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[cherryandsugar]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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[cherryandsugar]

oh my GOD, this is so hot, well done!!!

Ravenous

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 4.4k tags/warnings: shameless smut, piv sex, oral sex, fingering, blood drinking, praise kink, multiple orgasms/overstimulation

summary: You part your legs for him without hesitation, wetness pooling between your thighs. Astarion hasn't even touched you yet and already you are dizzy with need, obedient without him even needing to ask for you to accommodate him. You would beg him for it if he asked you to. Astarion's voice has fallen to a conspiratorial whisper when he brings his lips close to your ear and asks, “You want to feel more than my fangs inside you, don't you?” ────────── Astarion is feeling particularly hungry tonight. And this time, he's craving more than just your blood.

AO3 ┊ masterlist

Pale light filters through the frost-encrusted windows, the panes of glass rattling as the winds outside buffet the tiny inn you and Astarion have chosen to take refuge in for the evening. Despite the raging storm outside your room, your senses are deafened to anything beyond your immediate vicinity; you hear only the steady, rhythmic drumbeat of your heart and the quiet sounds of pleasure Astarion makes as he takes his fill of you.

A satisfied sigh, a low hum of approval. The eager lap of his tongue against your heated skin. Tame by most standards, but unmistakable evidence of the sheer indulgence that is your blood and the satisfaction it brings him.

By now, the presence of his fangs barely register as anything more than a dull, familiar ache. You sit comfortably on the bed between his thighs, braced against his chest as he cradles the side of your head with an open palm. The fingers of his other hand lay entwined with your own and comfortably in your lap, anchoring you to one another.

Ever since the first time you offered Astarion your blood, the act has had a distinct intimacy about it, one that has grown even more profound as your relationship has developed.

What once were quiet, stolen moments of comfort in camp have become the foundation of your devotion to one another, the one thing you can provide him that no one and nothing else can – at least, not in this particular way.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't immediately notice the shift in your awareness, or the fatigue that ebbs through your body as Astarion continues to drink deeply from you. The feeling almost borders on euphoria, beckoning you to let go and sink into a deep slumber, but you manage to reign yourself in just before your eyes close completely.

He's probably taken more than he should, but you can't spare the effort that it would take to care. Astarion needs blood, and you are more than happy to provide it for him. A gentle squeeze of his hand is all it takes to alert him, and he swallows audibly one last time as he pulls away from your throat. 

With eyes half-hooded and dark as the wine you had downstairs, he looks as though he has just been roused from a deep sleep.

Your heart constricts in your chest as you catch a glance at him from the corner of your eye and turn to watch him. Even now, you still find yourself mesmerized by how beautiful he is, like a pale rose in bloom beneath the full moon.

The corners of his mouth are tinged a subtle pink, the same shade now creeping across the rest of his pallid complexion. You particularly notice the flush that colors the tips of his ears, a stark contrast against the soft white curls of his hair. Pressed up against him as you are, you can feel the change your blood brings to his body, little tendrils of the life and warmth you have so eagerly given him.

Astarion brushes a thumb over the remaining blood on his lips and licks it clean, turning his attention on you.

“You pilfered the extra sweetrolls.”

You're not sure what to make of the flatness of his tone, and when you meet his gaze his expression betrays very little of what he's thinking.

“The barkeep was closing up for the night,” you assert, “and they were just going to go to waste.”

The arts of stealth and sleight of hand have never quite been your strong suits, but during your travels with Astarion, you had come to realize their merits. He had been teaching you the proper ways of remaining undetected, though to somewhat mixed results. But you were trying your best – that even he had to admit.

And if you had happened to put his teaching to good use to steal yourself a couple extra snacks, what harm was there in that?

“And besides,” you add, “I thought you might enjoy the extra treat too.”

Astarion weaves his fingers through your hair, guiding your face up towards his own. His lips are soft against yours when he murmurs, “I'm not chastising you, darling. Merely observing.” You feel him grin as he says, “I'm honestly just impressed that you didn't get caught. Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.”

Before you can protest, he kisses you properly, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. Your part your lips with a heavy sigh, and you detect the distinct flavor of iron still lingering on his tongue as he explores your mouth. There's nothing else significant about the taste of your blood that you can detect, of course, but Astarion must have known the difference the moment he bit you.

When he pulls away, his eyes never leave your face, and you know him well enough by now to sense the thinly-veiled hunger in his gaze.

“You must know that your blood is always a treat.”

He says it almost absently, as if his thoughts are elsewhere. The tempo of your heart rises on instinct, and you know he can hear it when his hand slips from your own and travels over the hem of your nightgown, impossibly warm through the thin cotton fabric.

You swallow thickly, mouth parched as his fingers slip beneath the nightgown and begin to travel up, up, up.

“Although, I must admit, it's hardly the only part of you worth savoring.”

You part your legs for him without hesitation, wetness pooling between your thighs. Astarion hasn't even touched you yet and already you are dizzy with need, obedient without him even needing to ask for you to accommodate him.

You are aware of the press of his cock just below the small of your back, already half-hard beneath his pants. It only serves to excite you that much more, and when you adjust your hips slightly to allow him better access, the friction coaxes a low groan from him that sends a wave of arousal straight through your center.

It must only take moments for his hand to glide up the length of your thigh, but it feels like ages, anticipation building in you like a tightly wound spring about to snap. But instead of relief, you feel even more tense as his fingers press up against your soaked underwear, a maddening barrier between your bodies that you want nothing more than to tear away so that he might finally give you what you need.

You would beg him for it if he asked you to. 

Astarion's voice has fallen to a conspiratorial whisper when he brings his lips close to your ear and asks, “You want to feel more than my fangs inside you, don't you?”

You moan wantonly, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Y-yes…”

Your voice cracks around the single syllable, betraying your desperation.

"I thought so,” Astarion remarks with a low, rumbling laugh. He seems quite pleased with how easily he's gotten you worked up, the smug bastard. But gods, do you want him.

“How many fingers?”

Your breath hitches, and you clench around nothing at the thought alone.

"Two."

Astarion clicks his tongue in what sounds like admonishment, but his hand mercifully slips beneath your underwear nevertheless. He rewards you with a tantalizingly slow drag of his fingers between your slick folds, finally sliding the tip of one single finger inside you. You are so wet and aching for him that he meets little resistance, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure.

“I do so adore your enthusiasm,” he muses. “But you can take more for me, can't you?”

Despite the fog clouding your thoughts all but robbing you of your ability to speak, you manage to tell him, “I... I can try.”

Astarion presses a second finger into you, burying himself to the second knuckle.

