a short gasp escaped you when you felt how hard he was.

“ —but tonight, after spending a lifetime looking for it, I finally know what I want.” His half-lidded eyes seemed darker than they had been, and you lost yourself in them, "And Gods help me if I can't have you—”

“I’m yours,” you answered back in a heartbeat, your voice but a whisper, “I’ve always been, and I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your words broke the remaining chains of control Astarion had over himself, as he pulled your pants off from you and removed his own shirt while your hands fumbled with his trousers. A moment later, you both laid against one another, as bare as you were on your first days on this plane of existence, your lips back on each other.

“Mmh, I wonder…” Astarion let his kisses trail down from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck.

“Hm?”

“Now that you’re a vampire,” he left small kisses alongside your neck and down your shoulder, “your blood will taste different.”

“You’ll still drink from me?”

“Well of course, dear,” he lingered in the crook of your neck, before licking his way up to your ear where he whispered, “And I can’t wait to know how you taste after you’ve tasted me.”

You shivered against his breath, fully expecting him to bite you following those words, and when he didn’t you were almost disappointed. He, on the other hand, seemed extremely satisfied with himself.

“Eager already? And here I thought I was the most depraved between the two of us.” You sighed heavily as he came back up to face you, “Maybe I will be tasting you tonight, after all. Is this something that you want?”

You smiled softly, your hand finding his cheek again, “Yes.”

When your lips met this time, it was soft, pure, communicating words you hadn’t exchanged yet despite your longing for one another. It only made you want him more.

“Speaking of tasting you,” he said against your lips, “I wonder if something else has changed.”

You barely had time to process what he had said when he made his way down your chest, briefly sucking on one of your nipples.

“Mh,” he released it with a pop, “this one still tastes the same.”

He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, teasing it with his teeth and earning him a moan from you before releasing it, “This one as well.”

He left a path of kisses as he trailed down your navel, until he was resting between your legs with a hungry look in his eyes, “Now, for the main course—”

You weren’t prepared for his fangs to dig in the inside of your thighs, making you scream in surprise as your hands grabbed onto the sheet of his bedroll. The pain quickly turned into pleasure as he nibbled and kissed the softness of your thigh, before making his way to your wet slit, which begged for attention.

The smell of you invaded his senses and you could feel his breath over your core as he breathed you in, his arms now wrapped under your thighs as he laid on his stomach and between your legs, “Darling, you smell divine.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips as his tongue pressed against your entrance and he slowly licked all the way up to your clit, “And you taste— Gods, you taste even better than before.” He smiled up to you, his mouth covered by a cocktail of your blood and juices. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”

You were past words by now, but even if you had come up with something, you don’t think you would’ve been able to utter anything with the way his tongue worked between your legs, devouring you of your essence.

“I would forsake blood for the rest of my days if it meant I could nourish myself only of your essence, my love,” he said between licks of you. “The Gods truly made you to ruin me; I could never move on from your taste, even if I wanted to.”

His hands surrounding your thighs and his nails digging in your flesh kept you in place as he continued to worship you, and no matter how much you wiggled, his hold on you held on, as if you were the first meal he was having in days and he wouldn’t let you go until he was sated.

Astarion recognized the signs of your unbecoming as your breathing started shaking and your legs tensed around his head, pushing him to tease you further.

“Are you gonna come for me now?” He smiled between your legs, “Come on, love. Come for me. Come on my tongue.”

The vibration of his humming as he continued to savour you only added to the feeling of his tongue, lapping at your entrance and sucking over your sensitive bud, and his nails digging deeper into your thighs added a delicious hint of pain. After weeks without any sex, you were sensitive to the slightest touch, and now there he was: tasting you, devouring you, wanting you; it was all too much.

“Ah… Astarion!”

Your head fell back against the rough floor of his tent as your back arched and stars clouded your vision. You knew how ironic it was to think so, but you had never felt more alive than you did at this very moment, with your devoted lover worshipping you like the goddess who had finally answered his prayers from all those years ago.

Your legs collapsed as he let go of them to move back up to face you, and he took this chance to hook your leg with his, pushing it upwards to create the perfect angle for him to place himself against your entrance.