“Good girl.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his fingers slowly pump inside you in a steady, deliberate rhythm, working you open with a tenderness he reserves only for you. The additional stimulation of the soft pad of his thumb against your clit has you seeing stars, and you instinctively buck your hips to seek more of that delicious friction.

“Astarion…”

Your tone implies so many things: your desire, your growing need for release, your adoration of how well he knows your body, an instrument he plays to perfection every time he touches you.

Astarion presses a third finger at your entrance, lavishing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the shell of your ear and the column of your neck.

“Are you ready, love? I want to hear you sing for me.”

“Yes,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider and inhaling a bracing breath. You've yet to take him like this, but you know he will make it good for you. He always does.

“Just relax,” he coos. The stretch of his third finger is an unfamiliar ache, but he eases inside you slowly, patiently, making sure you are comfortable. The pain is only temporary, swiftly replaced with indescribable pleasure, and soon his fingers are buried as deep as they can go.

You moan for him between panting breaths, caged against his body by the hand between your legs and his other hand, which palms and kneads your breasts over your disheveled nightgown. Experimentally, he crooks his fingers inside you, grazing the spot that punches a high, keening whine from your open mouth.

“There... that's it,” he praises you, repeating the gesture again, and then a third time, leaving you dizzy and breathless. All the while, you grind against him, lost in your mounting pleasure.

“How's that?”

His voice cuts through your arousal, tethering you to the present moment. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to form a coherent thought, but you grin mischievously when you tell him:

“Feels... good... but not nearly as good as your cock.”

Astarion tenses, the arm that encircles your torso tightening and pulling you firmly against his body.

“Careful,” he growls. “You have no idea what that wicked little mouth of yours does to me. I have half a mind to take you right now, to show you just how good I can be.”

You don't tell him that you know exactly what it does to him. You can feel the evidence of your teasing against your back, the way his hips stutter against you, making you all too aware of how hard his cock has suddenly become.

Perhaps it's the blood loss that makes you bold, but you don't hesitate to push him just a little further, eager to make him feel even a fraction of the overwhelming desire you've already experienced for him. You know he loves it, that fiery spark of yours.

“Then do it.”

Your voice is low, almost breathless as you say it, and not entirely on purpose. Because as much as you enjoy knowing it's taking everything he has not to make good on his word, the thought of him replacing his fingers with that lovely cock of his threatens to unravel you completely.

A moment of tense silence passes as Astarion seems to consider your suggestion. His fingers have stopped moving, and you furrow your brows in frustration, earning you a huff of laughter for your efforts.

“And rob you of an unforgettable evening of pleasure?” Astarion asks, feigning offense. “You must think me cruel.”

His thumb teases slow, purposeful circles around your clit, coaxing another moan from your lips. He isn't entirely wrong – as desperate as you are for your release, it would almost be a shame to end it all so anticlimactically. Astarion seems to be in agreement when he murmurs, “No, I plan to take my time with you. I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until the only remaining thoughts you have are of me and me alone.”

He punctuates his words with a series of slow, deep thrusts of his fingers inside you, and your hands fumble for purchase on his thighs, gripping tightly as if it's the only thing keeping you from toppling completely over the edge. It's barely enough.

“I'm yours, Astarion,” you tell him.

"I know, love,” he says tenderly, capturing your mouth in a brief yet searing kiss. His eyes darken, fangs gleaming behind the smirk that plays effortlessly across his face.

“And soon everyone in this dusty little inn will know it too.”

The hand on your breast slips beneath your nightgown and brushes over your bare skin, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan as he pinches your nipple between his fingertips. Embarrassment floods through you when you remember how thin the walls are, and that anyone in the neighboring rooms must already have heard your cries of pleasure.

“Don't be shy,” he insists, returning his attention to your neck as he increases the pace of his fingers inside you, slotting his mouth over the place he fed from you only minutes ago. The wet slide of his tongue against your skin and the way your cunt flutters around his fingers crashes against you in a wave of pure ecstasy, and this time you don't hold back as you cry out his name, your hips bearing down against him as you chase your pleasure.

 Astarion grins wickedly against your throat and makes a primal noise somewhere between a groan and a growl that ripples through your body.

“There you go. I knew you would be good for me.”

Heat pools low in your belly, enticing you closer and closer towards the sweet oblivion you seek. Every drag of his fingers makes you tremble, a messy string of whimpers tumbling from your lips.

You're thrusting against him now with only one thought on your mind, teetering on the razor thin edge between your desire for more of him and the overwhelming need to let him see just how good he makes you feel.

"You're close, aren't you?” Astarion purrs into your ear. “Let go – I've got you.”

It's all the encouragement you need, and you come hard around his fingers, even as they continue to thrust inside you. The walls of your cunt contract around him, and soon your body goes limp in his arms, your chest heaving as you surrender yourself completely to the current that washes away any thoughts that aren't Astarion, Astarion, Astarion.

Astarion murmurs praises against your skin as he kisses along your jaw, your shoulder, and when at last he slides his fingers out of you, you watch as he raises those same fingers to his mouth before slipping them past his lips to get a proper taste of you.

His eyes fall shut and he groans softly in your ear, cursing under his breath. He's drunk on the taste of you, and you know he wants more.

Reluctantly, Astarion untangles himself from you, and you lay back against the pillows expectantly. You watch him with rapt attention as he lifts his shirt over his head, exposing his pale, sculpted chest to your hungry gaze. His pants are discarded just as quickly, cast aside as soon as he can tug them off. Your eyes rove shamelessly over his body, and when at last they meet his, you almost lose yourself in the depths of his adoring gaze. A thousand shades of red you cannot name, roiling like the open ocean in a storm.

But there is one unmistakable thing you see: his hunger for you, so blatant in the way his eyes narrow and his mouth draws into a thin, taut line as he prowls towards you.

Within seconds he's straddling you on the mattress, pushing your nightgown up and over your thighs before he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear. He is growing impatient, and all but tears them off of you. You help him kick them aside, pinned by the intensity of his gaze as he admires your body and all the curves and imperfections he loves so much.

You manage to pull the nightgown over your head in the time it takes Astarion to sink between your thighs, propping himself up in his elbows as once again you part your legs for him. Overstimulated and exhausted as you are, you still ache with need, and when Astarion opens his mouth and runs his tongue over his fangs you clench hard enough that you feel the evidence of your arousal drip obscenely down your thighs.

“Gods above,” Astarion groans. “Look at you. You're absolutely soaking, aren't you?”