Your half-lidded eyes met his, delirious with lust, and you wanted to express the feeling that had been weighing on you for too long now, but when his lips collided with yours and you tasted yourself, all those words got lost on his tongue exploring your mouth.

“I’ve waited so long to finally have you,” he said breathlessly against your lips. “I kept pushing back, thinking it was never the right time.”

He licked his lips, wiping off the string of saliva that connected your mouths. “When you disappeared… I thought I had lost my only chance. I’m done waiting around.”

He slowly pushed himself into you with a low groan as he felt your slickness wrap around him, and you threw your arms around his neck as you moaned into his ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So tight and warm, all for me. I would stay here inside of you for a decade if I could. You feel exquisite, my love.”

He retracted himself slowly, and plunged back in with the same agonising pace, taking in the feeling of your inside. “I’ll enjoy taking my time with you; discovering what makes you tick, tease every one of your sensitive spots. But tonight — I just want this: feeling you wrapped around me and to know that I’m the reason for your unbecoming.”

His pace accelerated, each thrust of his hips brushing against your clit as your bodies almost fused as one, pushing you closer to another edge already.

A particularly well placed thrust had you dig your nails into his back and he hissed into your ear, “Darling,” he panted, “Remind me to trim your nails when we’re done.”

You quickly realised what he meant when a poignant smell, stronger than the bergamot, brandy, and rosemary you smelled on him previously, invaded your nostrils and your mouth watered in response. What you didn’t realise was how you ended up breathing down his neck, just against the popping vein conveniently displayed for you to bite down on. Just one bite away from ecstasy.

“Still hungry, little love?”

You were snapped out from your daze by his voice purring into your ear, pulling away from his neck and blinking as you gained back control of your thoughts.

“I’m— It’s just— Your blood smells really, really good.”

He chuckled, “I tend to have that effect on people. Would you like a taste?”

You forced yourself to look into his eyes, “I… Are you sure?”

He smiled, “There’s nothing I’d like more, my love.”

His gaze reflected sincerity and you gulped as you found your way back in the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his sensitive skin. You licked the vein you had sensed earlier but didn’t push further. That’s when you felt the vibration of his chuckle, “Go on, darling. I can take it, I promise.”

With his permission, you pushed your small fangs right over the vein in his neck, relishing in the sudden flood of his crimson in your mouth.

Whatever you drank a few minutes ago was nothing compared to his blood. He was the source in a desert you had been roaming for days, one you couldn’t believe wasn't an illusion, and you drank, and drank, losing yourself in his neck, in his taste, the very essence that fueled him.

You couldn’t tell how much you had drank or how much time had passed when he growled and pinned your arms next to your head. His hips thrusting once, deeper into you and hitting your cervix is what makes you unlatch from his neck with a moan.

“I believe that’s enough, love. Now, let me taste you.”

His lips collided with yours hungrily as he increased his pace between your legs, and he groaned at the taste of himself on your lips, running his tongue across your small fangs.

“Fuck, I need you, I need to make you mine. I need—”

Something snapped within him, a side of him you couldn’t recall ever seeing — one that he could finally let go as he pushed your legs up, pinning them down across your chest and pounded deeper into you.

He growled into your ear as he desperately rutted into you, nearing the edge of his climax at the same time as yours, “I want you, I want you for the rest of our lives, please be mine, be mine, be mine!”

“I’m yours, I'm yours, I— I love you!”

You screamed as you came, his own orgasm following closely after yours, the wave of emotions clashing with the sparks of pleasure coursing throughout your body, and for a moment, you think you died and came back to life within the same minute. It was stronger than anything you remember feeling — even with your memories still scattered, you think you’d remember something as powerful.

It’s only when you came back to your senses and was met with Astarion’s soft, dumbfounded expression, that you realised what you had just said. Panic slowly made its way into your heart and you struggled to find the right words to correct yourself.

“I’m sorry— I—”

He didn’t allow you to finish that sentence, kissing you once more to steal away those thoughts of regret that faded instantly as he pulled back to speak.

“I love you too, darling.”

Your future was paved with incertitude; your memory wasn’t all there yet, but you remembered what was important for now, and if forgetting your past was the price to create new memories with him, it was a price you were willing to pay.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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