Your mouth falls slack, and you can't seem to find your voice. Your heart thunders as Astarion hooks his hand under the back of your knee and spreads you open, granting him unfettered access to you. You watch, almost hypnotic, as he presses his lips against the smooth expanse of your thigh, and you feel the distinct graze of his fangs as he nips at your skin. 

You're trembling again. Astarion kisses slowly up your thigh, stopping right before he reaches your center. “I love you like this,” he murmurs. His tone is low, husky, dripping with want.

“So eager for me. Completely debauched.”

“Please, Astarion…” you whimper. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

The last thing you see before Astarion buries his face between your slick folds is the sly, wolfish gleam in his eyes, and the instant his tongue touches you you throw your head back and ball your fists in the sheets. With your eyes closed, you become hyper-aware of him between your legs, every move he makes amplified exponentially.

It's simultaneously too much and not enough, and you moan his name obscenely as he teases your entrance, the tip of his nose rubbing against your oversensitive clit. You writhe beneath him, but he clamps a firm hand over your hips to hold you in place.

“Stay still,” he commands. You don't know how you find the willpower to obey, but you somehow manage, though only just. Every nerve ending in your body is alight; you feel weightless and unbound, helpless to do anything but whimper as Astarion feasts on you.

Astarion's tongue slips greedily inside your cunt, tasting your arousal, and he groans again as his hands grip you even tighter. His nails leave little crescent moons peppered across your skin, the grip he has on you nothing if not possessive. 

He means to claim every inch of you.

Emboldened by your pleading moans, Astarion lavishes his attention on you, bringing you swiftly to the precipice of another orgasm. With the flat of his tongue pressed against your aching center, he drags himself slowly upwards, stopping only once he's reached your clit and wraps his lips around it. His tongue swirls around the taut bundle of nerves, and your entire body shudders, overcome with a sensation you lack the words to describe.

Vaguely, you feel the way his hips jerk forward, unable to stop himself from rutting into the mattress as he loses himself in the taste of you. He grunts with every thrust, a low rumble in his chest, and the sound alone nearly undoes you completely.

Your hands are in his hair, weaving through his soft curls as you give them a gentle tug.

“Astarion,” you pant, “I – I'm going to –”

His movements quicken, intensifying the pressure building up inside you. And just when you think you can't take anymore, he flicks his tongue against your clit one last time and you shatter completely, a guttural moan tearing itself from your lips. He lets you clamp your thighs around his head as you ride out your second orgasm of the evening, hips bucking wildly as he guides you through it.

Your vision is hazy when you open your eyes and strain to look down at him. The sight of him, pupils-blown and his face slick with your arousal, is an image you immediately commit to memory.

As he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, Astarion sits back on his calves, eyes trained on you. You can feel his gaze raking slowly over your body, admiration and his devotion to you barely concealing the insatiable desire he no longer has the patience to withhold.

You catch him reaching down to fist his cock, still flushed an enticing shade of pink from his earlier feeding. A fat bead of precum glistens at its tip, and he hisses softly as his fingers brush against it.

“You need it, don't you?” he says, pumping himself. “My cock, buried deep inside you, filling you with every thrust.”

He must be imagining it himself; every time his hand glides up his length, he hisses through clenched teeth, fangs digging into his lower lip as his eyes fall half-closed.

“And my mouth... What about that, darling? I'm not quite finished tasting you yet.”

You watch him reverently, transfixed by his every movement. Your voice is raw and strained when you reply, “Oh, gods... Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Astarion huffs a laugh and leans forward, his cock slipping through your slick folds. You can feel the blunt head teasing your entrance, not quite pushing inside, though at this point it would take no effort for him to do so. His willpower must be immense. It's far stronger than yours, at any rate, and you cant your hips upward, whimpering when the head of his cock slips inside you just far enough for you to feel how hard he really is.

“Greedy little thing aren't you?” he says, his eyes darkening. He steadies himself with a hand on your hip and hovers over you, lowering his mouth until he's just above your lips.

“How lucky for you that I'm feeling exceptionally generous tonight.”

He kisses you fiercely now, all tongue and teeth, and you taste yourself again as he coaxes your mouth open.

“How about here?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You roll your hips against him again, but he remains infuriatingly still. When he tears his lips from yours, he peppers kisses along your jaw, tracing a searing path down the curve of your neck.

“Or here?”

His tongue sweeps over the bite on your neck, hard enough to reopen the wound he left before. He laps at the trickle of blood and swallows.

“Or perhaps…”

Astarion leaves more kisses across your bare skin, and you know well before he reaches his destination what he plans to do. Your entire body seizes with anticipation, amplifying the pleasure that lances through you like lightning when his mouth finds your nipple and he takes it into his mouth, biting gently on the taut bud.

“Yes!”

Your back arches off the mattress as you cry out, and Astarion finally slams himself inside you, burying himself immediately to the hilt. He wastes no effort to be gentle with you, his hips snapping forward as he fucks into your tight, wet heat with almost reckless abandon. As you expected, his fingers were nothing compared to the delicious stretch of his cock as he bottoms out, again and again and again with each thrust. Every drag of his cock is pure ecstasy, and if not for your delirious state you know you might easily come again from just this alone.

You hear him moan, low and primal in the back of his throat, and you know he won't last long. His fangs are against your skin once more, pressed against the upper part of your breast, and you have only to whimper a quiet, “yes,” before he sinks them into you yet again.

It isn't about the blood – although you won't find him complaining. Rather, he's marking you as his, in a place that only you will see. It isn't the first time he has done so, but it never quite loses its thrill. You bear the marks of his passion all over your body, anywhere and everywhere he's put his hands or his mouth upon you.

“Astarion…” you breathe, wrapping your legs around the small of his back with what little strength you have left. Astarion pulls away from you just enough to grab your hands, interlacing your fingers as he lifts your hands to either side of your head.

“Again,” he growls. “Louder.” He pistons into you, hard and deep, the head of his cock hitting just the right spot to nearly drive you mad. It feels so good you almost forget your own name, let alone his.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name on your lips has a profound effect on him, as does the way your cunt clenches greedily around his cock, and his hands grip yours more tightly as he fucks you even harder. The wet slap of skin on skin intermingles with your shared pants and moans, and you've long since lost track of where your body ends and his begins. 

“Astarion!”

The steady rhythm of his hips staggers only slightly, but you know he's all but reached his limit. A sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, his hair limply hanging over his face. But through it all, his eyes still find yours, burning intensely as the hells themselves.

“...fuck –!”

Your name is on his lips like a prayer as he tumbles headfirst into his release, groaning as he spends himself inside you and buries his face into your neck. His hips jerk forward sporadically as he rides out the rest of his climax, not quite willing to pull out even a moment too soon.

As exhausted as you are, you don't complain when he practically collapses on you, his stamina equally spent. All the while, he never lets go of your hands.

He has made good on his word, and you don't have the strength left even to pull him into your arms, and when you try to move it feels as though you're treading through deep water.

“You're going to be the death of me, darling,” you hear Astarion murmur, his face still pressed against the hollow of your throat.

You laugh quietly, and point out the obvious: “You're already dead, Astarion.”

With some effort, he lifts you up and into his lap, arms encircling you in a loose embrace that is the only thing still keeping you upright. You hook your arms clumsily over his shoulders, grinning as he leans forward to capture your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

“And yet” he remarks, parting from your mouth only as far as he needs to for you to hear him speak. “I've never felt more alive than I do right now.”

[cherryandsugar]

Does this count as finger food?

We all know where those fingers were.

I was wanting to practice color theory

[cherryandsugar]

Corpse

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Redeemed!Durge!Reader

Genre: Angst w/ a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

WC: 3,688

Warnings: MAJOR DURGE SPOILERS, blood and death, canon level violence, magical sedation, slight canon noncompliance, Y/N used exactly once

Requested by @gourmetcheese24 "Can I make a request where Astarion goes down during a fight and dies and Tav stays with his body for several days - the rest of the party unable to remove her. Maybe at this point Withers is away from camp. But when he returns he revives Astarion… super super angsty but with a sweet ending please!"

Bhaal’s will was clear. Only a one on one duel, a fight to the death, with Orin the Red would satisfy him. A battle for his favor, not that you wanted it, could free you from his grasp. But Orin had gone too far. She had taken your one and only love, your Astarion. And she would pay. Even in her monstrous slayer form, nothing could shake your resolve as you faced her down in the bowels of her disgusting temple. Shadowheart, Karlach and Lae’zel stood at your back as a wall of magic encircled the central platform. And just as Orin’s metamorphosis ended, and her massive insectile body towered over yours, the battle began.

Everything you’d done, all the lives you had saved  since surviving the Nautiloid crash had led to this moment. Fighting your Urges, discovering your true origin and your part in the creation of the Absolute, had led to this moment. Not only were you fighting to free Astarion from your wretched sister, but you were also fighting for yourself. Fighting to free yourself from Bhaal’s clutches, so that you and Astarion might live. The only thing standing between you and your happy ending was Orin (and an all-powerful Elder Brain, but that could be dealt with later).

Her offense was impressive, using her many appendages to rake your flesh and draw your blood. But rage is a weapon in itself, and no claws could match the sharpness of your fury. You met her every strike, cleaving limb from thorax as your friends looked on with bated breath. With a cruel swipe, her claws rend your legs and you fall beneath her, blood pooling beneath you. Faintly, you hear your companions shout at you to get up, to keep fighting. Orin raises her arms above her head, ready to land a killing blow. With your last ounce of strength you thrust your sword up into her stomach, halting her attack. She reels backward, and when her final breath is stolen, and her form collapses, she begins to… laugh? 

She drags her half-corpse backwards on her arms, screeching with each step as she mounts the sacrificial platform. Astarion lays helplessly beneath her. You struggle to get up, slipping on your own blood and falling back to the ground. You can’t even follow her on your ruined legs as you watch in horror. She raises her arm, and plunges her dagger into Astarion’s chest before exploding into a puddle of gore. Astarion seizes for a split second, his body waking only to die. You try to drag yourself to him as he gasps… and goes still.

“...no,” you whisper, as the magical barrier that surrounded your arena dissipates and your companions rush to your side. Karlach helps you to stand and you try to stagger over to Astarion. She halts as Scleritas Fel climbs over his body to address you, and you slump against her. You can only stare at Astarion’s lifeless corpse as he begins to speak.

“He… is near… He comes for you,” your butler gasps before a dagger erupts from his chest. His body is lifted from the ground, as even more phantom daggers pierce through him and he floats before you. A fresh puddle of blood gathers on the floor at your feet. His reflection in the blood stands upright, it’s eyes glowing a punishing red as they land on you.

“Child of slaughter…” it growls, “I come to give you your inheritance…” you blink back at it, trying to back away. Karlach holds you firm, not because she wants to force you to confront your father, but because she knows it must be done. She squeezes your arms in reassurance. You do not face your father alone, no matter how isolated you might feel.

“I have a gift for you Child… You will use it to lacerate this world,” he commands. But you want no gift from him. The only gift you could possibly want at this moment is Astarion, returned to you. Tears well in your eyes as you try to find your strength. You swallow the lump in your throat before you tear your gaze away from Astarion to meet the eyes of your father.

“I need no further gifts,” your voice shakes, “You have tainted me enough,” you whisper. This defiance may be your last act, but your life has already been damned. What difference does it make if you are damned in death?

“You refuse me?” Bhaal seethes, “You are my spawn, your veins course with my unholy blood. Your life is mine. Accept your inheritance or I will reclaim it.”

You bow your head, Karlach squeezes your side again and you nudge her back as you regain your footing and stagger to stand on your own. If this is to be your fate, then so be it. Who were you to think you could deny Bhaal and live to tell the tale? Without Astarion, would you even want to? Grief and pain cloud your judgment as you raise your head to speak your final words, “I don’t need any of this. I don’t need you. The only family I know are those that fight by my side.” 

And as soon as you reject him, a tingle in your arm erupts into a burning, searing pain. Your breath constricts as he speaks again, “You were made to conquer. To devour,” he growls. You fall to your knees as your breath fades, unable to draw in fresh air as your ribcage tightens around your organs. Your lungs scream as your heartbeat races, trying desperately to keep your body from shutting down. A searing headache blazes across your skull, but your arms are useless at your side as you try to hold your head against the pain.

“You reject my blood, so I will reclaim it.”

Your body rises from the ground, levitating in Bhaal’s cruel grasp. Before you can desperately cry out for help, you feel your bones shatter. It begins in your limbs, your legs and arms twisting into cruel, unnatural shapes before your ribs finally crack and shatter. And it ends with your skull, caving in on itself. The last thing you hear before the light fades is your father promising, “I will make another who is worthy…”

~~~

When you wake, Withers stands above you. You heave and cough as the breath returns to your tired lungs. You look up at him from where you kneel on the unforgiving stone of your former temple, “What… are you?” you gasp.

“Most of the time, a mere observer. But thine circumstances are extraordinary, and so art thou. Mine intervention is rare, and shall be dealt with,” he begins to glow with a golden light, “And now I must answer for my defiance, just as thou hast answered for thine own…” 

The glow intensifies until it reaches a blinding peak. You shut your eyes against the onslaught, shielding them with your arms before the light flashes and disappears. And when you open your eyes, Withers is gone with it. 

But Withers is the least of your concerns. Your Urge is gone, but so is your love. On freshly healed legs, you scramble to your feet and rush over to the altar. Astarion had been a corpse for a long time. About 200 years in fact. Longer than you’ve known him. But in all that time you’d never thought of him as a corpse. How could you, with his witty remarks and self-assured smirk? 

But now, before you, he’d never looked more dead, despite his two centuries of undeath. It had all happened so fast, before you could truly process it. And now, your love was dead before your very eyes. Well and truly dead. Stabbed through the heart by Orin’s cruel red dagger before you’d managed to stop her. You grasp at his cold hand, turning behind you.

“Shadowheart! Please, do something!” you beg, nearing hysteria.

She wastes no time, joining you at his side as a soft blue glow envelops her hands. She places them over his unbeating heart and whispers a prayer. You watch the magical energy pass from her into him, but nothing happens. You hold your breath as you wait, watching as she furrows her brows.

“I don’t understand, that should have worked,” she sounds unsure of herself before trying again, this time with a scroll, reading the incantation over his body. The scroll glows and disintegrates, just as they have when used in the past, but Astarion still does not rise.

“What’s going on?” your breath hitches as you look wildly between your three companions. In your desperation you didn’t notice the crowd of Bhaalists observing your distress until they began to cackle and laugh around you. The one closest to you catches his breath for a moment to torment you further.

“You know what this is,  you fool. That blade was once yours after all,” he taunts as his laughter bubbles up again. “The lash of Bhaal!” he shrieks, “You cannot be revived from its strike,” he chokes out through his smile.

All words are lost to you as a desperate cry strangles you. The Bhaalists laugh harder at your anguish, but you don’t hear them. You don’t hear Shadowheart try to revive Astarion once more, despite its futility. You can’t feel Lae’zel try to pull you away from his corpse as Karlach moves to unshackle his body and carry him away. Even as you struggle against her, heaving sobs tear themselves from your chest. Hysteria has truly claimed you this time. It was not the Urges that drove you to madness, but the loss of the person who helped turn you away from them. As you grasp and grab at Astarions hand, begging him to wake up, you feel a wave of calming energy pass over you before you once again lose consciousness, and the world fades to black.

~~~

When you wake in your bed at the Elfsong Tavern you are not alone. Jaheira sits beside you as she has done on so many nights before, guarding you and your friends from the Urges that tried to rule you. You sit up slowly, and rub your eyes, trying to sort through your memories. 

So much had happened since you last slept in your bed, but nothing could erase the cold dread that settled in your stomach when you remembered what had befallen your love. Your breath hitches, and Jaheira places a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Easy now,” she soothes, “You are safe.”

“No, no forget that,” your voice scratches on your throat, “Astarion, where is he?” you demand.

Jaheira takes a measured breath, considering her words before responding, “His body is resting in Stelmane’s room. We are waiting for the skeleton to return, to see if he can revive him.”

“If!?” you shout, “No. No, I need to see him, there must be something we can do,” you rip the blanket from your legs and scramble off of your bed. Jaheira tries to push you back, but you brush her off. She follows at your heels as you tear through the common area of your suite, drawing attention from your other companions on the way. Wyll tries to grab your arm but you shake him off harshly, barreling towards the door before Karlach blocks it, standing directly in your path, arms crossed and face pained.

“Trust me, Soldier, you don’t want to see him like this,” she reasons.

“What do you mean?” your voice shakes, fear settling in your gut like a stone.

“You’ve been out for two days. He’s not…” she begins.

“He doesn’t look like himself,” Jaheira finishes.

“Two days?” you cry, “And Withers hasn’t returned?” a headache begins to form behind your eyes as the inconsistencies start to build up, “How did I even get back here? Why did I sleep for so long?” you all but beg.

Your friends share worried glances between each other, which confuses you even more.

“What aren’t you telling me?” your voice is a whisper. Shadowheart sighs as she takes your hand. Against your better judgment, you allow her to lead you to the seating area around the fireplace. The party follows close behind as you all find seats on the couches and chairs in the center of your suite.

Shadowheart sits right beside you, continues to hold your hand as she begins to explain, “Back in the Temple, you were inconsolable. We had to leave, so I did what I needed to do. I used Feign Death so Lae’zel could carry you here. Karlach took Astarion and we returned.”

You shot her an icy glare, “Feign Death doesn’t last two days,” you bite.

“No,” she admits, “But you needed to heal. Withers may have revived you, but Bhaal destroyed your body. That kind of damage doesn’t repair itself overnight. So, I kept you sedated, I placed you in a healing sleep while I tended to Astarion.”

“But you said he was…” your voice cracks and fails before you can finish your thought. Before you can say the word… dead. 

She rubs soothing lines on your back before replying, “He is. But if he is to be revived, we have to maintain his body. Gale and I have been using our magic to prevent his… decay.”

Tears well in your eyes as a crushing pressure grips your heart, “Then why can’t I see him?” you choke out as the tears begin to fall in earnest. As soon as the words leave your mouth your head droops and silent sobs rack your body. Your group is silent as you weep, the only noise coming from your sniffles and gasps for breath.

“I… I can’t do this without him,” you cry to no one in particular. “So much of me is missing, I can’t even remember who I was before him,” you begin to babble through your tears, I– I can’t… I,” you trail off.

Shadowheart shushes you, bringing you into a hug as she tries to comfort you. 

“Please, can I just sit with him until Withers returns?” you beg them, hoping against hope that they won’t take that from you. Not after so much has already been stolen from you.

Gale is the next to speak up, “Time passes differently in the Outer Planes, we can’t know for sure how long it will be before Withers returns.” he warns.

“Please” you whisper, crying softly to your friends. They look around at each other once more, communicating silently before coming to a decision.

“Very well,” Shadowheart whispers, standing up with you, never once removing her comforting hold from your shoulders. Gale holds the door for the two of you as you walk across the hall to the room Duke Stelmane was murdered in, now the home of your murdered love. The rest of your group stays behind so as not to crowd you. At the sight of him, your quiet sobs devolve into full-blown wails of grief.

His chest in bare, shirt removed to expose the singular stab wound just above his heart. It has been thoroughly cleaned, but it will not heal… not until he is brought back to you. The circles under his eyes are somehow darker, a purple so deep it is practically black. His fingers are blue as stagnant blood pools beneath the skin. You fall to your knees before him, grabbing his hand, but startling at how stiff it sits. The joints resist your movement as you pull it towards your chest, only forcing you to sob harder. Never has he been so still. But in that moment, you decide, you will not leave his side until he wakes. And maybe not even after that.

After a while, a few minutes… or maybe hours, Gale and Shadowheart try to pull you to your feet, remove you from his side and return you to bed. But you refuse. You shake your head, and plant yourself down. You will not budge, and you tell them as much. You will not leave.

They sigh, almost in unison, before quickly discussing a solution. Gale will watch over you tonight after casting a freezing spell to preserve Astarion’s body. And Shadowheart will take his place in the morning.

This alternating schedule continues for days. Shadowheart and Gale take the majority of the watch shifts, occasionally replaced by your other companions when they return from adventuring in the city. You don’t eat, you barely sleep, only occasionally nodding off from your place on the floor beside him. When Wyll brings you a plate of fruit to snack on, served with a concerned glance, it sits untouched beside you. The only thing on your broken mind is Astarion.

It takes a total of five days for Withers to return from the Outer Planes. He tried to explain where he was when you presented him with a small bag of coin, but he may as well have been talking to the wall. It doesn’t matter to you why he was gone, but you can tell that Shadowheart and Gale are listening with rapt attention as he explains. The four of you stand around Astarion’s body, and you cast your eyes downward as he begins his chant, striking Astarion’s name from the archives and commanding him to rise. A gust of wind passes over you, the curtains swish softly and a faint gasp sounds from the center of the room. You raise your eyes just in time to see Astarion jerk and shoot upwards, grasping at his chest and coughing violently.

You’re with him before he can utter a word, rubbing his back in an effort to soothe his panic. He flinches away from your touch. You recoil, holding your hands up beside you to prove you mean no harm, “Sorry, I’m sor–”

He cuts you off, “What… the bloody hells happened?” his voice is hoarse as he demands answers. He pats himself down as if to prove to himself that he still draws breath, looking around frantically, eyes wild. Your mouth hangs open, trying to find a way to explain what had happened before Shadowheart steps in. She really had been your rock throughout this whole ordeal.

“Y/N should be the one to explain. The two of you have a lot to catch up on,” she murmured, patting your back before directing Gale to follow her out of the room. And then you were alone. Astarion was alive and well before you, and you struggled to find the words to express what you had been through. It must have shown on your face, because his agitation was quickly replaced with concern as he takes one of your hands in his own. Briefly, you recall a similar moment, days ago, when you grasped his cold, stiff hand and wept over him.

As tears begin to gather on your waterline, you take a deep breath, attempting to compose yourself. He waits patiently for you to begin, trying to provide as much comfort as he can muster.

“You were dead,” you begin in a whisper, “You died, and so did I.” His grip on your hand tightens at the mention of your own death.

“Orin took you… she used you as bait, to force me to fight her. It was… a fight to the death for Bhaal’s favor, and I won,” you breathed, pausing for a moment.

Astarion speaks up softly before you can continue, “If you won, then why did we die?”

You shudder at the memory, “In her final moments, she crawled over you and killed you with her dagger, and you can’t be brought back from that, not by the normal means,” a steady stream of tears began to fall down your cheeks. Astarion uses one of his hands to wipe them away, silently encouraging you to continue.

“Once she was dead, Bhaal appeared to us in the temple. He tried to name me his Chosen, but I refused him, I turned down his power just like you turned down the Ascension. I wanted us to be free, together,” the last word was a sob, ripped from your throat.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay love,” Astarion soothes as he pets your hair, bringing you closer to him and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You lean into him, tucking your head into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“But… but he said I was his, and he killed me for rejecting him. Withers brought me back, but he said he had to ‘answer for his defiance’ and he was gone. Shadowheart put me to sleep for two days. When I woke, Withers was still gone. He has been gone… for five days.”

The arm around your shoulder rubs up and down your arm as he processes his own death. You can practically hear the cogs turning in his head before he whispers, “I’ve been dead for a week?” he asks.

You sniffle and nod against his shoulder. He laughs for a brief moment before trying to reassure you, “It certainly doesn’t feel like it, I feel quite refreshed actually.”

You laugh silently against him before he continues, “You, however, look like you’ve been trampled by a tarrasque. Tell me darling, when was the last time you slept?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit.

He chuckles, and you relish the feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath your head. He pauses for a moment before reassuring you, “Truly darling, I feel just fine. But you clearly do not. Let’s get you some food and a nice long nap, hmm?”

You nod again, your eyes already beginning to droop in the comfort of his hold. With his body seemingly returned to full strength, he stands before you, offering his hand to help you. You take it gratefully, and he squeezes your hand, almost as if to prove that he is real. He pulls you up and together you walk back into your party’s shared suite, eager to spend a night wrapped in each other’s arms, able to truly rest for the first time in a week.

~~~ A/N: HI! This is my longest published fic yet! Super special thanks to @gourmetcheese24 for the request, and to those who also sent in requests, fear not! I am working on them! As always, if you enjoyed please be sure to let me know! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me, I love reading each and every one. If you find any mistakes please let me know, I have been working on this with all my spare time for two days straight now and I just want to hit the little post button I'm so excited. Anyway, bye bye, x

[cherryandsugar]

~~ navigation ~~

okay so this used to exclusively be a fic recommendation page, but i've started publishing my own fics, so here are the links to various posts until i decide that i need to make a dedicated masterlist.

FIC REC. MASTERPOST

my writing: Blame ~ Astarion x Reader/Tav "A grievous injury leaves Tav incapacitated, and as the party struggles to heal her, Astarion blames himself for her pain."

Long Day ~ Astarion x Reader "Reader and their companions return from a long day in the city. Astarion is there to make sure they get the rest they need!"

[cherryandsugar]

hi friends!! i’ve never done this before, but i’m caught up on work, and have the whole weekend ahead of me… i’m in a writing mood, so if anyone would like to send in Astarion requests, please do so!!!

[cherryandsugar]

Hey so this interaction is devastating

[cherryandsugar]

hey friends, poc belong in fandom spaces, that is all 💕💕

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

[cherryandsugar]

please dear god someone boop me, i want the pretty badges

[cherryandsugar]

i’m dying over here, this is so soft and sweet… he deserves it

Need

Summary: Astarion is desperate and needy, Tav takes care of him

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (gn!reader)

Warnings: nsfw, subby! Top Astarion, nipple play (male receiving), begging, praise, cream pie (so breeding if you squint)

Word count: 800

A/N: If this is in anyway awful, I blame it on the wine I drank while writing it.

It only really occurred when he was stressed, whether it be about the tadpoles, or Cazador, didn’t matter. He never explicitly verbalized it, but you had your suspicions that it came from the need to feel taken care of whilst still having some semblance of control in the matter. So after a long and arduous day of following dead end leads, that were supposed to be the answer towards everyone’s parasite, Astarion seeks out relief in the way that he’s rediscovering for himself. Which has led the two of you to seek each other’s comfort in the reprieve of his tent.

Your hands brush up his sides, pushing his ruffled shirt up and over his head, fingertips trailing back down his rib cage, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he discards it to the side. Astarion leans forward, guiding you to lay down on his bedroll, barely breaking the kiss that he had initiated. He needs this, his body craves it. To feel taken care of. To feel mindless, free to not think about the stress that paints each passing day of their lives as of late.

He sighs into your mouth, tongue curling around yours, wet and desperately searching. Searching for the heavenly distraction that is needing you. There’s the momentary press of his knee forwards, making space for him to kneel between your awaiting thighs. Your fingers delicately trail back up his sides before venturing across his chest, gently brushing against his nipples which earns a whine from the back of his throat and a cant of his hips against your own.

“You like that, huh?” you murmur against his plush, kiss-swollen lips.

He nods fervently, eyes fluttering shut as you continue to toy with him, gently pinching the buds between thumb and forefinger.

“Use your words, Star.” It’s no secret that this turns Astarion into a puddle before you even think about touching him anywhere else, and it nearly makes his heart beat again when you actively keep him present in the moment. That you make sure he voices what he wants in all of this.

He swallows, words barely making it past his lips before he moans, “Mmhm. Yes, I like it.” His brain is mush already, overwhelmed by your hands touching him so gently, and his painfully hard cock pressing against the confines of his trousers. You realize that the usually boisterous elf seems almost… shy. His cheeks and the tips of his ears ruddy with the blood he supped on earlier from you.

He drops his face to the crook of your neck, soft kisses press to your skin, just below the clotted punctures and faint bruise that he left earlier. He quietly huffs against your neck, mindlessly rutting his hips against the apex of your thighs.

“Tell me what it is that you want, my love.” Your voice croons against the shell of his flushed ear, fingers running through his soft curls.

”Please- need to be inside you.” He thrusts forwards, mindlessly seeking pressure against his arousal. Gods is he desperate, his voice on the verge of whiny.

“Take what you need.”

In an almost frantic state, Astarion strips the rest of your clothing off before discarding his trousers and undergarments. The moment his cock nudges against your entrance, he’s biting his bottom lip, stifling the sounds threatening to spill past his lips. He leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, face against the juncture of your shoulder and neck as he breaches your entrance, a soft sigh meeting your flesh. He almost loses himself, completely overwhelmed by finally filling you. Your very essence completely envelopes him, legs wrapping around his waist, one arm around his shoulders, and the other hand gently holding his head close.

Always making sure he knows, ”You’re so good to me Star.”

He whimpers, hips picking up and thrusting into you. One of his hands moves to grip one of your thighs, pushing it towards your chest to get impossibly deeper. All he feels is you, and all he wants is for you to only feel him too.

“Please- please let me come.” He pants, “Wanna fill you so bad.”

“Come for me, love.” You press a kiss against his temple.

A string of soft moans and whines leave him, and his flushed ears twitch as he empties himself deep inside, hips pressing tightly against yours so he reaches as deep as possible.

As he comes down from his high, he pulls out and rolls to the side, laying his head against your chest, “You didn’t come.” He states.

”Tonight was about you.” You tell him, fingers mindlessly dancing across his shoulders, soothing him further. All he deserved was to be taken care of

[cherryandsugar]

safe in your arms~ A 3D Render where Tav is sleeping peacefully in Astarions protective and loving arms..

[cherryandsugar]

Long Day

Pairing: Astarion x gn!unnamed!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort/No Hurt

WC: 986

Warnings: Set in Act 3 (minor spoilers, seriously so minor), reader is tired

Summary: Reader and their companions return from a long day in the city. Astarion is there to make sure they get the rest they need!

image from @/dailyastarionpics

The day had been long, so terribly long. It seemed every stranger you passed on the street wanted a piece of you, leaving barely a moment to recuperate. You must have fought off three different groups before finally you, Karlach, Halsin, and Shadowheart trudged your way back to the Elfsong Tavern. The stress and strain of the day seemed to melt off your shoulders as you shrugged off your armor, ignoring it as it clattered to the floor.

Now comfortable in your camp clothes, you made your way from your own bunk to Astarion’s. He was in a state much unlike your own; he was calm… relaxed in the safety of camp, where he had spent the day. His back was turned to you as he carefully cleaned his dagger, armor long forgotten in a pile near his bed.

“You should ask Lae’zel to sharpen that,” you suggested, briefly breaking his focus.

“Hah! No thank you darling, she has enough blades as it is,” he retorted before sheathing the dagger and turning his full attention to you, “Is there something you wanted to talk about my dear?”

You shifted slightly, “Not really, I just… wanted to spend some time with you…”

His gaze softened from playful to affectionate at your admission. “Well, that can certainly be arranged. Come here, darling,” he held his hand out to you and you took it, smiling softly at him as he gently pulled you into his room. He led you to sit on his bed before he briefly turned to retrieve a decanter of water.

“You look tired, love. What happened out there?” his voice was soft, as he urged you to drink.

“It was just a lot of little things,” you sighed before taking a sip. When you were finished he took the glass from you, setting it on his bedside table.

“Nothing too dangerous I hope?” his voice was light and airy, but his eyebrows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were turned down. He was worried. Trying to not let on to it, but worried all the same.

“No, just a basement full of rats, an angry counselor, and a shapeshifting serial killer,” you recounted, chuckling at the hilarity of your various enemies.

“Oh well if that’s all…” he lilted, before climbing into bed beside you, sitting up against the headboard. He held his arms open expectantly, “Come here, let me hold you, love.”

With a grateful smile, you crawled up to meet him. His hand found your cheek before he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. He sighed sweetly into you before turning your body to lay your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, a comforting pressure that kept you as close as possible. He leaned over your shoulder to plant a gentle kiss to your cheek, somehow softer than the previous one.

You melted into him, relaxing your tense muscles and allowing him to support you. Your hands came up to rest atop his as he lavished you with his attention, kissing down your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, before he finally stopped with a sigh.

“You really should take me with you more often, my love,” he whispered. His cool breath tickled your ear as it danced across your skin. You shuddered ever so slightly at the sensation and felt Astarion smile into your skin.

“You needed a break,” you whispered back.

“And what about you, darling?” he pressed, “When do you get a break?”

You paused for a moment, reflecting on his words. You never did get to take a break, did you? Every morning your ragtag group of companions looked to you for direction. Every day they waited for you to decide who would venture out. Every day they followed you into battle.

You were surprised you hadn’t noticed yourself. There was no formal decision to put you in charge, no team meeting wherein your traveling party appointed you as the leader. It just sort of happened. It was natural. But that also meant that you never really stopped to rest. Everyone else would take turns out in the field, while you pushed ever onward.

After taking a moment to think, your response was tense. Unsure, even.

“I— Well, I suppose I’ll take a break once we’ve gotten these tadpoles out.”

Astarion hummed behind you, his chest rumbled against your back as he contemplated your words. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and it gave you the somewhat urgent need to fill that silence.

“Don’t worry about me, all we have to do is save the world and then I’ll be able to relax,” you joked, trying to lighten his mood.

He huffed a laugh behind you, but his hesitance to speak was a clear enough message: You shouldn’t push yourself like this.

“It’s hard not to worry when it comes to you,” he admits. His voice is soft, soft enough that a light breeze could carry his words away, but you hear him all the same.

You don’t know what to say in return, so you opt to stay silent. You slouch ever further against him, eyes begging to droop closed. As if he can sense your fatigue, Astarion rubs soothing circles over your stomach.

“Rest now my love, I’ll be here when you wake.”

And rest you did, drifting peacefully into the night while your lover kept watch over your tired form. His embrace never faltered as he gazed lovingly down on you, fast asleep in his arms. Tomorrow, he would have a little chat with your fellow companions about the unfair burden you carried and the weight of your responsibility. But tonight? Tonight he protected your peace. Tonight he admired how smooth your face was as you slept, your usually furrowed brows gone soft. Tonight he was the only guardian you should need in sleep.

~~~

Author’s Note: hi again!!! just a short little drabble that was supposed to go a different way but ended up becoming this. i hope you enjoyed!! and if you did please consider reblogging/leaving a comment, they mean the world to me! criticism is also greatly appreciated. also if you liked this you might like the other astarion piece i’ve written (linked here). if you read this far thank you so much ily and you deserve a lil kiss

[cherryandsugar]

Full uncensored version is here

[cherryandsugar]

Heard you r lookin for some Astarion requests 😗

Do you do HCs? Would love some of Astarion with a touch starved Tav!!

If not, have a nice day, and good luck writing!!!

Oh I love this! In my personal opinion Astarion becomes a tactile little freak when he gets comfortable with your relationship so this is exactly my kind of prompt. I hope you don't mind drabble type headcanons, I don't really enjoy bullet lists. Enjoy, anon! And have a nice day too~

| GN!Reader, Astarion/Reader, Fluff, Drabble, SFW, No use of Y/N, No content warnings |

He tensed immediately as he waited, dreading for your touch to trail up his arm and then to the lacing of his collar to undress him. Waiting and waiting for you to seek out your half of the deal, but it never came. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles as your fingers curled into his and slipped into his hand, seeking comfort and reassurance during what was admittedly a rather intimate situation. Astarion returned the gesture, albeit hesitantly.

The first time Astarion clues onto your desire for contact, is the first time you let him feed from you after that initial night he'd tried to bite. As his nose was pressed against your warm skin, drawing sips of the rich crimson from your veins into his mouth he felt your hand brush against where his was flat against the ground of his tent.

It becomes routine as your arrangement continues, though it never goes further than gently holding your hand for a while.

But when he truly notices your craving for affection, he jumps on it, intending to exploit this little feature of yours. He pets your hair as he purrs false words of affection in your ear, tucking a stray strand back into place. He takes every opportunity to brush his hand against your arm, your shoulder, resisting the urge to smirk when he sees gooseflesh rise across your skin and the way your eyes soften as you look at him. All of his touches with you remain explicitly flirty, to further seduce you and pull you into his thrall.

Then he catches himself falling for you and no longer can he continue doing what he had been.

As your relationship unfolds, now truly all cards on the table, you start seeking him out. You brush your fingers against his as you walk or sit shoulder to shoulder with him by the campfire as he reads. Astarion would never admit that watching your sleepy eyes glaze over as your head lulls against his shoulder is his favourite part of the evening, especially as he lowers himself just enough that your cheeky can rest comfortably nestled into his collarbone. His petting becomes sincere and gentle, now touching you with his whole hand rather than just his fingertips as his repulsion to such contact slowly eases.

"Oh little love," Astarion purrs as he pulls away from your neck, swallowing down the last mouthful of your blood. He cups your cheek and watches as you instinctively press yourself into his hand and grasp his wrist, "look at you, perfect in my hands."

Astarion leans down and kisses your forehead, lingering just an extra moment because he knows how much you crave every caress he gives. He knows, and he understands, because slowly he finds himself craving your touch too, welcoming every moment he can have you in his arms, relishing the way your warm skin feels against the coldness of his own, both in bed and outside of it.

Especially outside of it. The vampire relishes how your affection isn't strictly sexual in nature. Astarion is enamoured that you seek to touch him purely for touch itself. Your hands themselves seem to warm him through with an intimate and gentle love. He kisses your hair whenever you're nestled in his lap and grabs your wrist to bring the palm of your hand to his lips, smiling against your skin as he kisses you.

Astarion adores you and thanks you everyday with each caress of his hand against you, and he will never tire of the way you melt against him.

[cherryandsugar]

how he looks at you when he's faking being turned on

vs actually turned on

(echoing) can anybody fucking hear me

[cherryandsugar]

People headcanon Astarion getting emotional/soft/weepy when you do nice things for him but may I present to you:

An Astarion who gets /mad/ about it. You wash his clothes for him while he's gone, and instead of being grateful, he asks you what you want out of it.

You bring him things you think he will like, extra loot, etc and of course he takes it and is ever so grateful... but his eyes narrow in suspicion and a frown tugs at his lips. He stares at the items, turning them over, wondering what's wrong with them.

Give me an Astarion who is always waiting 'for the other shoe to drop', who questions every kind thing you try to do, who accepts it but does not bask in your light- he winces, for it is too bright.

Give me Astarion learning how to trust your kindness with the same enthusiasm one would have going to the dentist to get a rotten tooth pulled without anesthetic.

[cherryandsugar]

Reposting because I added more frames to make the nose kisses sweeter and our boy a little happier 🥰